(via cutecunts)
They aspired to be creatures of pure will, but their bodies betrayed them. His face would remain impassive, an unreadable mask, while the only tick that her’s would show was a concentrated quiver as she made her lust something internal, no outer trace.
But the rest of them wasn’t so easily cowed. He’d swell, and she’d stir. Twin points on her chest to match the growing bulge in his trousers. The effort on their faces was almost comical, and there was an urge to laugh that passed between them. Somehow they managed to survive without it. Her kneeling at his feet, him staring down at her. They would see how long they lasted. They needed to test themselves.
She squirmed. He shifted from foot to foot. A hand came out, cupping her chin, tilting it up to stare at him. He couldn’t resist the smile; the first crack in their absurd façade. She smiled back, and the cracks started to spread, a beautiful cobweb across the wind-shield of a pointless exercise.
Her eyes were supposed to stay on him. His eyes, in theory, would rest on hers. Neither could be sure who broke first, whether he went down to her chest, or she to his crotch, as they were both looking away when they should have caught one another out. They were both far too turned on to care. They fell into one another. She into him, him into her.
He pulled her up by the chin, just as she pulled him down by the waistband of his trousers. They met somewhere in the middle, where their lips brushed against one another. Only they didn’t brush; they surged.
Yum!
Bound and exposed. It seemed unfair, like it should be one or another. If she was going to have this ridiculous body stocking on, she should at least be afforded some dignity from it. But instead it just clung to her, forced her to feel each thread of the netting, while her skin breathed, an exhalation that drew attention to it, made him watch as each part of her performed for him. Nipples rose and fell. Her stomach undulated, an invitation. Legs brushed against one another, kindling more sparks for the fire. At least she could close her eyes. She was afforded that much.
“You ridiculous, depraved little thing.” He stood, wandering over to her on the bed, a finger bumping along the ridges in the fishnet, feeling her skin ripple underneath it. “You look absurd. You look like a teenage fantasy.”
She turned her head away, the sound surrendered from her lips halfway between a whimper and a moan. He found the thin sliver of metal the shot through her nipple and gripped it, starting to turn.
“The worst thing is you like it, don’t you? You enjoy the depravity, knowing that you a dressed for sex, that without your voice…” His other hand tapped against the ball gag. Emphasis. “Without your hands.” Now onto the binds at her wrists, his nail clinking against the metal. “And with all this…” That same palm ran down her body, rudely groping her free breast, before pushing down her stomach, between her legs. “On display, you’re just a hole that moans.”
She did, as if on cue. Emphasis. She squirmed, too, and he carried on twisting, pulling more sounds out of her like teeth. Loose teeth. Teeth that wanted to go. She gave them almost willingly. Without the almost. Fuck, she wanted him, right then.
Her body told him as much, pulsing against his palm, stirring against his fingers. But he wasn’t done toying with her just yet. He wanted the blush on her cheeks to burn.
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