Page 65 of Spencer's Satisfaction
“You can still call me Daddy, Tony,” I reassure him softly, moving to his right side to fasten a silky ribbon around his wrist and the discreet hook I’ve recently installed into the side of the headboard. “I just don’t want you sinking into little space for this.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Tony sounds cheeky and when I glance down I find him smirking.
Little shit, I muse with affection. Out loud I say, “Good boy.”
I move around the bed to tie his left wrist next, and then go for his left ankle.
I’ve spent a lot of time researching everything about what we’re about to do. I’ve even spoken to Doms at The Grove, doing some practice runs on properly and safely fastening the ties and using the other equipment I’ve brought into the bedroom with me. I can’t betray the trust Tony has put into me by fucking this up.
His cock has swelled and is twitching by the time I’m finished fastening the tie around his right ankle. Still, I pause to quietly ask him, “Color?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “Green.”
When I was setting up, he and I discussed the process in depth. He wanted to explore his ‘sensory thing’ (his words), so all the stimulation for now will be physical only. Neither one of us will speak, except for safe wording and checking in if I feel it necessary. I did offer him sound-blocking headphones, but he refused, concerned that he might freak out at being deprived of both sight and hearing all at once. I am proud of him for expressing his limits, and, if today goes well, we might revisit them in the future.
But for now I keep my movements as quiet as possible. I decide to also undress, so the sound of rustling fabric doesn’t forecast my actions. Then I lift the cover from the tray of sensory items I’ve pre-selected and opt to begin by picking up an ice cube from a bowl full of them.
Tony gasps when I run it over the exposed sole of his foot. He only flinches a tiny bit at first contact, then relaxes into the sensation as I swirl the melting item over the inside of his ankle and then up the inside of his thigh. His cock bobs and his balls tighten with anticipation as I near them, but I skip the area altogether, running the ice down the inside of his other leg instead.
He lets out a breath, whether in relief or disappointment I’m not sure, and his whole body sags again.
Turning back to the tray, I switch out the mostly melted ice cube for a length of the same satiny ribbon attached to his wrists and ankles. I use the very end of it to tickle his abdomen and underarms. Tony squirms a little, but he seems determined not to make any noise if he can help it.
That’s not a rule tonight, but it might just be a self-imposed one that I’m not aware of.
Back at the tray, I reach for a shiny new sewing pattern tracer. The tines on the little wheel are tiny but sharp. They won’t pierce his skin, but with enough pressure they will prickle and scratch a little, and they make tiny imprints in his smooth, golden skin when I roll the gadget down his forearm, then the inside of his bicep, then just shy of his left nipple and then his right. His nipples pucker at the barest hint of attention and I have to bite back a dark chuckle.
I return back to the tray, returning the pattern tracer. I pick up another ice cube, then hold it in my fist before I close my hand around the base of his cock. His whole body jerks at that, and he whimpers a little as I slowly drag the cube up his straining length. The heat of his flesh here, with the addition of my whole palm, is melting this ice cube faster than the other one, and soon he’s left with a little puddle of liquid in his pubic hair and dripping down to his balls.
“Color?” I ask him, noticing his increased squirming, even though he’s making a valiant attempt to stay still.
“Green,” he whispers, already sounding ragged and wrecked.
Judging by the deep, red flush to his cock, I expect he’s close to going over the edge already. The Doms I spoke to at The Grove did tell me not to expect extended sessions to begin with, but I’m still surprised that Tony has reacted so intensely so soon.
I use the remnants of the melted ice cube to tease his hole, working it against the heated pucker until it’s nothing but liquid. Tony pants and squirms, his hole clenching as I tease, but he’s still quiet.
When I go back to the tray again, my hand hovers between a feather and an artist’s paintbrush with thick, soft, smooth bristles.
I choose the brush, and a pot of chocolate body paint, deciding that this will be the grand finale for tonight’s gentle experimentation. I spend a little bit of time painting swirls over his skin in spots I know are sensitive for him.
His nipples. The junction where his neck meets his shoulder. The skin around his belly button. The inside of his thighs. The spot on his neck just beneath his jawline, under his ear. The head of his cock.
Then, after taking a moment to admire the finished project, I suck on an ice cube and start licking up my artwork.
Tony shouts and writhes when my cold tongue meets his left nipple, and I smirk against his skin. The body paint is an explosion of sweetness next to the cold-water taste of the ice and the saltiness of his sweat, and I follow the path I painted myself, listening to Tony breathing heavily and pleading under his breath.
I suck the chocolate from his neck, then head back down to his right nipple, teasing it with the tip of my tongue with tiny kitten licks before nipping with my teeth. Then I head down to his belly button, flattening my tongue and lapping with big, broad strokes.
Tony is quivering with need when I make it to his thighs, and I draw out the delicious torture, sucking the body paint with ridiculous slowness from the inside of one shaking leg and then the other.
All that’s left is the splodge of chocolate I’d left on the tip of his cock, which is now mixing with precum and dribbling down his throbbing shaft.
I close my mouth over him and that’s all it takes before he explodes, coming hard in thick shooting spurts. I catch most of it and swallow greedily, before licking the remnants from him with satisfaction until he practically sobs, “Too sensitive. Stop, Daddy.”
It’s not a safe word, but it’s damn near close enough and I pull away as requested. When I look up to his face, he’s wearing a blissed out grin, so the quick burst of panic in my chest dissipates. I untie his ankles without fanfare, then crawl over him to undo the ties at his wrists.
Finally free, he wrenches the blindfold off and launches himself at me, kissing me deeply.
