‘stay quiet, love’

his tracing fingers glide downward, knowingly, a well traveled route on the map of her flesh, a living, breathing map he created, he her cartographer, charting and plotting, committing her to memory, creasing and folding in all the right places

mesmerized, his entirety is focused on her responsiveness to him; in an instant, goosebumps rise to meet his touch, a shivering ripple, a wave of eagerness summoned to her surface by the barely contained vibrations from his recent strumming with the canes and floggers, every hiss and buzz, each whack and thwack reverberating, she the oscillation to his thrumming

instinctively, her eyes close and her mouth falls open in a savoring exhale, as she’s reminded of the heavenly hum of the rope, of the way his nimble fingers wound the jute, ‘round and ’round, it’s prickly tightness setting her free

continuing the deliberate strums with his fingers, paired with an airy bass of whispers in her ears, he watches for her body to respond in chorus, reveling in his ability to pluck here or there and illicit the desired response

flooded with a wave after wave of arousal, she’s overwhelmed in him; it’s as if each individual goosebump forming is a silent scream, her body crying out to him, alive in him, begging for him

and all she can do, is whimper

– Shared in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie  Tale Weaver prompt, also shared as part of Masturbation Monday 141


Two As One

“Are you okay?,” he asks as he rests her back onto her knees, his finger lightly brushing a stray strand of hair from her face after setting the soft brown suede and thick purple floggers to the side. Listening for her answer, his finger continues its path down her cheek, it’s roughness quite gentle against her delicate skin, tracing the line of her jaw and traveling slowly downward along the length of her neck, stopping to dip into the crevice just behind her collarbone. With a pinch between his thumb and forefinger, he squeezes and caresses its length, beginning near her shoulder and ending at the circular reservoir at her throat.

“Yes, Sir,” she replies, but her voice is unsteady. Willing her eyes to keep his gaze, her body deceives her, unable to mask the swell of emotion within her….because there is no more mask. She can no longer hide from him. When she speaks, her eyes fall slightly from his, her ragged breath sounding almost like a whimper.

Continuing its trace downward, his finger grazes her skin like a well traveled route on the map of her flesh, leaving her skin only briefly as it makes its way over the rope. As it does, the slight pressure on the rope causes her to be acutely aware of its spiny texture pressing further into her skin. In an instant, goosebumps begin to form, a shivering ripple over her flesh, a reminder of those heavenly vibrations combined with his intimate touch as the rope was applied not long before, and only compounded by the recent floggy deliciousness on her back and bottom. Flooded with a tidal wave of arousal, it’s as if each individual goosebump is a silent scream, her body fiercely crying out to him. Begging for him. When she feels his finger begin circling inward around her entire breast to its center, giving her nipple an abrupt and firm pinch and tug, her whimper is clearly audible. Again, her eyes fall downward.

“No, there’s no being embarrassed, look at me,” he lovingly commands, tipping her chin upward with a finger underneath.

Kneeling before him, bound by him not only by rope, she cannot bear to look him in the eyes. Consumed with need, she’s overwhelmed in him, her body trembling and quaking. Never has she been in such a heightened state of arousal and responsiveness, so acutely aware of her existence as HIS, so profoundly yearning for him, waiting and anticipating what is to come. This feeling, it’s the most exposed she has ever felt, so much so that she’s almost embarrassed in her dire state of need for him. Her barest self, her surrendered soul calling out to him. Needing him and completely at his mercy.

But…her need is not a craving for release which has overcome her…it’s the need for more….more of him. She desperately needs to give him more of herself. And more and more, until he has taken all he wants and needs, until there’s nothing more of her to give. Until it feels as if he’s wholly consumed her, held wide open his chest and she’s crawled inside, exhausted in him. Two as one, the way they were meant to be.

At his request, her eyes obey, how could they not? She trusts him with all that she is. They tell him, he knows. And again, he begins….