1. Other Colors -- Ch.16


    Date: 12/23/2014, Categories: BDSM, Author: mascodagama, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    seared as he unfastened my brassiere. He didn’t denude me straightaway. He lingered there, letting the lace straps dangle down my back, and sank his hands into the sharp hollow between my shoulder blades. In that moment, wondering what in Christ’s name he was going to do with me, the already subtle distinction between anticipation and terror was entirely arbitrary to me. My teeth chattered, even as he kissed me. And when he withdrew, he brought with him the entangled lacework of my little balconette. By reflex, I crossed my arms to cover myself. “No,” he said it once more, and clasped my wrists. He set them at my sides, and held them there, “You’re going to let me see every piece of you, Penny. And you are going to stand very still for me.” He released me, “ Venus de Milo… Te rappelles-tu?” Unable to invite our gaze. Unable to fend it off... I did remember. And frozen there, half-nude, half-humiliated, and still so turned on that it hurt a little not to be touching him, I wished to God that I'd opted for the more modest de’ Medici instead. But I did as he told me. I stood still. I kept my eyes closed. I could hear him breathing, and feel the pressure fluctuating in the air between us. I waited for him. He made me wait. And then, he made me wait longer. More than my lust for him, my blind obedience, or even my inborn desire to please, I think that patience was the depravity in me that he most often exploited. At last, so lightly that for a moment I thought I'd imagined it, he ...
    swept his hand along the bare and tender edge of my breast. My breath quickened. My body swayed. He touched me again, stroking almost as softly, but let his fingers draw a slow, invisible meridian across my nipples. Without meaning to, I moaned, and sensed a little shift in the gravitational field as my body stretched outward, giving itself over to him. “Keep still.” His scold was sharp. I flushed, straining to shut my eyes tighter. I knew he was setting me up for failure. He knew it too. He had to know. Wrestle as I might to remain still, my body was a literal clockwork of nervous and paroxysmal tics. I shivered when cold. I shuddered when fearful. My thighs, eyelids, and lower lip took turns fasciculating when he leered at me. Right then, I was struggling to suppress all three, and to keep truly still while he molested me seemed no less than a physiological impossibility. He put his hands on me again, and I knew immediately that he no longer intended to tease. I tensed, drawing every muscle I had into a motionless and isometric contraction. It its precision, I’d admit that his fondling was more mechanistic than sensual. He wasn’t exploring my body. He was operating it; every caress, with great malice aforethought, meant to arouse, madden, and bring me to my knees. I dug my nails into my thighs as he let his breath loose over my chest. He grazed my nipples again, and I nearly collapsed. “I won’t tell you again,” he caught me, and wrapped his hand around my throat. “Control ...
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