It was Valentine’s Day: February 14. She knew that this night would be something which would test her — he had admitted as much for weeks — and just the anticipation of the “test” would make her wet.
At last, the candlelight dinner behind them, still dressed in their formal wear, he led her to the bedroom and helped her our of her heels before restraining her with the tethered cuffs they always kept attached to the bedposts. He touched her, he kissed her, he nibbled her, slowly heightening her arousal, not stopping until well after she was writhing upon the bed and pulling at the secure bonds…
Leaving her, leaving the room, he was clearly getting the final part of his plan, and while she lamented the lack of his gentle presence, she was eager to finally learn about this test. Yet when he returned with his laptop, she was perplexed.
“This is only the timer for your test,” he answered the question in your eyes, and she relaxed a little, watching as he moved the alarm clock and anime statuettes atop his dresser so he could set the laptop in their place. Only then did he open the dresser’s top drawer and bring tire escort out her favorite blindfold: the black leather blindfold lined with fake fur.
That calmed her, as did his loving eyes as he approached the bed once again. As she felt its familiar elastic strap being hooked around her head, as she felt its sensual fake fur against her closed eyelids, she lost herself again in the anticipation.
He touched her, he kissed her, he nibbled her, slowly heightening her arousal, not stopping until well after she was once again writhing upon the bed and pulling anew at the secure bonds…
He left the bed, doubtlessly to the laptop, and a moment later, she heard his fingers dancing upon the black keys. Then she heard it:
The sultry gasp of a woman nearing the brink of ecstasy, the same gasp he had recorded of her the night of their college graduation, the same gasp he had used for several years to alert him to an e-mail from her.
And then he returned to the bed, bending over her, a hand upon a breast.
Again, the same sultry gasp of a woman nearing the brink of torbalı escort ecstasy.
“Valentine’s Day,” he whispered. “February 14. And since I know you have an affinity for multiples of the number seven, I’m sure you’ll love this test.”
He kissed her as he fondled her breast and stroked her violet mane, and again, she heard the same sultry gasp of a woman nearing the brink of ecstasy. He continued, and again, the same gasp, and again, the same gasp.
And then she was gasping, somewhat breathless, trying to lift her head and seek out his lips once more, but to no avail. Instead, he continued to touch her, teasing her with his hands, never once trying to undress her somewhat to her lament.
Again, the same sultry gasp.
“You’re going to gasp in a very different way,” he said. “That gasp I recorded so long ago is set on a fourteen-second loop. Fourteen as in ‘seven times two.’ Fourteen as in Valentine’s Day.”
He moved from where he sat beside her upon the bed, and a moment later he was straddling her, practically sitting upon her waistline, his hands kneading üçyol escort her hard-tipped breasts. She wondered if he could feel her nipples through her bra and her dress.
Again, the gasp, and then suddenly his hands were upon her throat, tightening, squeezing. She longed for this, had long enjoyed giving him such precarious control of her ability to live, and felt her arousal grow even stronger. Time seemed to stand still as her breathing was shallowed by his large hands. She enjoyed the power he had over her in these moments, and wished that she could gaze up into his eyes to watch as he enjoyed her body’s instinctive distress.
Just as that instinct to struggle truly rose to the foreground of her consciousness, she heard that same sultry gasp of a woman nearing the brink of ecstasy, and his grip suddenly slackened. She could breathe normally again, and her lungs instinctively refilled rapidly. “That’s one,” he said, but did not explain any further.
She was about to ask his meaning when she heard that same sultry gasp once more, and his hands resumed their firm grip around her dainty neck. This time, her body was struggling sooner, and when she heard the gasp again, she found she could breathe anew.
“That’s two,” he said. “Twelve more.”
And when his hands tightened again, a smile was imprinted upon her lips and, underneath the dress, the crotch of her panty was definitely moist.