May 13, 2012

Scarves (Pt 3)

She groaned, tilting her head towards his voice, arching her back to press herself closer into his hands.  His heat radiated against her, making her quiver.  She wanted him, oh, God how she wanted him; she would offer him anything, let him do anything he liked—she was desperate for him.
“Uh, uh, uh,” he muttered, and she uttered a sad sound as he carefully drew away from her.  She’d betrayed her want too early; now he was going to deny her.
She strained for him, following the sounds of his movements, desperate for him.  He circled her again, paused; circled the other way, paused.  He was just out of reach—not that she had any hands to reach with—teasing her with his nearness, his unrelenting distance.

“Master, please,” she begged him.  She could hear him chuckle.
“Little prisoner,” her murmured.  “I haven’t had nearly enough fun yet.”
He grabbed something from the table; she heard the scrape of it against the wood, soft but telling.  Bannon wandered again idly, delaying her, leaving her hopelessly unattended, hanging from the scarves with her bottom reddened and throbbing, her soft sex wet and eager for him, her body untouched.
Then, his voice again, right at her ear.
“Didn’t I say I wasn’t nearly done with you?”
There was something new in his hand.  As he brought it near to her she felt the sudden blaze of warmth, like a match had been lit between them: it was one of the candles.
She inhaled sharply as she felt it near her skin, almost close enough to burn.  Bannon chuckled again and without warning a quick, searing heat dripped onto her skin, right above her breasts—she gave a little shout of surprise; burning wax ran down her body, thrilling her, making her shiver.
Each new, hot rivulet made her moan and writhe, desperate for the touch of his body.  She could smell him—sweat and heat, leather and musk—and her body cried out for him.
“Ah, Sadira,” he muttered, taking the candle away.  She felt his hand drift down, searching for the place of her sex, fingers slipping curiously between her slick, wet lips and spreading her open.  “Look at how wet you are… deviant little creature, look at how your body betrays you.  Would you like me to satisfy you, little slave?”
“Yes,” she whispered, pulling against the scarves to try and press herself against him.  “Yes, please, master, please…”
“But what if I want to play more?” he murmured.  His free hand came once more to her breasts, teasing and rolling her piqued nipple between his fingers, occasionally threatening just the lightest little tweak, just the littlest bit of pain.
“Master, I beg you,” she said softly—her whole body ached, her arms exhausted, her breasts and buttocks sore and throbbing, her skin ablaze with bright, sweet joy.  “Please let me feel you inside of me.”
“There was more, sweet heart,” he said.  Now he came close, though—now she felt him twine his arms around her, pulling her body against his. 
“I don’t care,” she whispered.  “Oh, Bannon, please take me.”
“Bannon again?” he chuckled.  “You can’t make up your mind, can you?”
She answered only with a sound of eager need, pressing herself as closely to him as she could, needing him, trembling with her fierce, desperate, maddening desire.
“One more thing,” he whispered in her ear.  “One more thing I think you’ll love.”
“What’s that?” she asked, but he had slipped away from her again, disappearing into the quiet crackling of the fire and the quiet punctuated only by the sounds of her heavy breathing.
“I saw this in my journeys east,” he told her, his voice a disembodied taunt, sending another deep ache through her, a poignant sense of unfulfillment, of trembling near the edge of satisfaction and left wanting.  She heard another scrape and the clink of tiny metal; he took his time, speaking to her softly while he arranged whatever it was he had laid out before him.
“I saw several men and women doing this,” he went on.  “All I could think of was how I’d love to also do it to you—how I’d love the tactile sensation of piercing your skin, of feeling you writhe as I laced these up and down your body.”
“Pierce?” she muttered faintly.  “What are you—”
He was close again.  His lips pressed against hers, silencing her.  Then he circled around her, standing behind her; his palm ran slowly, appreciatively, over the arched shape of her shoulders.
“Oh, yes, my darling,” he murmured softly.  “I think you’ll enjoy this very much.”
She caught her breath again; her mind raced.
His fingers traced the shape of her flesh gently, almost soothingly.  Then, he lightly pinched a tiny portion of it, drawing it taut—
A fierce bite—a sleek stab of sharp metal lanced through her flesh.  Sadira screamed suddenly, shocked and thrilled; as she tried instinctively to pull away, Bannon’s hold on the needle twisted and sent a sharp, viciously beautiful pain through her whole body.
“Oh, you do like it,” her master murmured happily.  Sadira panted heavily, stunned by the sensation; when she was still again, Bannon stroked the site of the injury, the pads of his fingers sending sharp little twinges through the freshly pierced flesh.
“Would you like another?” he whispered in her ear.
For an instant, Sadira wasn’t sure how to proceed.  The pain had been intense—wonderfully intense.  It hurt so much more than the searing wax or the leather lashes…
