A cool, darkened room.
Outside the sun is blistering the wooden shutters. Narrow shafts of light sear between the wood, striping the walls and ceiling.
And streaming all over you.
They band your body, striping you cream and coffee coloured.
You are naked, face-up, on the white-sheeted bed.
You are stretched out in a star shape. Your wrists and ankles are secured to the four corners by ropes through steel D rings on strong black leather cuffs. The bindings permit little movement. No matter how hard you tug and strain against them.
You have been here for almost an hour. I have caressed you, kissed you, licked you, stroked you. I have nibbled you, kneaded you, and lightly scratched you. I have teased you with my pinwheel, with a soft brush, with a scarf of silk, and with my twelve-stranded flogger, trailed over your skin.
And with two of the dozen toys that I have carefully arranged on the oak bedside table.
I have a vintage Hitachi wand in my right hand. It whirrs rather noisily yet it is a faithful servant. I am applying it expertly to your already swollen and glistening sex. With my left hand, I am tugging and pinching your hard-as-berry nipples. Your body is bucking and arching, wanting to push away from the wand’s relentless, dimpled, vibrating touch yet at the same time to thrust yourself against it.
Your breathing is urgent and hard. You are panting and crying, sighing and moaning. I know you are desperate to speak, to shout something at me. But you do not. I have forbidden you words.
Your body is dancing now. Strands of your hair are damp and clinging with perspiration. Your face is suffused and flushed with deep arousal. Your eyes roll back. Your mouth is open.
Your muscles tighten. You shudder. The orgasm reverberates through you.
It is your third climax.
The toy continues to send spasms through you. You make small noises of protestation. I smile. After a while I switch it off and idly but dangerously trail my fingers over your inner thighs.
I consider which device to use next.
Later I will reposition you face down.
Later still I will fuck you. Hard.
I have all afternoon ahead of me.
I am torturing you with pleasure.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant/Faded Romantic
Photograph by Neil Whiteley
I wrote this around this time eight years ago. But perhaps new readers will enjoy …