Page 172 of Body and Soul

“Thank you, sir.” I grinned stupidly, like I was high, except no high I’d ever experienced could match this.

The tip of his crop trailed over the ropes framing my chest, circling my nipples, which pebbled and tightened under the teasing touch. I arched into the sensation, a needy whimper escaping my parted lips.

“I'm going to suspend you now,” he said. “I want you to let go completely, to surrender yourself to the ropes and to me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Shepherd pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before he moved to the rigging frame. He secured carabiners to strategic points in the web of ropes encasing my body, checking each connection with practiced efficiency.

Then, with a final nod of satisfaction, he began to hoist me up. The ropes tightened, taking my weight as my feet left the ground. I gasped at the sensation of being lifted higher and higher until I was flying. It felt like I was feet off the ground, but there were only a few inches between my stomach and the floor. I was only vaguely aware of the position of my limbs because my body didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was the sensation of floating, of being free. Of being held up by the strength Shepherd had woven for me.

I hung suspended in an intricate cradle of ropes, completely at Shepherd's mercy. Shepherd grasped the ropes at my hips and gently turned me in a slow circle, admiring his handiwork from all angles. I revolved lazily in the air, the world reduced to a kaleidoscope blur of crimson ropes and flickering candlelight and Shepherd.

He trailed a hand over the ropes, following the complex pattern over my chest and abdomen, down to where my cock jutted out, hard and leaking. I shivered at his touch, every nerve ending awake and on fire. The barest brush of his fingers against my skin felt electric, magnified tenfold by my position.

Shepherd continued his slow perusal, trailing the tips of his fingers along the ropes framing my thighs, my calves, the arches of my feet. I felt like a prized sculpture, a work of art to be admired, or an icon being worshipped.

With torturous slowness, Shepherd dragged his fingertips down the column of my throat, over the ropes framing my chest,teasing my nipples into stiff peaks before continuing downward. I arched into the touch as much as my bonds allowed, silently begging for more.

Shepherd's hand wrapped around my straining erection and I cried out, the touch almost too much after being kept on edge for so long. He squeezed once, twice, a wicked smile curling on his lips.

I writhed in my bonds, desperate for more of Shepherd's touch. My cock throbbed, hard and aching in his grip. His hand slid up and down my shaft in a loose, teasing stroke that had me panting and straining.

“Please, Sir,” I whimpered, my voice wrecked. “Please...”

“Please what, sweet boy?” Shepherd teased, his thumb swiping over the head of my cock. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need... I need to come. Please let me come, Sir!” The words burst out of me in a desperate rush.

“Soon,” he promised, “but not yet.”

He released my cock, ignoring my whimper of protest, and circled behind me again. I felt the whisper of his clothes against my suspended body, the heat of him searing my skin.

Slick fingers probed at my entrance, circling briefly before pressing inside. I gasped at the sudden intrusion, clenching down reflexively before forcing myself to relax and open to him.

Shepherd's fingers probed deeper. I whimpered and squirmed as much as I could, which wasn’t much.

“You're still so tight,” Shepherd marveled, scissoring his fingers to loosen me further.

I moaned, clenching around his fingers. “Please, Sir... I need your cock. I need you inside me.”

“Patience, boy.” Shepherd crooked his fingers, rubbing mercilessly over just the right spot. Electric pleasure zipped up my spine and gathered in my balls, pulling them up tight.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” I babbled, my hips making abortive little thrusts into the air. The ropes creaked as I strained against them, desperate for more stimulation, while Shepherd's fingers massaged my prostate with ruthless precision.

“Sir, please, I'm going to... I can't...” I gasped out between panting breaths.

“You can and you will,” Shepherd growled, redoubling his efforts. “You don't come until I allow it.”

But it was too much, the relentless pressure on my prostate, the delicious friction of the ropes against my aching cock with every futile thrust of my hips. The spring in my gut wound tighter and tighter until I was sure I’d break.

And then it stopped. Shepherd’s fingers retreated, and I sagged in the ropes, sweating and panting and fighting the urge to sob with both frustration and relief at the same time.

My whole body was trembling, poised right on that knife's edge of pleasure and pain. I felt like one big exposed nerve, raw and vulnerable. The ropes bit into my skin as I hung there, every inch of me aching with the need for release.

But I didn’t beg for more. Shepherd was in complete control here and I trusted him to give me what I needed, when I needed it. He knew best, and I trusted him implicitly.

I heard the rustling of clothing behind me, then felt the blunt, slick head of Shepherd's cock pressing against my hole. I tried to relax, to open myself to him, but I was wound so tight it was almost impossible.

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