Page 22 of Ex-SEAL Bad Boy

“Now, Mrs. Blackwood,” I whisper, pulling her into my arms, “I have a little surprise for you.”

Sophia stands nude in the center of the room, eyes closed, the moonlight streaming in from the window bathing her body in an ethereal glow.

I can sense the tension, and I know she feels vulnerable. Given our past, I’m surprised she trusts me, but I have no intention of harming her in any way.

I drink her beauty in as I approach her from behind.

In my hand I hold a violin bow.

I wish I could take credit for being clever enough to come up with this little game, but it was actually a guy I knew in the Navy band. He’s a violinist, and he explained to me that a bow is made from fine horsehair stretched between the two ends of the bow. The friction caused when the microscopic ridges of the hairs rub across the strings is what generates the sound.

As he discovered, those same tiny ridges can also cause a woman to make a sound when lightly drawn across her most sensitive places.

Lightly grasping the bow, as he taught me, I come up behind Sophia and ever so gently draw the hairs across one taut pink nipple.

A strangled gasp emerges from the depths of her throat, and her knees wobble slightly.

I guess my friend was right.

“Jesus, what was that?” she whispers.

“Ah, ah, that’s part of the game,” I say quietly, a mischievous smile on my face.

I repeat the process on the other side, and this time she lets out a small yelp, her knees buckling beneath her.

I drop my new toy and rush to catch her before she falls.

“Maybe we take this to a less risky place,” I suggest, leading her over to the bed, having her sit on the bed with her legs dangling over the edge.

Once she’s situated, I retrieve the bow and climb up on the other side so I’m behind her once again.

I begin to lightly nip at her ear once again, whispering in her ear, “Open up,” tapping on the inner side of each of her upper thighs with the bow to get her to open her legs.

Tentatively, she complies with my instruction, parting her thighs.

I tease her, gently tracing intricate patterns with the very tip of the bow, as her excitement grows.

Finally, I draw the stings lightly up the center or her channel, barely brushing her clit.

She explodes almost instantly, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

I continue to move the instrument back and forth, ever so slowly, playing a symphony on her skin, the texture of the hairs driving her wild. She clutches at my arms, her red-painted nails digging into the flesh of my forearms, her heels digging into the frame of my bed. Her breath now coming in deep gasps.

“Please,” she cries out, thrashing her head from side-to-side.

“Please, what?” I ask, enjoying the exquisite torture I was subjecting her to.

“Please stop. Just fuck me,” she cries.

“We’ve only just begun,” I complain, trying to find the most sensitive parts of her body.

The area between her lower stomach and the rise of her pubic mound seems particularly reactive to the touch of the bow as I graze the skin.

“Dammit, just fuck me,” she almost shouts, spinning around with force I didn’t know she had and pinning me to the bed.

She hovers above me, her nude body the picture of fury, her eyes ablaze, her hair a messy halo surrounding her head.

Straddling me, she searches for my erect cock with her hand before positioning it at her entrance and sinking down with a satisfied groan.

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