Blindfolded

Blindfolded.

Music. Unobtrusive. A steady rise and fall of simple melody against a background hum of bass vibration. Steadying, comforting when focused on, but fading easily into the background.

A not-silence.

She takes a deep, slow breath.

Incense. Sandalwood, Rose. Layered over a much deeper, earthy scent. The aroma of a tropical greenhouse. Dripping water. Leaves, breathing. Falling, dying, rotting back into the earth to begin the cycle anew.

Another breath.

Laying on her back, a soft pillow mound under her head. A mattress cradling her hips. Another pillow under her knees. Comfortable.

She moves her arm. A blanket underneath her bare skin, luxuriously soft. Moving again, backwards and forwards, brushing over the softness. Studying it. Moving her hips, her legs — slowly. Focusing her whole mind of the single sensation across her skin. No other sensation. No breath of wind. Still air, perfectly warm and comfortable.

Except, now.

A faint draft, the click of a door. Footsteps, approaching. Stopping. Movement near her head and feet. Some of her hair, moved safely out of the way of kneeling legs.

Hands.

Four hands. Warm, dry, placed gently on her body and held still in greeting.

Hello. We are here.

She opens her eyes instinctively. Sees nothing but the black inside the blindfold. Closes them again. Holds still — small muscles in her limbs not tensed, exactly, but no longer relaxed.

A voice, above her.

“Take a deep breath.”

She does. Deep, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Two sounds, two sets of lungs drawing breath alongside her. She feels their exhalation across her skin.

Goosebumps.

“And another.”

“And again.”

Twice more, they breathe together.

Slowly, her limbs relax again.

A hand is placed on either side of her head, words spoken gently above her forehead.

“Your safeword is ‘Pineapple’. You may also say ‘Pause’ at any time and ask for what you want.”

She knew this. But it feels good to hear. To be reminded, there is an out. You are not trapped.

The hands lift. They leave behind small pools of cooling skin.

Movement, bustling. The hands, arranging something. Preparing.

Warm oil is poured across her chest and stomach. Her muscles flinch momentarily with surprise, but then she smiles. It tickles. She inhales the scent.

Almonds. Orange blossom. Cinnamon.

One pair of hands commences their journey across her body, spreading a warm sheen of oil in its wake. The other pair joins in.

They draw lazy, broad strokes across her skin. Intertwining, crossing paths but never touching. Taking their time. One pair journeys up to her shoulders, splitting and travelling down each arm and back up. The other pair circles around her breasts and rib cage, down to the stomach and back to the chest.

Both repeat the pattern, in sync.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She hums a sigh in the back of her throat and takes a deep, delicious breath.

The pair of hands near her shoulders takes this as an invitation to travel up to her face. Over her cheeks to tangle lightly in her hair. Fingers gently carding through long tresses. Fingertips sinking into her scalp and massaging firmly.

The other pair travels to her lower belly, pushing gently outwards towards the hips and pelvis. Circling up to the navel and back down. Brushing the top of her pubic mound and yet remaining above the high-water line.

Soon.

The hands in her hair return to her neck, fingertips expertly find knots and tension points among the vertebra. Digging in strongly, massaging insistent and firm. She moans at the good pain.

Splitting, the other pair of hands travels down each side of her hips, stroking down her thighs and back. Pausing briefly to cup and cradle her hips. Feel their roundness, their luscious weight.

A curving, living temple of Venus.

A pause.

Some secret signal exchanged.

Arms slide under her arms, lifting, pulling her into a lap. A soft pillow under her lower back, her upper back resting against a broad chest. Rising and falling gently. She turns her head to brush her cheek against a collarbone.

Warm skin.

She keeps her head turned, breathing in the scent of skin. Enjoying the sensation. Resting in it.

The other hands, stroking the outside of her thighs. Unhurriedly.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Eventually circling to their inside, feathering the sensitive skin.

Up and down.

Circling all the while to her centre.

Fingertips, brushing softly over her labia.

She breaths in and out quickly, turning her head into the warm chest. Tilting her pelvis up.

The brushing continues. Slowly, easily, in circles around her labia.

Avoiding all the important places.

She moves her hips, makes a small noise of demand.

Arms move behind her, encircling her chest. Holding her still.

Hands come to rest either side of each breast, cupping them. A mouth kisses her neck. Soft words brush against the sensitive skin of her ear lobe.

“Mmh… You like that, don’t you?”

She grins and nods.

Yes.

An answering smile from the lips at her ear.

“Then be a good girl and hold still. You’ll get more.”

