Page 18 of Look, Don't Touch

Has someone else come inside the room? Is the soundproofing suddenly failing? Am I hallucinating?

In our fifteen or so encounters over the last year and a half, he, like me, has never uttered a word.

A clink sounds to my left, which is usually my right, and is the toy chest. It is enough to jar me from the utter surprise of his voice to comply with his command. I slip the thin straps off my shoulders, and the material slips down my body and onto the floor. I’m gloriously naked, not bothering with panties or a bra when skin is the goal.

Then I wait.

He doesn’t keep me guessing for long. Something cold and hard tweaks my nipples. It doesn’t hurt, not like when options three or four damn near pluck them from my body. No, the sensation slowly pools the blood under my skin. My breasts feel heavy and full. It is another first for my favorite tormentor.

A piece of metal meets my fingers and pulls my hand up. Instinctively, I grab hold. It could be a spreader bar or a vibrator. I hope it’s the latter. He uses it as a guide to walk me carefully out of my dress and toward the back of the room. When he stops, he leads my hand to the bench and signals me onto it with a brush over my shoulders with a second metal device.

I fold my knees onto the low padded platforms. Something buzzes to life, answering my question. It presses sweetly to the base of my spine, and then slowly works up, pushing me forward. My belly rests on the soft leather riser and my forearms lower to their positions on the lower front pads.

Without warning, he presses a small lubed plug between my cheeks and inside my ass. The little metal contraption buzzes on a mercifully low setting. Yet it enflames the fire in my belly. I keep still, except for my mouth. It hangs open in quiet pants already.

One at a time, he binds me to the bench. It’s a new sensation. It infuses warmth into my limbs and cheeks, knowing he’s watching me become—hell, making me—completely vulnerable. My pussy flutters.

He binds my waist taut. It presses my clamped nipples into the padding. I trap a moan between my lips. It’s too soon to come.

A lone finger presses onto the top of the strap and follows the line from one side of my body slowly to the other. This boundary neatly separates the feathered crow inked onto my upper back with the skeleton crow he holds in his dark talons. The desiccated one drapes low on my back and upside down. Its bony wings fall over the swells of my cheeks.

A deep rumble comes from low in my tormentor’s chest.

My entire being warms at the approval. From the center of my body, it radiates out. I’m pretty sure if he turned off the lights, I’d beam like those on the fucking Rockefeller tree.

The other vibrator whirrs to life. Greedily, my cunt aches for it. I press my ass into the air. Already my legs are spread in invitation.

He drags the device across my lips, outlining my mouth before breaching it. A bulbous head slips inside me. It rumbles over my tongue. He uses the thing like a seesaw, prying my mouth wide. I show him my tongue, working the metal in slips and twirls, hoping he’ll replace it with his cock.

Just the thought, well, the thought, the bench, the zinging plug in my ass, the binding on my nipples, and him, his slow seduction of my body tips me quickly, wildly over the edge.

My hips jerk, wanting more. I moan, unfiltered over the apparatus in my mouth. Release clutches me tighter than the bonds, and then I’m set free. Only the bonds keep me from floating away.

“Hum.” His sound contains humor and a hint of awe.

Yes, I’ve never come quite so quickly before. I’m not embarrassed. I’m ready for more. I know he’ll give it to me. It’s his thing. His paraphilia. His kink. He gets off on getting others off. He collects orgasms like billionaires collect money. He is a pleasure Dom.

The vibrator slips from my mouth. I listen to its song as it moves farther away, and then the staccato joins the plug pressing at my ass. He presses the vibrator against the end of the plug. The discordant hymns duel inside me, grabbing the last of my orgasm and shaking it back to life. My fingers sink into the leather. My back bows. I keen and convulse, my cunt still wanting more.

As I come off the high, both sets of vibrations die. He leaves the plug alone but taps my belly with the large vibe, signaling me to lift. When I do, he wedges the metal piece between the platform and my clit. I sigh and settle atop it. The dead weight is quiet, but it’s contact all the same.

My ears strain, gathering any movement in the room. He is so quiet when he moves. Like a devious ghost. It enhances every sound and every touch.

Already, my head swims in oxytocin. I’m glad I’m tied down. If not, I’d be tempted to take this man home with me and keep him prisoner in one of the many closets in my apartment.

Something soft splays over the crook of my neck. Its falls are wide and thick. He drags the flogger across my nape and around the other side. The fur slips over my shoulder and down my right arm. I appreciate the soothing tickle over my knuckles. He works it down my back, hooks a gentle U at my tailbone, and then grazes my other side in turn.

Sweetly, he caresses my cheek, keeping the fuzz away from my mouth. I give in to the touch, which is new too. He usually stays away from my face. Typically, I appreciate it. But this is nice.

He works it over my shoulder and then slides it down to my ass. The sweetness turns devious as it enchants my most intimate flesh. A second flogger flops onto my back. This one is weighty but still smooth. Suede, I think.

Wetness slides down my side. He’s oiled the ends. My pussy clenches. I rub myself on the platform as much as the bonds will allow, ready for what’s to come.

The fur whispers over the backs of my thighs, silky and soft. It leaves, and then whap. My skin crackles back to life. Currents flow through me. Sparking and arching. I moan and purr like a creature possessed. He repeats the soft and hard from the crest of my thighs to the bend of my knee on both legs. When he performs the ritual on my ass and low back, an orgasm explodes behind my closed lids. I’m feral and pumping almost uselessly on the dead vibrator, still needing more.

I barely hear the thuds of the floggers hitting the floor. I’m writhing and desperate. The sing of a zipper and the crinkle of foil snag my soul.

He usually won’t give me what I need until I’m a sagging, sobbing mess, nearly wrung out of orgasms. My chest is warm with excitement. Anticipation nearly chokes me.

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