"Hi, darling, are the drugs kicking in?"
You move me on the bed, the world spinning. I feel soft and warm, and everything keeps going even when you stop. Lights trail and shadows throb. My stomach might be doing flips, but I could just be really tensed up. Parsing out real and fake sensations is increasingly difficult.
Softness on my bound hands leaves me moaning, aching for more touch. I hear you laughing a little, and it sounds like sparkles look. I'm already so easy to play with. All you did was stroke my fingers.
"Sounds like they are." You trace down my body over my skin, enjoying every little twitch and clench of my muscles. Any sense of my usual restraint is fading, and my dignity won't be here much longer, either.
"Yeah..." Was that me? I sound so breathless and far away.
You come into my line of sight, and I gasp. Your face above mine, with a big Cheshire smile, is the only thing there is. I watch your hand reach out to me, and I flinch away. My mind's scrambled, I don't know why I did that. It doesn't matter, though. I'm not getting far. The rope only has so much slack.
"Oh, yeah, your pupils are blown," you purr, and all of you is so cat-like suddenly, I can almost see your tail curling against me. Not kittenish. Hungry teeth and claws. I think about my insides and how I'm an easy meal like this, and I kind of taste blood in my mouth, which makes my heart race and breath come in leaps.
"Fuck, please touch me." My voice cracks, I might cry, but I'm just desperate. "Want it so bad, please? Please, can I have it?" I can barely string the sentences together.
You love it. You lean over me, and I move towards you, immediately stopped by restraints. The resistance biting into my skin makes me ache even more, right down my spine. I feel like I'm melting and only my focus on how close you are to being inside me keeps me from coming apart.
You take some pity on me. "Lay your head back, baby, just think about this." You sink a hand between my thighs. Unashamed moaning, far too inebriated to even think of being embarrassed, gets pulled out of my throat. I'm bucking my hips, panting. Everything's hot. Maybe I am melting. Dripping sweat, groaning, I watch the lights dance behind my eyelids.
Please, please, please, over and over, it's all I can think. Eventually, I remember to say it out loud.
Your head throws back with laughter, harsh and bright, and it feels like fireworks inside me starting at my gut, going between my legs, up my spine, pop rocks between my ears. Colors shimmer in time to compete for my attention, but they're no match. Everything narrows to your face.
"Pathetic." Your grin reveals pointy teeth, and I want them in me. You only give me a lick over my chest, teasing me where I'm usually too sensitive to tolerate. Everything's fair game when I'm melting. The sounds I make leave you wishing you'd thought to record this whole thing.
"Want it bad," I mumble, wet with tears. I'm shaking, trying to press my legs together, fighting for a breath. You take your hands off, let me cool down, and I whine like a dog in the absence of sensation. It's too easy. I'm going to pieces, just there for the taking.
The bed shifts, my kinesthetic awareness firing off disproportionately like it's an earthquake. Something's in my hand, it's warm, it's wet, oh, it's you. You force my fingers into you, and I'm shortcircuiting.
Touch on my face turns out to be your hand, though the feeling builds and swells and shimmers, overlapping clamoring waves of feeling and color and texture. In my mouth, you pry my jaw open, finger my tongue. My eyes roll back. Wet heat in my hand, hand in my wet mouth, everything's collapsing in on me.
I'm grinding and clenching, choking. It feels so good, I can feel it in the heat in my core, between my thighs. I think about cumming, I think about passing out.
"- - here - - ?" There's a string of words before and after that, I think, I don't know. I look up, vision swimming, and I see your other hand raised to slap where I'm dripping onto the sheets. I try to nod, already moaning in anticipation of spectacular pain.
The slap lands, and everything inside and outside me is rattling bright lights and colors and pleasure, and I'm writhing and sobbing thank-you's and trying to chase your hand for more touch while I try to move my hand inside you to please you. You just watch me throb and cry, hazy with arousal and delight, making me come alive for you.
"You're doing so good for me," you sigh, and it's overkill, I'm already a mess. I'm gasping for air through tears. "You can take it, you can take some more."
Fervent nodding, incoherent sounds, I'm trying to beg for more any way I can. All I can do in the end to convey the need is strain towards you, hold my body open towards you. You hit me again and listen to me cry, and I feel like I'm holding up my end of the duet.
Long night ahead, but time all runs and weaves together and apart, anyway. It's however long you tell me it is.
