Imagine... You are lying over my lap, arms raised over your head, eyes closed, feeling safe, warm, and relaxed despite the vulnerability of your nakedness and your open legs, which you are not allowed to close. My left hand pins your wrists in playful firmness which neither of us takes too seriously, yet it sets the mood for the touching... My right hand traces the curves of your body, around your breast, down your side, everywhere stroking softly, tickling. Excruciatingly light touch, putting you on the edge between flight and delight. You gasp and squirm, twisting in a feigned desire to escape yet careful to remain open to my touch. Chills course over you as I graze your soft downy hairs. Slipping my hand behind your head I pull you up, licking your lips and invading your mouth as I push your arms down, opening and exposing your chest even more.
Now, firm touch that you relax into, your muscles massaged and even your very bones subtly moved. Exploring, kneading, opening you. I expertly alternate my touch: light tickles then firm massage, keeping you on that fine edge. Shivers, shudders, and low growling sounds provide the feedback I need to tease without mercy...
"I am going to explore your limits tonight, my Love. Arch." The archway will be the game tonight! By the tone of my voice you know it will be a difficult session. Quickly, to avoid punishment for hesitation, you assume the position as you have been trained: Hands touching the top of the arch, feet and knees spread, eyes closed, pussy and breasts thrust out. Vulnerable. Sexy.
Coming up behind you I press my chest to your back and encircle you, cradling the pout of your belly in one hand, a breast in the other, softly kissing the nape of your neck. You know the rules, but for your pleasure I whisper them: "Eyes closed. You may moan and make other sounds, but do not speak or scream. You may squirm so long as you do not move your hands or your feet. Indeed, you must squirm, must show your torment and relinquish your pride, or your test will become even more severe." Simple rules, but ones you can not possibly obey... Without being told you know there are no safety words for this game. Just obedience and exposure. Any movement to protect yourself or to interfere with your torment and the game is over.
I release you and back away. You smell leather and hear the cat being warmed. Tension builds within you. Nothing holds you in place but your will, your pride, and a desire to please. You belong to me. Now, I will test the depth of your love...
Your breasts are caressed. Such tender caress (and one of your favorite parts of all the games we play) it is difficult imaging that I can hurt you there, too. Without warning your breast is lightly slapped. All your instincts rebel and you are driven to protect yourself, but only a slight flinch betrays the urge. Made to wait now for the inevitable second slap, you steel yourself. Whack! Much harder, as you knew it would be. Your nipple is pinched, then twisted, then pulled until it slips from my grip. Again you wait, for your trials always come in pairs, the first unexpected but easy, the second much harder. Always you are made to wait for the second one, made to contemplate your situation, made to choose obedience yet again. Gently at first, pressure builds slowly. At first you are silent and still, but only briefly. Soon you are squirming and panting, wanting to beg mercy, to flee, to protect yourself. Struggling to give yourself to me, trembling, you press your breasts out, your nipple in agony.
Your exertions noted, I lighten the pressure on your nipple and reward your exertions with soft strokes of your well oiled slit. Soon your hips begin to pump and I take up your rhythm. Light teasing strokes of your sex that become lighter as your sensitivity increases. Soft moans escape you... My hand soaked, I gently hold your sex in my cupped hand, lightly fingering your opening, teasing and allowing you to slip and slide over me as you desperately seek release, but always withholding the friction you need.
Your fold knees inward: a vain attempt to increase the friction. I respond instantly with harsh handling of your breast, pulling, squeezing, and slapping, reminding you to display yourself. You force your knees open again, exposing yourself to the terrible torment. A sheen of sweat covers you as I grasp your nipple again, a reminder of your helplessness. The light, teasing strokes of your sex continue as you tremble and quake over my hand.
Controlled by your nipple, tettering on the brink of orgasm. Desperate for me. Mine. Only for me. I move my fingers to your swollen clit and give you what you crave...
The combination of your helplessness and the gentle stroking drives you to frenzy. Panting and desperate, you are lost in sensations and your hands slip from the arch as your legs buckle. You collapse on the floor: writhing, moaning, and desperately pressing your legs together. I don't stop, I only restrain you, resisting your movements, keeping my hand on your sex as you flail.
I smile, having expected this. (You always loose control here.) Moans build to screams, then subside as your hips pump slower, slower, then stop. When finally you are still I wrap you, still shuddering occasionally and moaning softly, gently in my arms as a mother would cuddle an infant. Soon I will relieve my tension into you, but now I am content to lay you out on the rug, blow cooling breath over you, and scratch you gently as your breathing slows. When you are ready to listen again I lean close and slide my hand to your throat. "My Love, you have disobeyed..."