Heather’s marriage is on the rocks and she knows it. Since she told her husband Mick that she craved domination in the bedroom, he’s been secretive and strange, spending his evenings away from home. All Heather’s expecting as a Valentine’s Day surprise is divorce papers.
He separated her folds and slicked his fingers in her juices, sliding them up and down her slit before pushing a finger into her opening. She knew she was wet already and blushed with embarrassment. What would he think of her wanton behavior and her reaction to this? Would he be disgusted by her obvious arousal at being tied down and forced to behave?
Her thoughts were pushed out of her mind when he started moving his hand. He slowly thrust in and out of her pussy with a single finger while resting his palm on her mound. When a second finger was added and rubbed her walls up against her pubic bone, Heather squirmed and felt her muscles starting to clench. The slow, circular rubbing drove her slowly toward an orgasm. She moved her hips in time with his fingers, trying to urge him to put just a little more pressure on her clit. She whined when he pulled his fingers out of her. He spread her wetness up to her nub and slowly glided a finger through her folds down to her puckered anus and back. The torturous slow, soft touch forced her to center all thought on those movements, those feelings. Every cell was centered on those fingers, those slippery digits sliding through her own cream. She could feel the release building. Her muscles tightened, legs quaked and she sucked in a breath. She needed a little more, just a little more. All too soon his hand lifted, leaving her aching.
She jumped slightly as warm breath and then a wet tongue flicked over a nipple, then cool air blew across her breast. She sighed as the same attention was paid to her other nipple. A small shift of the mattress told her something else was coming out of the box. She swallowed her question. Must keep quiet, can’t move.
Something soft and light caressed over her breast, circling around the nipple and continuing outward in ever-growing circles. She guessed it was a feather, and shivered.
He moved the feather over her breasts in small circles, flicking it over her nipples. She fought the urge to move, to beg him for something. She jumped when he moved to her belly, tickling down her sides and across her ribs. As he moved it along the insides of her arms she shook with another shiver.
Goosebumps rose and fell in the wake of his movements. He ran the feather down the crease between her thigh and slit, then up across her mound. Her skin tingled with each stroke, becoming more sensitive. She could almost guess where it would fall next as the air moved over her skin. Every nerve was focused on those light touches. She moaned deep in her throat as he moved the feather over her nipples and around her breasts again. Each pass was soft and light and torturous.
She tried to arch her back, inviting him to touch her more, and gasped at a stinging slap on her thigh. The smack hadn’t really hurt but it snapped her thoughts back to his direction before he’d put the headphones on her. It echoed through her head again—you are not to move. Heat enveloped her body. He really was taking control and there was nothing she could do about it.