Good girl.

The magic words. Her abdominal muscles flex and warmth pools between her legs.

She exhales softly, partly in frustration and partly in arousal.

Fingers start circling her nipples, ever so softly. She can barely feel the touch, except for a pulse of pleasure every other moment when the friction breaks through the lack of sensation. It is enticing and maddening.

Her breath starts coming faster and she arches her back slightly.

The hands inside her legs return to their journey around her centre, fingertips stroking, exploring.

A frown blooms on her face, forehead crinkled in attention turned inwards. Focusing intently on each sensation, tracing its line on her body’s canvas.

Lips brush her pubic mound. A soft kiss, followed by a lick.

She gasps in surprise. The arms around her torso tighten, hold her still.

The mouth lifts briefly, presumably to smile at her reaction.

Then it returns and goes to work.

Lips fasten over the soft wet folds and create a slight suction.

Start moving rhythmically, up slowly over her clitoris and down over the urethral opening.

Up and down.

Up and down.

She lets out a long moan. Her hands move automatically towards the source of pleasure, fingers tangling in soft hair. Gripping. Urging.

The arms around her shoulders move, hands capturing her wrists and bringing them back up. Hold them firmly in place.

“None of that. Lay still.”

The warm voice brushes her ear, then travels to her neck. Hungry kisses on warm skin. A tongue, tasting her. Teeth nibbling. A nose inhaling the scent just behind her ear.

She moans again, in protest or in pleasure.

Both.

Hands release her wrists and return their attention to her nipples, circling again. Still feathery light. Occasionally, a palm closes over her whole breast and weighs its weight. Squeezes lightly. Nipples rolled between fingertips.

Below, the mouth continues its work. Up and down, in steady rhythm. Building, climbing towards a peak. Merciless in its consistency.

Her head is thrown back, mouth open. Small noises are escaping her mouth now, a steady stream of Ohs and Ahs and begging sighs. Her helpless hands grip the biceps encircling her, desperate for something to do, to hold.

A warm hand, palm down, starts placing gentle pressure just above her public bone.

“Oh God!” she gasps. “Oh God, yes… please, please!”

Her hips are tilting rhythmically, riding the mouth that is pleasuring her. Moving in sync.

“Just like that! Oh fuck, oh God, don’t stop! Fuuuuuckk...” A long drawn-out plea for release.

The voice in her ear, in a low, throaty whisper.

“There’s a good girl. Lie there and take your cunt-licking like the good little girl you are. You love that, don’t you, having your pussy sucked. Don’t you? Hmm?”

Yes.

She moans affirmative, turning towards the voice. Her mouth open, hungry, seeking.

She feels two fingers slip over her bottom teeth and under her tongue, hooking down on and locking her jaw open.

“Oh, you want something in your mouth? Such a needy little girl, aren’t you? Do you want to suck Daddy’s fingers? Do you?”

She nods, pathetically.

Yes. Please.

“Then suck them.”

The hold releases, and she sucks on the fingers with desperate concentration, face in a furious frown. Making small needy noises while her hips rock backwards and forward, thrusting into the mouth sucking her cunt.

The pressure of the hand above her pubic bone increases.

A small shriek escapes her throat and she lets go of the fingers in her mouth with a plop.

“Fuuuuuckkkkkkk….!” she screams. Her hips lock rigid, thrusting upwards into the mouth. Her arms fight free with sudden desperate strength and grip the hair at her crotch in a deathgrip. Still. Stop. No more.

Oh God oh god ohgodohgodohGOD. Fuck!

Stomach muscles locked tense, head thrown back, mouth wide open.

Gasping against a locked throat. Eyes screwed tightly shut.

Slow, gasping breaths. Legs shuddering, nerves firing rapid flashing lightning down to her ankles.

Stomach muscles unclenching, fingers releasing grip on hair.

Sinking back into the warm embrace of chest and arms.

A sob, bubbling up from deep inside her. Another deep, gasping breath. Another sob.

Some tears, running into the fine hairs of the biceps against her cheek.

Another deep breath.

Muscles relaxing more. Unwinding.

Golden, restful bliss ripples outwards from her centre. Awareness drifts for a while.

Her clit tingles.

“Well done…” the voice whispers. “Such a good girl.”

She laughs out loud, but weakly. Wants to open her eyes, remembers the blindfold. Reaches to push it upwards.

Wrists captured, held. Again.

“No, we’re not done yet.” The voice, wicked smile.

She makes a small confused noise.

Not done?

“Now turn over on your stomach.”

~Fin~