Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Do I care?
I’m not averse to playing with women in a group, but I’m not inherently attracted to them. Regardless, a man is necessary to fulfill this fantasy. It’s all about learning to trust men.
I dig my fingers into the silk sheets, crumpling them in my fist, only to force myself not to remove the blindfold in a panic.
When the mattress dips, I realize whoever it is has taken a seat. It dips quite a bit, indicating someone heavy. So probably a man.
My pulse is galloping, and a sheen of sweat pops out on my forehead.
But then, something warm and large covers my breast. I suck in air and hold it in tight. When I realize a hand covers my entire breast, I know it has to be a man because I’m fairly full-chested. The fingers are long, and I sense strength as well as a delicate touch within.
The hand moves, turns, and then knuckles are running down the middle of my stomach. I continue to hold one large breath inside of me, wondering just how far down he’ll go.
When his knuckles graze over my mons, which are waxed bare, my hips rock slightly upward and the air comes rushing out of me.
He doesn’t say a word, though.
Doesn’t react to my reaction.
Just utter silence before his hand is gone.
The mattress shifts again, and I know he’s standing. The tapping of his footsteps resounds as he walks around the bed to the other side.
Then he threads my hand through a rope before something tightens on my wrist. He hoists my arm up and ties it securely to something above my head. It’s not painful, but it’s not comfortable either.
More tapping against hardwood, then he secures the other wrist.
I wait for my ankles, but they’re left alone.
There’s a sound I don’t recognize at first. A repetitive rasping… once, twice, and then it hits me.
A lighter.
My body tightens, and I strain to hear something else. Anything to give me an idea of where he is now and what he plans to do.
When the first bit of hot wax splashes on my nipple, I hiss in surprise before moaning from the slight sting of pain. It’s not bad at all, but then more hits my skin. A flashing burn on my breasts produces a slight sting, then a delicious throb is left in its wake.
I squirm, pull against the rope holding me in place, and start to undulate my hips as more wax drips across the center of my chest to my other breast to burn deliciously over my nipple.
I’ve never had this done to me before. Never once considered it. I love to be spanked and spanked hard. Love the combination of pain and pleasure.
And as the stranger pours wax onto my body, I wonder why I never wanted this. It feels incredible. Soon, I can’t distinguish between where the pain ends, and the pleasure begins. It swirls together, just as the tiny gasps and moans coming from my mouth do.
The trail of hot wax goes from my breasts down to my stomach. A slow, sweeping pattern left and right, hitting my ribs where I can feel the wax sliding down onto the sheet beneath me.
Lower yet to my belly button. Once again, I suck in a huge breath in anticipation as he gets closer to my pussy. I’m so attuned to what he’s doing, and I can tell he’s exercising some restraint. There’s no longer one long dribble of wax hitting me but instead, I feel individual drops hitting along my bare mons just to the left and right of my slit.
My legs spread, a silent invitation to burn me between my legs. I need it there. I think I’ll die without it there.
No more wax falls, and I cry out in what I think might be actual despair.
“Not there,” he says, knowing exactly what I need and denying me. My instinct is to curse at him, but I don’t. I remember his instructions. I’m not to speak. He’s in charge and it’s not about what I want, but about what he chooses to give me.
Right now, I’m completely at his mercy.
CHAPTER 3
Benjamin
I stare at the woman—@elencosti89—and, for the first time, I wonder what her name is. Not that I’ll ask. I’ve never asked for a woman’s name while at The Wicked Horse because it was irrelevant.
Still is irrelevant. But I do wonder.
She’s stunning. I can’t see her face because of the wide swath of silk covering it, but I don’t need to. I could tell from her picture she was beautiful, but her body is a work of art. It’s curved in all the right places, and her skin looks oh so soft. I knew the hot wax would be the right choice.
Those breasts are perfect, her brown nipples begging to be burned.