1. Packing for the weekend


    Date: 10/11/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: MidnightTypist, Rating: 0, Source: LushStories

    tightened it. The cuffs were leather, with a soft lining, and you moaned gently as they were buckled and tightened around your wrists. Your breathing became hard and ragged, so I took a few minutes to kiss you and stroke your hair. After a few minutes you had calmed, so I helped you to your feet, gave you a hug and shackled your cuffed wrists to the spreader bar I had suspended from the new ceiling hook. You hadn't expected that. Once there, you were stuck, and it was easy to force your legs wide open as I cuffed your ankles to the second spreader bar. In the end you were left standing at the end of my bed, blindfolded, spread-eagled, moving this way and that as you tested your restraints. I took a moment to enjoy the view, circling you and noting the signs of arousal already visible through your clothes. You waited with bated breath, unsure what I would do. I took a certain amount of enjoyment from leaning in close to you, whispering "Hold still" and being rewarded with a shiver of fear and anticipation. I started at your ankles, methodically cutting my way up your trouser legs with the shears. The bar held your legs apart, despite your attempts to close them. It took a quick slap to the tender part of your inner thigh to remind you that if I wanted your legs open, you were to keep them open. Kneeling in front of you, I carefully cut through the waistband of those awful trousers and pulled them away, tearing the last few threads. The familiar wet patch was forming on the ...
    front of your thin cotton knickers and I could smell you, hot and exciting. I got hard in about a second, and for a moment thought of abandoning my plan and simply fucking you here and now. Then I shook myself and started to cut your baggy t-shirt. The way you shuffled back as far as your bonds would let you was adorable. If you don't want to suffer, my dear, you shouldn't endure me so delightfully. I come back to reality to find I'm holding the floggers. I ended up using both of them on you that day, both the big and the small one. I'd planned to simply cut your clothes from you, then tease you a bit but ended up spanking and flogging you red, exploring every inch of you with my hands and tongue, making you flinch with ice, surprising you with kisses, and with your vibrator... in the end we never did fuck that night. I simply wore you out, left your head spinning between the pain and the pleasure and the teasing and the anticipation and realisation. When I unbuckled you from your cuffs, you collapsed against me, burying your face in my neck, and I carefully carried you to bed. You had given me all you had, indulged my little sadistic streak and been left exhausted. It only seemed right to give something back, so I laid you down across the bed, gripped your wrists firmly, went down on my knees and gave you the orgasms you deserved. I consider the floggers before putting them back. I'm not sure what it is, but I'm not in the mood for using them. I might regret this later, but as ...
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