"When you are pulling against the restraints… when your back is arched and your hips are writhing… when your mouth is open in a silent scream of tortured rapture… you will know that my work has begun."
Just imagine being in her position right now, completely lost in the sensations, trapped in the eroticism.
That motion along your chest, those fleeting little sensations up and down your cleavage, leading that scenic pathway to those slowly stiffening peaks. The little pinch that makes you feel those sharp little tugs from her pursed lips. It’s only when you are desperate for more, once you cannot stand the attention placed solely on your chest, that the motions lead downwards.
Just trailing along your thighs, leading that swirling dance towards that coveted space. The tender motions, almost like brushstrokes, sweep closer and closer until your hips plead for contact.
You can feel it so clearly as the lips press right there, the way your wrists would strain against those bonds in a bid for some resemblance of control. Behind the blindfold, you can imagine countless lovers and idols of lust. All of them feasting so intently upon that soft, sweet sex. How that mouth would work you to a frenzy, just keeping you held in the clutches of bliss but never quite unleashing the fury you need. Always keeping steady enough to not let you veer too close. Not quite to get you to the edge repeatedly, but instead to merely take the very longest route.
On and on that mouth suckles and caresses, like the slowest masturbation, just enough to build it, but so slowly it takes every ounce of control not to speed up. At this speed, you know what that wondrous lover between your legs knows; once you finally climax, it will feel more intense than any other way you’ve masturbated before. But it won’t stop or speed up. That pace will keep you held in the grasp of that orgasm for the longest time possible.
That’s it, get ready for it. You know it’s coming…
Just for a moment, I want to be so close, close enough to almost feel what you feel, to sense the desire and anticipation, the longing. Just knowing how it’s going to feel in that exact same place, the sensations that will stem from right here.
Right now, at the height of eroticism, there is no you or I. There is simply just a single entity of pleasure. To freeze this moment indefinitely, if only it weren’t so unbearable to hold.
Just let your imagination take hold, and then you’ll feel them. Those hands, gliding, teasing, trailing, pinching, feeling them linger on those places your own want to press against. The gyration of your hips, the moans of your arousal, the stiffness of your nipples, the beating of your heart getting faster and faster; none of it is under your control. Those fingertips will draw it all from you and more.
Take those most sensuous thoughts and exotic dreams, those most erotic fantasies and pleasurable desires, and turn them into your own little reality.
Does feeling that length within your palm make you that little wetter? Feeling it pulse to your touch. You can imagine how it would feel sliding right where these fingers are. I can feel how it turns you on as well to know that it doesn’t stop even when you try to push that hand away. Letting you know that when this pulsing, swollen cock replaces those fingers, there won’t be any way to hold it back.
You have no idea how long I’m going to force you to orgasm or how hard I’m going to press the vibrator to your already oversensitive clitoris. All you know is that the longer I keep you on the edge like this, the more intense it is going to be. That wonderfully erotic mixture of apprehension and anticipation for how it’s going to finally feel, nothing is more of a turn-on.
You couldn’t wait to be their model, every gorgeous line and curve forever gracing their canvas.
To be portrayed so helplessly while nature would not simply pose as the backdrop of your frame, but caress it, amplify it.
When they began applying the oil to you in order to add that glistening sheen to the display, you admired their delicate touch. Once they began paying you so much more lingering attention, you couldn’t help but purr in pleasure. You tried to close your thighs a little tighter as if to quell the desire rising within you, though they told you not to, to embrace that sensation so they could paint you at your most erotic and sensual.
Those fingertips swept so tenderly across you, how you could feel the current building within, gliding along that stiffness, trailing across that wetness. You wanted them to do so much more to you, though they applied every last drop of the oil to your skin without letting a single fingertip sink within or press too intently. They simply left you internally begging for it.
You knew that once they began sweeping their brushes against the canvas, you’d feel like it was your own body those paintbrushes were gracing with their touch.
I always want to be clothed when I start playing with you. It is because I’m never thinking about how your body will make me feel; instead, I’m always thinking about what I can and will do to you and how I’ll make you feel.
I want you to feel my lust through every touch, for every caress to communicate my longing.