My eyelids flutter uselessly behind the blindfold. But even without my sight, I know who is there. You are across from me, your silken black curls tangled over your perky breasts. Our hands are both tied well over our heads, taut, but not enough that we are straining. We smiled secretly at each other as the men tied us up. Belly to belly, breast to breast, we await their attention. As they circle us, each pocket in their cargo pants holding a new sensation, a different pain, and a deeper delight.
But the play between us will be as intense as anything they do to us. For with every touch they give us we will push together, a melding of our pain into the mutual pleasure of each other’s bodies. I feel your hardened nipples brush across my soft breasts, in tandem with your audible exhalation of breath. I wonder what was just done to you, but I do not wonder for long, because soon I feel the pinpricks rolling across my skin and dance under the neural-stimulation wheel myself.
Our legs brush, which is inevitable the way we are tied together. We were so helpful in this process, making sure we were going to be brushing against each other with every movement, knowing that would only heighten the pleasure. Now I almost wonder what we got ourselves into. The pin pricks tickle down my legs and I try to dance away from it, but I am brought up short by soft silky rope and the slight weight of you. I am full up against you now; I feel every inch of your body, from the softness of your breasts to the tickle of your inky pubic hair, pressed up against my close-shaved mound. Our silken legs meld together. I revel in the light womanly scent of you and breath deeply of it. I regain my balance slowly, liking the feel of you against me.
Afterward, as our bodies come apart, I feel a sharp sting against my nipples, and you echoing my soft squeal. The stinging flutters from breast to breast, sharp stings in a fan like shape. Our nipples become even tighter under their attention, blood-engorged rosebuds of sensation. We continue to make soft noises as the wheel continues to play over both of our bodies. Our breathing is becoming erratic, little sounds erupting without thought.
I wonder how I look to you. You asked to watch, rather than be blindfolded; now I envy you that demand, for I want to watch you. But the crowd surrounding us in the small loft frightened me, so I hid behind my blindfold. I can imagine what we look like to them though, my soft pale golden body, tied up so close to yours. Long tumbling auburn hair pulled into a messy knot so that they have free access to my back. Tied up so close to your black and white starkness. Your hair tickles across my chest again, because you just brushed your hair forward over your breasts, an inky cascade of impudence.
The stinging goes away from my breasts, but I hear your sharp inhalation. The wheel has stopped as well, and I feel fingernails scratching in one long stroke from ankle all the way to my wrist; I moan and lean into the hand, making the scratch just that much harder. A low rumble, like a purr, emanates from my throat. It ends on a sharp inhale as I feel a zillion little stings between my thighs, tapping from side to side, rapidly raising a whip-fire blush on my tender skin. The fingernails raise another four stripes of pleasure up my other side. I writhe, brushing up against you until the sensation fades, and then I rock back on my feet to take the weight off of my wrists and the hands on their braces. I can almost feel them as they turn their attention to you.
I hear a faint whistle and tense in expectation. Your body collides suddenly with mine and I hear only your strangled whimper. Obviously that noise was not aimed at me. I hear the whistle and strike again and empathize with a soft murmur. You have turned to where your hipbone caresses my clitoris, I moan softly as you thrust against me again. I hear the sharp sound of the crop hitting your skin. I await its kiss with a shiver. Your gasp echoes in my ears as I push against you shamelessly.
I do not have long to wait for the crop wielder to turn his attention to me; soon I hear another whistle and feel the sharp stripe of pain on my buttocks. I thought they were still concentrating on you! Caught completely off guard, I thrust against your hipbone now with the impetus of the crop. A gasp surges past my lips as I am caught between the pleasure of you and the pain from behind. I hear two crops flying through the air and we surge together, merging into one. The whistles and stings continue as we sink into another place together. The sensations bring us together, into a well where the pain brings us only pleasure. I hear your breathing become soft and deep and struggle to match your composure, but I am drowning in the pleasure. A cry is torn from my lips with the next fiery strike.
The quiet whistling of the crops has ended, but other sensations take their place. I feel the insistent brushing of light floggers over my shoulder blades. I do not know if the two men are working in concert or separately, but I feel like the floggers are just brushing me, light kisses of pain traveling slightly up and down my back. One of the floggers fades away, and the one left becomes more heavily handled. Its movement shifts just enough to wrap round and sting my nipple. I gasp and try to turn so that it is no longer exposed, but the whip merely catches the nipple on the other side which is now unprotected. My breathing has become even shorter; every breath is now an audible gasp.
As I rub closer to you, I feel the sting of a whip wrapping around your slender frame as well. I can not hide both of my sensitive breasts, but I do try, shifting from side to side. You are trying the same tricks. As we brush our breasts back and forth, the heat of their fullness and hardened rosettes of our nipples caress each other. We shudder against each other, but I wonder if that is from the flailing whip or from the way we are rubbing each other with every movement.
Every inch of my back feels like it is on fire. It is so sensitive that when one of the men fans his breath across it, I shudder. I feel soft cotton pants and a silky shirt brush up against me; my heightened senses hear his shallow breathing and smell his cologne. Warm, slightly callused hands trace swirls on my back, curling over to let the fingernail leave a trail of sharper sensation. I feel his breath caress my neck, him whispering to his friend how I feel on fire. His friend responding that you are as well.
His hands slide down to caress the fullness of my buttocks as his mouth whispers over the delicate skin of my neck. His hair falls forward in a silken cascade as his teeth lightly graze my tender skin. You arch toward me, your hipbone again rubbing my clit. I cry out as his teeth catch my skin in a sharp grip. I start thrusting against you again. This time when I collide with you there is a new element. The hand of the male on your side is between your legs, fondling your labia and clit as I thrust against you. I push myself onto his hand, and he starts to caress me as well.
The male behind me nips me several more times as he draws sharp fingernails up over my whip kissed back. I cry out again, sheer pleasure ripping through me. Just as I teeter on the edge of fulfillment, I hear the high whistle and feel the sting of the crop again. I scream out, yanked back from the edge. I whimper then, leaning my head towards the warmth of you, in front of me, looking for solace. I do not have long to wait. Your soft feminine lips seek mine. I kiss you back with another whimper as the crop burns another path across my flesh, and I feel the breeze of a heavy flogger and realize that it is being used on your slender back. Our mouths open, clever tongues twisting around each other, as we both moan under the newest onslaught.
I wish so much that I could caress you, but I know it is quite impossible right now, so I put all of my passion for you into my kiss. Sucking softly on your full bottom lip and raining kisses towards your ears. I gently suck on your earlobe, nipping at it. My body rocks between you and the dance of the heavier flogger that has replaced the crop. The men have set up a dedicated rhythm that drives us together at the same moment, our lips and bodies crush together every few seconds. Our moans and cries have a slightly desperate edge to them as we rush towards our release — and then the pain stops.
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