Rush

A Fuck Me Friday entry....

I'm nervous. My palms are sweaty, my wrists itching from rope tied a little too tight. The blindfold is caught up in my hair, which is tickling the back of my neck. I can't see a thing. My ears are picking up the smallest sounds; rustles from the curtain in the slight breeze at the window, the faint sounds of cars on a distant road, you as you pace up and down the room in front of me. At least, I think that you're pacing. I can hear your footsteps padding up and down, and my feet on the floor are picking up the vibrations as you put one foot in front of the other. As I can't see you, I have no idea really what you're doing, or what you're planning. And I'm nervous.

But I like it.

I'm dying a little inside with each minute that goes by, waiting for you to do something, I want to speak, but I know that if I do, you're just going to make me wait a little bit longer. I asked you what you were going to do and you blindfolded me and now you haven't spoken to me for five minutes and I'm biting my tongue trying not to say anything else. There was fire in your eyes when you tied the rope around my hands and your expression promised exciting things to come. You ran the tails of the whip up and down my bare arms until the goose bumps stood out from my shivering skin and I whimpered because I know what that whip is capable of, what it's done, what it wants. I know what you want, but you're making me wait.

The whip cracks and I jump from the sudden sound. Every nerve in my body is tingling, waiting for you to bring the whip down on me. I tense, trying to figure exactly where you're going to hit me.

Silence.

For a few minutes, I crouch, tensed, feeling the lactic acid build up in muscles which are waiting for you to strike them. I'm holding my breath because you're so quiet that I can't hear you over the sound of my breathing. You're standing, running the whip over in your hands. I can just about hear the leather creaking as you thumb it. I'm starting to feel lightheaded. My muscles are screaming from holding them in this position. I wonder if you plan to do anything. I let out a long, slow breath, my ears straining to hear if you've moved. A tiny rustle, nothing more. I breathe in, and my back loosens just a little bit.

You strike.

I yelp in pain, and surprise. The sting is sharp but brief, and as the warm, slow heat spreads out across my back from the impact point, I inwardly sigh with relief. I have missed you, and your whip, and this pleasure that somehow must be subjected in order to be enjoyed. My breathing resumes normality, and I gulp in deep lungfuls of air, previously unaware just how tightly I had been holding my breath. I pant, and feel my chest rise and fall, and I can imagine you standing over me, amused, stroking the whip against the palm of your hand, waiting for your next moment.

You crouch down next to me and whisper softly in my ear as I recover:

“You wouldn't want me to rush this, would you?”

Posted in: bdsm,fuckmefriday,writing