Page 33 of Not About That Life
I wonder how much I would have to go through to get tored. I’m oddly curious about it. “Got it.”
Sir stands up and hoists me onto the table. He lays me down and retrieves a bottle of oil. He sets it aside and removes his shirt, leaving his slacks on. His nipples are hardened in the cold air and his muscles flex with each movement. My sex flutters just by looking at him.
He pours some of the oil and spreads it all over my body. It reminds me of the first night were together. He was so gentle, yet so passionate, as if it was something He’d been waiting to do and was just as anxious as I was.
I wonder what’s going through Sir’s mind now. Is He just as nervous as I am? Do Doms have performance anxiety? He’s so calm and cool, and I wonder if it’s just an act and He’s a wreck inside?
Damn, why am I so emo when I’m about to get eaten out?
“Quiet, angel.” His tone comes out as a warning as He massages my breasts. “I can feel your thoughts.”
I let out a deep breath. I need to clear my mind and relax. This time the focus is on me. Sir is going to pleasure me and worry about Himself later. I need to lay back and enjoy the….
My eyes fly open and I look down at the two leather straps across my torso. Sir was right – my black ass was really going nowhere tonight. Oh dear.
He repeats the same motion on my legs. Now I really can’t go anywhere. I feel my legs spread and that’s when I discovered the leather table has compartments. Here I am, bound on a plush leather table, my legs spread apart so everything of me is seen, and I’ve never felt so damn sexy in my life.
I feel Sir’s fingers brush against my wet slit and my toes curl up. His other hand strokes my entire leg from ankle to hip bone, while He keeps playing with me. He removed His hand from my cunt and I moaned at the loss. Was there going to be more exploration? What was going on?
“There you go,” He whispers to me as I felt the silk handkerchief tied around my eyes. “Now you can concentrate on feeling the pleasure and not being distracted by what I’m going to do.”
My tongue darts out and wets my suddenly dry lips. This is now an entirely new level of eroticism. The room, once freezing cold, feels perfect on my skin. Now I completely understand why it’s so cold. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl.” Sir leaves and goes back to my sex.
The room is deafening quiet and all I hear is the fan of the AC and my pounding heart. What’s going to happen next? Am I going to enjoy this? Would it be too much? Would I really remember to saydonut?
I suddenly hear the sounds of Otis Redding. What? Otis Redding? Right now?
I feel the brushing of an implement on my skin. It feels like one of the floggers. He’s about to flog me? Okay, I can handle this. Tied up and flogged? Sounds like a good time to me. I wonder if it’ll be a hard swipe or a gentle brush and I won’t feel any—
Swat!
My body lurches off the table but the straps hold me in. Fuck! He just flogged my sex. I was not expecting that!
Swat!
A soft grunt escapes my lips as I prepared for another one.
Swat!
The strips hit me and I felt every single strap at once. It was a burning hot sensation but it wasn’t painful. It actually felt really, really good.
Swat!
Sir flogged my pussy and the rush from it filled every corner. That felt so amazing, causing tiny pinpoints of pleasure all over my body. And combined with Otis singing about a lover’s prayer, I think I’m in heaven.
“Do you want more, angel?” Sir asks me.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say it.”
I inwardly growled. He wanted me to beg. He loved to hear me beg, writhe, and cry out for it. “Sir, can you flog my pussy again?”
Swat!
Swat!
