As with my other stories, this is written for a specific person, hence the first person with wannabe second person leanings.

You stand in the middle of the room, arms over your head. Rope cuffs bind your wrists together; the ends run through a hoop in the ceiling, keeping your arms straight, and pool on the floor behind you. There’s almost no give. Even with the extra height from the heels of the long tan boots you wear, your arms are already starting to ache. You are forced to stand as rigidly, your feet wide and your chest pushed out. Exactly how I want you.

But you can’t see any of this, not with the satin cloth I put over your eyes.

I’m sitting behind you, enjoying the view. My gaze starts low, at your feet. The boots hug the contours of your legs all the way to your knees. I continue upwards, over your trim thighs and rest on your naked backside. Your cheeks beg to be pulled apart, to be caressed. I can’t linger here, not without becoming distracted. Your pale back is arched slightly to minimise the strain in your arms. Your hair falls like a dark waterfall to the middle of your back, begging to be played with. I relish the thought of running my hands through it. Finally your head is held defiantly high.

I stand, smoothing my suit trousers over my growing bulge. You tense further as I approach. I allow a small smile before letting my fingertips lightly brush against your hips. You gasp at the contact. Goosebumps chase my fingers along your skin. With deliberate steps, I come to stand in front of you. My hand cups the curve of your hip.

To keep your balance, you have thrust your chest out. Your breasts point at me, demanding attention. I glide my hand from your hip upwards, sweeping across your belly and softly tracing the underside of a breast with my finger. The nipple stiffens. I withdraw, wanting this to last as long as I can.

I reach up, grabbing you by the elbows. My hands run down your arms and, when I come to your shoulders, I pull you to me. You stumble a little as you fight to keep your feet. I press our bodies together, wanting you to feel how excited I am.

Your lips part invitingly. I take hold of the back of your head and draw your face to mine, kissing you deeply. From there, I angle your head upward, lengthening your neck and kiss my way to your collarbone. Without needing to see you, I know you’re biting your lip. I give you a bite and stand away.

As quietly as I can, holding my breath and taking very slow steps, I move around you. You incline your head, trying to work out where I am. I manage to arrive behind you without betraying myself.

I slap your backside. Not painfully, but enough to turn the flesh red. You jump and give a surprised yelp. My erection jumps as well, straining against its confinement. I slap you again, on the other cheek. You’re expecting it this time and have braced yourself accordingly. I take a deep, exaggerated breath and lift my hand high as if I’m going to hit you hard: you can’t see me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not committed to the pantomime. You clench your ass, waiting for me to strike.

I bring my hand down swiftly, cutting through the air. An inch from you, I stop and faintly trace a fingertip along the sweep of your buttocks. You reward me with a little moan of relief. From there, I walk my hands up your arched back. With one hand, I take hold of your silky hair and guide your head back. With the other, I reach under your chin and hold you in place.

You move back, widening your stance to accommodate me behind you. My hardness pushes against you, exactly where I want it to be. I thrust my hips into you. The material covering me rubs along your moistening lips. The friction is enough to make you give a breathy moan. I push again and again, running my full length along you. I could have you now...

I force myself to regain control. I turn you in a half-circle and take hold of the dangling rope. The trailing end feeds slack into your bonds. You bring your arms in front of you protectively, trying to work the sensation back into them. But that’s not what I have in mind.

“Kneel.” My voice is commanding, very much in a way I’m not used to sounding. It sounds like a stranger. Regardless, you obey, your knees coming together between my feet. With the rope, I pull your arms over your head, once more leaving you at my mercy. You worry your lip in anticipation.

I unzip my fly. My unrestrained manhood springs out inches from your face. “Open your mouth.” You swallow as if biting back a comment. But you obey me. As soon as my tip passes between your lips, your tongue curls up and licks the beads of precum from me.

You dip your head as much as you can and, in long, flat strokes, lick the length my shaft. Your tongue circles the sensitive area at the base of the head, driving me wild. You take me in your mouth, sucking with abandon. I swell further and have to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth. Your mouth envelopes me, and you kneel straighter to take as much of me as you can.

