The scrape of shoes on the tile floor echoed in the near-empty room.The scrape of shoes on the tile floor echoed in the near-empty room. I paused when I had my back turned, and after a moment ran my hands over the exposed parts of my buttocks where they bulged, compressed by the fiberglass carapace. I was feeling extremely sexy, and hoped I looked as seductive as I felt (I still wasn't sure about the back view). Goose flesh rose where I touched myself. I sensed him close behind me. He took my hands and held them by my sides, leaning over my shoulder to whisper in my ear, "Touching like that is my prerogative. Remember you are my property." He didn't want me to touch myself, although I could tell by the suppressed emotion in his voice that he was turned on by what I had done. I let him unlock the leather cuffs on my wrists. He relocked them to a ring set in the center of my back between my shoulder blades. He turned me around and kissed me deeply and tenderly, hands exploring my buttocks, the only exposed part of me that even remotely resembled an erogenous zone. I trembled; it had been only minutes since he'd had me on the edge of an orgasm. It takes me a long time to cool down when I am that close. I felt shaky, swollen, engorged, oversensitive, and tender--almost bruised--and frustrated. He sat back down. Still trying to sense his mood, I walked over to him and, with serious difficulty, tried to kneel on one knee in front of him. I ended up doing a clumsy curtsey and he had to catch me when I fell against him. He asked what it was I wanted, as if he didn't know. I thought to myself that the one thing I wanted was to have him inside of me. But he obviously knew that. |