Page 96 of To Save Him

Aside from the cuffs, I only had heels on.  I was going to try to “let go” for Brandon, but knowing that I was on display here for these voyeurs’ peeping pleasure, I only felt tense.  I had little sexual desire lurking inside.

I just wanted to go home.

But I’d promised.  I could go through the motions, right?  Brandon could fuck me there on that damned cross in front of everyone, but it didn’t mean I had to enjoy it.  And I wasn’t completely dry, so he’d never know.  I’d just have to find some way to disengage my brain somewhat so I wouldn’t completely lose my shit.

My eyes must have shown my fear, even underneath that damned mask, because Brandon whispered in my ear to relax.  When I obviously didn’t, he pulled that damned pillow case out of his jacket pocket.  “This is for your own good,” he said to me, quiet enough that I was pretty sure no one in that room could hear.

In the dark again, I felt my pulse quicken.  My entire body was exposed and I had no means to defend myself.  There was a tinge of fear making my nerves alert, on fire, but there was also a part of me that was excited and waiting for what would come next.  I was anticipating, but I had no idea what.

It was in that state of limbo that I finally felt Brandon’s hands (at least, I was pretty sure they belonged to him) first on my hips.  What a place to touch me, because he could go any which way and ramp up my pleasure.  I no longer had the visual cues I normally would and, since we weren’t on even playing ground (meaning I wasn’t kissing him and touching him back), I had to simply wait.

It wasn’t proving easy.

The room was mostly silent, even though I could hear a vent overhead blowing out air.  The air coming out was cool—that much I could tell now that I was standing in the middle of the room—but the air in the room was stuffy just the same.  Considering my nude body, the warm, stale air felt better on my skin than overly cool, but I thought maybe the other people in the room could appreciate something fresh to breathe in.

Brandon’s hands slid quickly up my sides, pulling me out of my musing.  His hands glided over the mounds of my breasts and he pinched both nipples.  It almost hurt—but not quite.  And now I was eager to find what he would do next.  Would he fuck me like the woman who’d gone before?  Behind was fine butinmy behind was not.  As I’d tried to tell Brandon more than once, my sex life up till now had been as vanilla as the ice cream in a root beer float.  I wouldn’t mind trying new things (as this evening evidenced), but warnings would be nice.

That meant I had to, once more, try to trust my lover—trust that he would only do things to me that he knew I’d be comfortable with, especially considering I was already deep into my stress zone.  I had to trust that he had my best interests at heart, not just the needs of his loins.  Thus far, in spite of all the things about Brandon that had raised red flags and made me question everything about him, in the bedroom, he’d been a respectful lover—in spite of his kinky tastes.  Even this.  It might have seemed like he was forcing me to do these things, but he knew me better than I knew myself.  I’d had to be persuaded—and masked, for heaven’s sake—but I was more than willing.

And he knew it.

Before I could speculate further about what would happen next, he let me know.  His lips and tongue were now all over the front of my body, along with his hands, roaming and exploring this flesh he’d touched many times before.

It felt amazing.  Not knowing what was happening next, having to anticipate without the sense of sight, was putting my emotions into overload…and, in spite of my vow to keep it all reined in, I forgot about our audience and focused on Brandon alone.

He was, in that moment, my entire world.

I was wet, so wet, and he could take me however he wanted.  I was ready—ready to experience whatever he wanted to give me.  It didn’t matter that I was on display.

His lips brushed down my torso, down my taut stomach, and he touched me with his finger just past my bellybutton.  From there, he traced a line and I gasped as he glided down my slit.  If I hadn’t been buckled down, I would have been squirming and writhing.  Instead, I was splayed for his pleasure and he drew a little circle around my opening.

Oh, such teasing.  I felt like Brandon was holding me over a precipice by a tiny piece of string, like I was hanging over the edge, ready to drop, but he was stopping me from falling over.  I waited, wondering, enjoying the sensation but wanting more.

Needing more.

I hadn’t felt his tongue in a while, and that was okay, because just as I was ready to groan in frustration, he inched a finger inside me.  I sighed then, but it didn’t take the edge off.  I was still a junkie in need of a massive hit.

But I couldn’t grab him, couldn’t guide him.  All I could do was communicate with my mouth, and I refused to beg.  I knew I was on display for these people’s amusement—their pleasure—and I didn’t want to give it to them.  Yes, that meant denying myself as well, but I didn’t care.  I’d gone from hot to cold in a matter of seconds as I grew angry at Brandon.  He was playing with me.

Had he always been playing with me?

That thought flooded my brain as his fingers found their way inside my slick darkness, but they no longer had an effect on me.  I was closed off physically, but also in spirit.  Now I just had to wait for him to finish with this game.

But then his tongue found me, found the one part of me that couldn’t ignore him.  It was at first a tiny touch on the hardened nub that was my clit, but I couldn’t clench my legs together to push him away, and I couldn’t close myself off from him, no matter what I tried.  And he was taking his time as he did it, as if to make it excruciating, agonizing.

And I still had no fucking safeword.

I couldn’t call him off, couldn’t make him stop…

And then I didn’t want him to.  As he sped up his tongue, all while his fingers created a little magic of their own and his other hand pinched a nipple off and on, I became a slave to the rhythm he was creating.  At that point, I could feel my hips doing a slight grind, as much as they were able to, but I wasn’t able to orgasm.  Something was holding me back—and I knew what it was.  It was my own damned inhibitions.  My need to control.  My failure to realize that I couldn’t control everything—after all, if I could have, my marriage would still be intact and my son would still be with me.  My kids at home would feel more loved.  I wouldn’t have gone through all the shit I had over the past few years.

Yes, all this luggage kept me from giving in.

Brandon removed his tongue, but he kept his digits in motion, stroking my clit as if he were soothing it, and I could sense him standing.  The fingers of his other hand slid around my neck over the pillow case and, even though his lips couldn’t touch my ear through the fabric, I could feel his breath just the same.  “Let go, Kimberly.  Let go of it all.”

And so I did, as the walls came shattering down.