Matt came back into the room. Without a word, he walked over to her, and in one fluid movement slipped an eye mask over her face. Plunged into sudden darkness, she gasped. She sat back, breathing hard, heart thumping, trying to ascertain what he was up to. She strained her ears for the movement of his body, but heard nothing. Was he watching her? The seconds stretched out. Her mind began to conjure images of what was happening, or going to happen. She became aware of scents in the air. Soft aromatics, warm and spicy and arousing. She was aware of the warmth of the room, and now she could hear him, moving quietly around the room. His movements stirred the air and she could feel it across her exposed skin. The fine hair on her forearms stood up. She was aware of the texture of the leather beneath her. She reflected that usually her own pleasure was a rushed process, hurried and ill-prepared. This imposed patience was just another layer added to the feelings now coming alive within her.
The seconds ticked by and still he made no move towards her. The anticipation was delicious, and she found that the initial tension raised by the deprivation of her sight was replaced with the tension of the how's and why's and what's. She was becoming aroused as her mind's eye continued to play out ever more explicit scenarios. Were there people watching, like she had fantasised during her practical? Perhaps Matt was getting himself off while he looked at her? She pictured her own pussy, her lips beginning to glisten. She felt like she could even perceive the folds of silky flesh within her parting and sliding. She found herself squirming in the seat. She was incredibly turned on, and still Matt had not even touched her. She loved to use her imagination while she masturbated, but again she thought about how rushed everything usually was. Now, she indulged it, letting each scenario build and take shape.
Finally, she could stand it no longer. Anticipation and patience were one thing but such was her desire to come she decided she couldn't wait. She moved her hand over her belly, her fingers seeking out her throbbing, pulsing clit. But just as her fingers reached the spot she longed to touch, strong hands seized her wrist. She gasped. Her wrist was moved back to her side, and swiftly restrained. A second later the other wrist was similarly held. Now she was deprived of both sight, and the use of her hands. This served to ramp the tension to another level. She had never been tied down before, though it was an idea she had used in her fantasies.
Claire expected that this change in mood would mark his beginning to touch her, but again he immediately stepped away. She was almost overwhelmed by now. There was a small amount of give in the bonds holding her wrists, but nowhere near enough to let her touch her swollen clitoris. She was on fire, desperate to feel something, anything. Her hips ground against the chair, and she tried crossing and uncrossing her legs, but to no avail.
"Touch me," she whispered. "Please".
"Touch me." This time the plea was louder, more insistent.
Finally, after she thought the anticipation would become too much, his strong hands held her ankles, and slid upwards. There was warm oil in his hands smelling of the same aromatics she had sensed before. Where he touched her skin, she tingled. His hands rubbed up over her thighs and hips, over her belly, then upwards and outwards towards her shoulders. Her hips had stopped moving, such was the delicious sensation his hands were delivering. Her skin tingled all over as he rubbed and massaged her arms, shoulders, neck, then smoothed his hands back over her tummy.
His hands slowed as they moved down her body. She was holding her breath as they crept lower and lower. Her legs parted as his thumbs moved over the tiny patch of hair between her legs. He very carefully parted her lips, letting the air play across her inner petals. Her mouth opened in a soundless gasp as the acute awareness of her body heightened the sensation. For the briefest of seconds, one delightful moment, the pad of his thumb barely grazed her clit. This time she cried out and moved her hips, trying to prolong the contact, but he was already gone. His hands never left her body, but slid up to trap a nipple each. He rolled them in his fingers, increasing the pressure slowly until she felt like bolts of electricity were shooting up and down her body.
Suddenly he stopped.
"NO!" she yelled. But again he stepped away from her and left her begging. She was just about to scream at him when all at once he returned. A hot tongue enveloped her clitoris at the same time his fingers parted her wet lips and slid inside her.
Behind the eye mask she saw bursts of light. His tongue felt serpentine, weaving over and around her clit as his fingers gently parted her pussy. In her state of sensory deprivation she could feel the contrast between the heat of his mouth and a channel of cooler air that drifted over her most intimate flesh. Every exquisite movement, each tiny manipulation felt amplified. She felt as though she could discern every bump on his tongue, every microscopic ridge on the pads of his fingers.
She strained against the bonds that held her wrists, longing to add her own touch to his. Her tummy felt hot and tight and she could sense the distant rumblings of what would soon consume her. She could perceive an avalanche of pleasure tumbling and roaring towards her. She moaned and panted as his fingers and tongue fell into rhythm, pumping and flicking, sliding and stroking.