But it thrilled her so deeply.
“Do you, Sadira?”
“Yes,” she rasped, her voice husky with lust.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, master.”
He chuckled.  She felt his hand move across her back, to the site opposite his first piercing.  She went rigid as he carefully plucked another space of flesh—the anticipation of the bite was terrible and beautiful all at the same time, and she realized she was having trouble catching her breath.
Again, the needle bit deep, pierced through—she screamed again, a sound of lust and joy, as heat raced through her veins.
“Slowly, slowly,” he murmured, taking his time finding the next site to pierce.  The first two—like terrible, cruel pins through her flesh—throbbed and stung, and each new bright sensation heightened the bubbling, senseless feeling of joy beginning to rise in her, coursing through her loins to her limbs to her head.
“Oh, God, Bannon,” she whispered.
A third needle bit into her—this time her shout was twisted with a moan of pleasure, and she writhed again, trying to escape the stinging, burning wounds but all the same reveling in them.
Bannon laughed out loud.
“Amazing, Sadira.  I knew you would like it but I didn’t think you would be nearly so affected… you are truly a very twisted creature, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she agreed, happy to say anything for him now.  “Oh, God, how much longer with this last?”
“That is entirely up to you,” he replied, running his knuckles down the site of her wounds, sending agony through her as he rocked the needles in her flesh.  “I can easily mark your whole back, if you like—and your arms and legs, too.  It could take hours.  Would you like that, Sadira?”
She would—and yet she didn’t think she could stand it.  She shook her head wildly, and, as if to spite her, he sunk a fourth needle through another section of her flesh.
“Oh, God,” she muttered.  “Oh, God, Bannon, I can’t stand it—”
“You love it,” he hissed, almost cruelly.  “Do you know I saw men and women driven to climax by this?  Pushed right over the edge, quivering with ecstasy just from the pain of the needles.”
His hand trailed to a spot on the center of her back, a point derived by the trajectories of her previous piercings, the apex of a V arranged over her spine.
“Do you think you might be one of them?” he muttered, gently tickling her flesh, brushing his fingertips just barely against it.
“Oh, please—”
“I think you are close… which troubles me.  Here I would love to bring you to your full simply by setting these little needles into your flesh—I would love to see you reduced to a quivering orgasm from such delicious pain—but then what would become of my pleasure?”
He pinched her, teasing her, and she gasped—pain laced through each of her tiny injuries and sent a wave of blissful dizziness through her brain.  She was close—she knew it—she could feel it…
She prayed he couldn’t see it.
She sunk her head back, moaning with low, heavy pleasure.  Bannon’s fingers teased her flesh—and with one tiny, sweet, perfect motion, he slipped the last needle through her skin, sending her over the edge.
It was sudden and amazing: Sadira writhed, moaning as her climax built up and then broke over her, shivering through her limbs and sending fresh ache through her body.  It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced: everything was electrified, from fingertips to toes, shuddering and convulsing in intense ecstasy, pain and pleasure mingling like a sweet drug in her veins as she groaned, shameless, surrendering to it, supplicant to its glorious, wicked intensity.  Her eager sex—nearly untouched this whole time—gave an excited throb, and a surprising wet gush of fluid let go, squirting between her thighs, dripping down her legs.
“Oh, God!” she gasped.  “I’m sorry!”
Bannon laughed behind her.
“I thought that might happen,” he said cheerfully, stroking her slender side with one hand, brushing his fingers over the quivering site of her injuries with the other.  She hitched in a trembling gasp, pulling away from him, electrified with overwhelming sensitivity.
“No worries, sweet heart,” he murmured almost viciously against her ear.  “I know all about your twisted pleasures… I wanted it this way.”
“Uh?” she murmured, searching for him, trying to shake the scarf loose to look in his eyes.  He caught her by the chin, holding her still as he ran his tongue over her ear.
“I wanted it… exactly… like… this…” he whispered.
One by one, he plucked the stinging needles from her back; she muttered a sharp, tiny little cry as each sleek prick sent a fresh sting through her throbbing flesh.  When he was done, he pressed his own body against hers, kissing her neck, gently fondling her tender buttocks in his hands.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered.  His fingers slid between her legs, finding the dripping cleft of her sex, kneading it happily.  “I’m not mad.”
“You’re not?”
“No,” he murmured.  She felt him fumbling against her, undoing his own heavy belt and freeing his stiff, throbbing member from his breeches, rubbing it tenderly against the soft valley of her flesh.  “Because I’m still… not… done.”

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