Questing4Aldonza
Posts: 58
Joined: 7/14/2004
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To Whom
Freshly shaved and vigorously scrubbed, his skin practically gives off a faint pinkish glow. She makes him stand in the middle of the room, legs spread, fingers laced together and placed atop his head. She likes the position not only for its intrinsic aesthetic value, but also for the way it makes his muscles twitch and spasm after holding it a few minutes.
Finally, she rises from her chair and approaches him slowly, the heels of her boots clacking suggestively against the hardwood floor. His eyes, so very wide, take in every inch of her, eager... anxious...
She begins to circle him, a lazy, predatory spiral. Even when she moves beyond his line of sight, he is painfully aware that her eyes are always fixed upon him and he shivers.
After the fourth pass, she comes to a stop directly in front of him; close enough for him to smell the leather she is wearing which only excites him that much more. She is not a vessel for his fetishes, but they do provide her with a useful tool.
She reaches up a bare hand and gently presses her fingertip to his lips; tracing a long languid circle around them.
"Tell me," she says softly. "To whom does this mouth belong?"
She feels the flesh move beneath her touch, his warm sweet breath blowing against her hand as he says, "It belongs to you."
She turns her wrist slightly, sticking out her thumb and pushing it gently inside. At once he wraps his lips around his teeth and begins to suckle it, cheeks hollowing, tender moans of arousal escaping through his nose.
She smiles. "Good."
She pulls her hand away from his face, allowing her long, red nails to slide down his neck, feeling his racing pulse. They glide across his collarbone, down his chest and her other hand rises from her side.
She pinches his nipples fiercely. His face contorts and he sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth.
"And to whom do these belong?" she asks, digging harder, twisting cruelly.
"Y-ah! Y..you!!" he stammers between grunts of pain.
"Good."
She releases him and begins to walk around him again. His chest is shaking hard now with each labored breath and his face has gone from pink to very, very red.
She stops directly behind him. He gasps and, if possible, his whole body tenses to an even greater degree as she slides her hand between his cheeks. He's cleaned himself down there too, even more thoroughly than anywhere else, but still, tiny rivulets of perspiration begin trickling down from his temples.
Her fingertip pokes at his hole, wiggles suggestively, but does not penetrate.
"To whom does this belong?"
"You," he answers breathless.
"Good." He hand slides out and he breathes a sigh of relief.
It doesn't last long; she comes 'round and quickly takes his testicles in her hand. Her grip is firm, past the point of comfort, but not quite crossing the threshold of punishing. He shuts his eyes, the tension returning to his body with a vengeance.
"To whom do these belong?" she asks as he quakes from the strain.
"To you," he whispers, his throat tight.
"Good." She lets them fall away, but takes his cock in hand instead. He whimpers, but she begins to massage him tenderly, skillfully, and his whimpers become soft, plaintive moans.
"You like that?" she asks.
He can't bring himself to speak, but nods his head vigorously. She squeezes the head, picking up the pace of her strokes.
"Do you want me to stop?" He shakes his head even more vigorously.
"Ah," she purrs. "But to whom does this belong?"
He makes a sound that is half-whine, half-grunt through his tightly clenched jaw and finally sighs, "It belongs to you."
"Good," she says and lets go of him at once. She does, however, run her nail over the tip, scraping up the small dollop of pre-cum that has seeped up. The sensation causes his to shake violently.
She lifts her hand to his mouth, pushing against his shut lips. His eyes open and he quickly extends his tongue, tasting himself from her finger.
"Yes," she says, pleased.
Once more she moves around to stand behind him. She places her hands on his shoulders (having to stand tip-toe to do it) and pushes him down. He obeys, sinking to his knees and she pulls his hands away from his head, letting them hang down at his sides.
She runs her fingers through his hair, freshly cut, but not too short. The gesture escalates until she is effectively massaging his scalp.
"And this," she asks, grasping the sides of his skull with the flats of her hands. "This... thing inside here? This unique and enticing yet sometimes damnedably vexing thing? To whom does it belong?"
"To you," he cries. "It all belongs to you!"
Satisfied, she smiles. "Good."
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