Your head bobs back and forth, back and forth. Your hair spills over your shoulders and across your breasts. Some covers your face, but I won’t be denied this spectacle. I lift your hair up, revealing your slim shoulders and fantastic breasts. You continue what you’re doing.

A familiar pressure builds within me. I’m torn between coming in your mouth and needing to be inside you. With Herculean effort, I say “Stop.” You do but are unable to resist giving me one long last slow lick.

I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “On your feet.” You stand, your arms once more in front of you. I adjust the leash again until you are all but suspended by your cuffs. Only the tips of your boots is in contact with the floor.

I slide a hand to cup your mound. There is wetness there, enticing me. I lick one of my fingers and slowly run it between your folds. I push inside you and it’s as if I’ve released a flood. Your juices flow readily as your body responds to my touch. I curl my finger, searching for that sweet hidden spot.

Your sudden intake of breath tells me I’ve found it. I stroke you until your breathing becomes fast and shallow. My thumb presses lightly against the nub at the top of your sex, the small circular motion bringing you closer to the edge. Do I want to push you off?

I listen for your breathing to almost stop. Your orgasm is building, coming at us like a locomotive. I stroke and I rub, encouraging it. You moan, a long, low noise that starts in your throat. You want to give into the sensation and grind your hips against my palm.

Just as I’m sure you’re at the tipping point, I stop. I withdraw from you entirely, leaving you hanging. Your lip trembles; you want to ask for more but, even in this situation, you refuse to beg. Your knees shake and threaten to give out. I lick your sweetness from my fingers as I stare hungrily at your heaving chest.

Lightning quick, I grab your hips and position myself behind you, my member poised beneath you. “Are you ready?” I whisper.

You nod, turning your head to me. You want to look into my eyes, but I’m not taking the blindfold off.

I hold you absolutely still. “Tell me what you want.” My shaft quivers, wanting to be used. I won’t give into it until you give me what I want.

“I want you to fuck me.” Your words are soft and ragged.

I slap your backside. “What’s the magic word?” I can’t keep from smiling. I’m playing with you, and it’s exciting me.

“Please!” you moan loudly.

That’s all I need. I push myself into your velvety embrace. Through an open mouth, you grunt in satisfaction. You draw me in, filling you completely. It’s an exquisitely tight fit and I savour it as I sink my length into you. Slowly, so slowly, I go deeper, until at last you have me entirely. I can feel the pulse in your walls, your excitement from my earlier teasing. It drives me on.

With the same drawn out speed, I slide out until only my head rests inside you. I stand this way for a moment, holding you by the hips. When I think you’ve gotten used to the stillness, I piston home. Your scream is equal parts surprise and pleasure.

I hoist one of your legs around my waist so you are balanced on a single toe. The angle of my entry shifts, and with every thrust, I hammer against your most sensitive place.

Your screams become low moans. I feel your muscles contract and know you’re close. I pull out of you, spin you to face me and lift you from the floor. Your arms take some of the strain, but I’m strong enough to keep you where I want you.

You wrap your legs around me. I glide inside in one thrust. That’s all it takes: your orgasm washes over you and you unleash a long, almost silent, scream. My rod is grasped tightly, the waves of sensation passing through you into me.

You are still breathing heavily when my own release comes. I grab you tighter, pounding into you as it happens. Your mouth opens wide, but no sound save a short gasp escapes.

I let your legs down and take two steps back. I bump into the chair I watched you from earlier. I drop into it, absently stuffing myself back into my trousers. You lift your face in my direction, the blindfold still in place. “Are you going to let me down or what?”

I open my mouth to answer, but see of a trail of cum running down your leg. I thought my hardness had been spent, but the sight of our juices flowing from you together is enough to reawaken it. Instead of answering, I cross to you, cup the side of your face and kiss you passionately.

I’m hard again by the time I spin you around to face away from me.