I hear him moving about, but I can’t tell what he’s doing. There is the thud of a drawer. The clatter of cutlery. And then there is the even rhythm of Damien’s steps as he moves toward me. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look?” he asks. “Your skin flush. Your nipples hard. Your lips parted as if waiting for my kiss.”
“I am waiting,” I say, and am rewarded by the briefest touch of his lips upon mine. Brief, yes, but oh so powerful. Much like the butterfly effect in chaos theory, that minuscule sensation has set off a chain reaction, sending sparks humming and dancing throughout my body. It’s deliciously sweet, but it isn’t enough.
“Turn around,” he says.
“Um . . . ?” I tug on my hands, still bound to the pillar above me.
“Cross your wrists and turn,” he says, and though I’m dubious, I manage. Now I am facing the pillar, though with the blindfold I can see nothing, and my back is to Damien. “Good girl. Now slide down a bit. That’s it,” he adds as I try to ease my hands down. I have to scoot back to manage, and I end up with my torso almost parallel to the floor. The position shifts the pearls, and I draw in a shuddering breath.
He runs his palm over the curve of my rear, and I bite my lower lip in anticipation of a firmer touch. “Beautiful,” he whispers, then slides his fingers down. I’m so wet and so ready, and his low moan of satisfaction sends another shiver through me. I swallow, expecting him to thrust his fingers inside me, but then he withdraws his hand, and I find myself whimpering—and hear Damien chuckling.
“Soon. I have something else in mind, first. Your legs,” he says, tapping the inside of my thighs gently. “A bit wider.”
I comply again, my brow furrowed. That wasn’t his hand upon my leg just then, but I’m not sure what—
“It’s interesting how many things one can find in a kitchen that entice,” Damien says, interrupting my thoughts. “This, for example, seems quite intriguing.”
I feel something warm and flat press gently against my rear. The surface is slightly rough, and I cock my head without thinking, trying to figure out what it could be.
“A simple wooden kitchen spoon,” Damien says, as if in answer. “Who knew it could be so tantalizing?”
I feel a rush of cool air when he removes the spoon, but it is gone almost immediately, replaced by the sting of wood against flesh. I cry out, my ass stinging, then immediately soothed by the firm press of Damien’s hand against my rear. All too soon, his hand is gone, and he swats me again—not too hard, but hard enough that it feels as though a million pinpricks of pleasure are rushing to the spot.
I squirm a bit, wanting more. Wanting the pain to center me—and wanting Damien to launch me off into the stars.
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “You’re glowing, but your ass is on fire.”
I can’t speak. I just want more. But I’m not expecting the next blow—not on my ass, but on my sex. One light, upward thrust with the back of the spoon, barely brushing my clit. But it sets off little sparks inside me. Then another spank, this one firmer, and I cry out as I come closer to the edge. I bite my lip, wanting another—just one more. One more to take me over.
But instead of the thwack of wood against my sex, there are Damien’s fingers inside me, Damien tugging the pearls. I arch up and cry out in surprise and release as he draws the pearls out of me, each tiny round bead rubbing against my sensitive clit. Each pearl heightening the sensation. Each millimeter sending me spiraling off until a cry is ripped from my throat and my body bucks and quakes, unable to withstand the force of the ecstasy that is spinning out of control inside me.
“Oh, yes, baby. Yes—”
And then I hear the soft thud as the pearls fall to the floor. I hear the brush of material against flesh as Damien steps of out his jeans. I feel his hands stroke my hips, my ass. Then his fingers are inside me, opening me, readying me—though that’s hardly necessary at this point.