A light breeze from the open window brushes across my skin, ghost-hands stroking with gossamer touch. In this sticky, humid heat, the sweat on my skin dries and cools fast; goosebumps rise and my nipples tauten in silent request to be warmed between finger and thumb.
Heat from between my wide-spread thighs is given up quickly to the air, a splash of chill coats my labia. I shiver delicately, conscious of how exposed I am, how helpless, held down to the bench by thick leather straps.
Picturing myself from outside the heavy black hood that encloses my senses, I look like bait in a trap. Naked, sprawled, restrained; wrists cuffed above my head, ankles held wide and clasped high to a long metal bar. A tasty morsel pinned in place, waiting to be consumed.
She pinned a note to the strap across my waist before she stepped away. It says “Use Me” in cosy, fat letters; I know, because I wrote it, earlier in the day when we were planning our evening’s play, and beneath the hood, the same wicked grin that I wore then steals back across my face. Helpless, I say to myself, relishing the word, captive, exposed. Ready to be used.
She’s standing somewhere close by, perhaps musing over her open tool-case, perhaps hefting a chunky strap-on with a contemplative gleam in her dark eyes. There are others too, a handful of close playmates; friends with mutual benefits. They’ve come to enjoy me with their eyes and hands and mouths, choosing their fancy from the array of toys we laid out for them. Under her direction, they will take and give, fulfil our shared fantasy – and then we’ll all sit down to tea and cake in the kitchen; talk, laugh and enjoy a different form of togetherness as they make a fuss of me and I bask in their appreciation.
Here I am I say silently to them I’m ready to be used, I want to be sucked and filled and rubbed against. I can’t escape or struggle, so bring on your hot mouths and eager fingers, your thrusting and grabbing and grinding. I’m holding my breath in anticipation of that first touch, so, so ready.