He tugs gently at the tie on the side of her lacy black panties.
The bow unravels easily, She feels the slight tension of it release away from her skin. The material peels away , revealing the trimmed narrow line of her pubic hair. He lets gravity take its course, and then releases the other side. The last piece of clothing falls from her silently.
She is naked. Her arms are secured above her head, Her back is against the cool wood of the door. Her legs are kept apart by the spreader bar attached to the leather cuffs at her ankles. The blindfold has stolen her vision.
She is breathless. She fears she may faint. She aches. A hunger that fills her swollen sex and radiates through her body in intense waves of desire. She has never felt anything like this before and yet he has barely touched her. She can sense his gaze upon her and it makes her weak. She is afraid of what he will do to her, and she wants him to spare her nothing. She has lost her senses. She is consumed by lust. She is trembling with fear.
She feels a tingling sensation on her cheek. She flinches away from it, and she swears she can actually hear him smile.
Something moves over her flesh. It is like a small electric current. It is not painful but a whimper escapes her throat.
‘It is a pin wheel.’ he says, answering the question she had not asked. His voice is deep. Steady. Commanding. Almost reassuring.
She imagines the small steel wheel, a circle of tiny spikes. Something lurches in her lower belly.
He rolls it impossibly lightly across her face. It is a sensation she cannot explain. She is afraid of it, of those vicious points, but it is such a perfect caress. Her runs it over her lips. It is gentle but dangerous. It excites her nerve endings so delicately, so exquisitely. She does not want him to stop.
It disappears over her chin and tracks down her throat, moving downwards. As it reaches the gorgeous swell of her breasts she feels the downward pressure on the rolling wheel start to increase. It is suddenly intense, sharp, painful, delicious. It leaves a thin, raised pink line on her pale flesh, but does not break the skin. To her, it is a trail of red-hot fire.
She moans as the spikes begin to traverse her hard-as-berry nipples, her areolas puffy and sensitive with arousal.
She cannot separate pain from pleasure.
Just when she thinks she can take no more, the pin wheel leaves her breasts and begins to journey across her belly in slow circles.
All the time moving inexorably lower.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo taken by me, courtesy of Jenny