By: Alyssa Forelsket
For the Keeper.
Scenario Three.
My fingers tingle slightly. I wiggle them. Make a tight fist and release a few times. The rope binding my bare torso is snug, but comfortable. It’s my racing heart that’s knocking circulation off balance. The rigger completes tying my calf to my thigh, leaving me kneeling on the floor with my legs spread open and arms secured behind my back. I am grateful that I decided to keep my panties on, there is an unsettling vulnerability in this preparation. The realization strikes: this is exactly what you wanted. Putting me through the embarrassment of asking this man and the abashment of the process is all part of the fun for you.
“You good?” He asks.
“Yep.” He’s trying to tie quickly, knowing you’re waiting.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t like this at all, but says nothing. I was trembling the whole time he tied me. He studies my face before placing the cloth in my mouth, ensuring my silence. Then the blindfold covers my eyes and the world becomes dark and silent. I feel a hand rest on my cheek a moment. Regret? Concern? Or just admiring his work?
All my senses are distorted. Heavy breathing amplifies a slight swirling behind my eyelids. This anticipation and joy is so intense it mirrors a mild panic attack. In this state I can’t trust myself, but my faith in you is absolute.
I can hear him place the card in front of me. Linen paper, beautiful to the touch. “You’re Invited” is scrawled across it in gold calligraphy.
The door opens and one tread of footsteps is exchanged for another. You’re finally in reach and the swirl turns into a full swoon. I’ve waited so, so long. The soft padding of your feet along the floor circle slowly. I strain against the ropes and deepen my breathing to calm down, keenly aware that my discomfort pleases you.
Your fingers finally touch me, sliding across my breasts and my abdomen spasms in response. “Such a fine piece of flesh,” you say. Then you rest your hand on my face and the contrast to the last such touch, only moments ago, is astonishing. With a whimper I lean in like a pet starved for attention.
You take advantage of this lean to push me onto the round. I grunt as my face lands on the floor, grit grinding into my cheek. Damnit, I forgot to vacuum.
The mundane thought is instantly blotted out by your fingers tracing the lips of my cunt, raised high in the air. You grab the g-string and pull the panties tight against my wet slit, teasing. I feel the fabric pulled back like a bowstring and let go, the sting making me chirp like a startled bird.
A firm hand spanks the eager flesh hiding underneath and the ropes become an unbearable impediment. It’s torture not to touch you, see you, say a single word. The dull end of a cold blade slides along my thigh, and I realize you’re cutting away my panties. Unwrapping the sticky sweetness for a taste.