 |
By *azcash25 OP Man
31 weeks ago
County Durham |
Earn Every Touch
She’s in the center of her living room, wrists bound snugly in front of her with my belt, my tie still wrapped around her eyes. Bare legs, oversized shirt, and that subtle shift in her stance — the one that says she's ready, but she doesn’t know for what.
Good. I don’t want her knowing. I want her guessing. I want her squirming in that sweet spot between control and surrender.
I step back just far enough that she can feel the space between us, then lean in close again without touching.
“Still confident?” I murmur near her ear.
A pause. Then she nods.
Cocky. I like cocky. That’s when it’s the most fun to break her down.
I trail a single fingertip across the back of her hand, then down the inside of her forearm light enough to tease, firm enough to guide. Her breath flutters like a leaf in wind.
“You said I have to earn every touch,” she says, voice low.
I smirk. “I did.”
She tilts her head slightly. “Then maybe you should tell me how.”
God, her voice when she plays like this equal parts brat and bait. She knows what she’s doing.
I walk around her again slowly, letting the tension rise. “Simple,” I say. “You stay still, you listen, you do exactly what I say and if you behave…”
I pause behind her and bring my hand to her neck, resting it there lightly. Her body goes still.
“…you’ll get everything you want.”
She swallows hard. I feel it under my palm.
“But,” I continue, dragging the moment out, “if you break the rules… if you get greedy… then maybe I have to start over. Maybe I take my time.”
“Tease,” she whispers.
I smile. “Exactly.”
I shift her gently toward the couch and guide her to sit. I let the silence hang, let her feel the absence of me the mystery of whether I’m still close or just out of reach.
Then I grab the ice cube I’d slipped from her freezer on my way in.
She gasps when it touches her collarbone. A jolt runs through her and I trace it down slowly, letting the cold slide between her skin and the fabric of that shirt she should not be allowed to wear around me anymore.
She laughs softly, shivering. “That’s cheating.”
“That’s creativity.”
She leans back against the couch, exhaling slowly. The tie keeps her blind. Her hands are bound. Her shirt’s clinging now in all the right places from the cold. I crouch in front of her, fingertips resting on her knees, voice low and steady.
“You look perfect like this. Helpless. Curious. Completely mine.”
And just like that, I see it the subtle surrender. The wall she keeps up all day melting into the role we both crave at night. Her breathing slows. She nods, just once.
I lean in, whispering:
“Now… ready to earn your first reward?”
The Punishment Game
She tilts her head toward my voice, blindfold still secure, wrists still bound.
Her lips part slightly when she answers:
“Yes…”
I trace a single finger along her thigh, slow, deliberate. “Yes what?”
“Yes… I’m ready.”
Her voice trembles just enough to make me grin.
“Good,” I murmur. “But tonight, I’m not going to make it easy.”
I slip my hand beneath her chin and tilt her head up. Even blindfolded, she tries to meet my eyes. I brush my thumb along her lower lip, then let my voice go low and firm:
“You broke the rule already. You spoke without permission. You’ve earned yourself a punishment.”
A tiny sound escapes her throat — half protest, half thrill.
“What kind of punishment?”
“That’s the point,” I say. “You don’t get to know.”
I guide her forward gently, easing her up off the couch, turning her so she’s bent slightly at the waist over the armrest. My palm presses against the small of her back, holding her there.
“Hands right where they are. Knees apart.”
She obeys instantly, but I feel the tremor of anticipation in her legs.
I lift the hem of her shirt slowly, just enough. She gasps at the cool air on her skin.
Then ....Crack my hand comes down in a sharp, clean spank across one side. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make her jolt.
She exhales in a shaky laugh. “Oh…”
Another swat, the other side. Then nothing. Just silence. The not-knowing always drives her crazy.
I lean down close to her ear. “Count them for me.”
She swallows. “One…”
Another smack, slightly firmer.
“Two…”
I drag my fingertips lightly across where I’ve just struck the sting melting under the softness of my touch. The contrast makes her squirm.
I keep going, alternating: a sharp spank, then a slow, sensual caress. Her counting starts to falter as the line between punishment and pleasure blurs.
By the sixth, she’s trembling. By the eighth, she’s pressing back into my hand, whispering my name.
I pause, hand resting on her hip. “Color?” I ask softly our agreed-upon check-in.
“Green…” she whispers.
I smile. “Good girl.”
One last swat, a little sharper, followed by both my hands smoothing down her thighs, grounding her, teasing her skin with my nails.
Then I stand behind her, hands on her hips, my breath at her neck.
“You’ve done well,” I murmur. “You took your punishment. You counted. Now…”
I slip my fingers under the blindfold and tug it just enough that she can feel me undoing it, but not enough to see yet.
“…I think you’ve earned a reward you didn’t expect.”
The Reward
The blindfold is still mostly in place but loose enough now that she feels it sliding ever so slightly with every breath. Teasing her. Promising vision, then denying it.
She’s still bent slightly forward, shirt rucked up, skin flushed, thighs shaking with the tension I’ve built in her.
I drag my fingers up her back, slowly, carefully not to arouse now, but to soothe. To anchor.
She breathes out hard, softening under my touch. I love that part when her body gives in before her words do.
“You did better than I expected,” I whisper, trailing the back of my knuckles across her neck. “Took every strike. Stayed in position. Didn’t beg even when I know you wanted to.”
I reach up and finally undo the blindfold, letting it fall. Her eyes flutter open dazed and adjusting and she turns to look at me. Her gaze is soft. Needy. Grateful.
“I’m proud of you,” I say, brushing her hair gently behind her ear.
And I mean it.
She tries to speak but I hush her with just a finger to her lips.
“Shh… no talking now. No more tasks. No more teasing. You’ve earned stillness.”
She tilts her head, curious confused even. I guide her carefully down to lie on the couch, this time on her back, arms still bound but her body entirely open. Exposed. Safe.
I kneel beside her, reaching into the small bag I’d brought without her noticing earlier the one she thought was just part of my work gear. I pull out a soft satin scarf warmer, smoother than the tie. And a small bottle of warming massage oil.
Her eyes go wide.
I drizzle just a few drops of the oil onto her skin her belly, her thighs, her shoulders and rub it in with the slowest, most indulgent touch I can manage. No hurry. No edge. Just connection.
Her breathing deepens. She melts under my hands.
Not aroused now not driven but overwhelmed in another way. A calm intensity. The kind that makes your whole body hum, like it’s vibrating with gratitude.
“You thought the reward was more play,” I murmur against her ear.
She nods weakly.
“No. The reward…” I kiss her temple. “…is peace.”
Another kiss to her collarbone.
“Stillness.”
A kiss just above her heart.
“Being completely cared for.”
I keep touching her, exploring her skin like it’s a canvas I’ve memorized but never take for granted. And I whisper things she rarely hears the kind that aren’t barked or moaned or demanded. The kind that settle into her bones:
“You’re safe.”
“You’re mine.”
“You don’t have to do anything except feel.”
I rest my hand over her chest and feel her heartbeat slow. Her eyes are barely open now.
And then I do what I know will push her over the edge in the quietest, most powerful way:
I kiss her wrist, still bound in my belt the same wrist that shook during punishment and say, “You’ve never looked more beautiful than right now.”
Her eyes close. Her lips tremble.
She doesn’t speak because now, finally, she doesn’t need to.
|
