Rachel Wants Me To Be Naughty

My senses are a firestorm of confusion. Everything is all delayed and caught up amongst itself in my mind and it is so hard, so unbelievably difficult, to pick any one thing out over the other. So hard that it's almost impossible to tell the timeline of things, to figure out which is happening in which order and when. Like all of the sensations have been jammed up in the queue of my mind and so they're caught and pressing in, delayed and disordered and entirely otu of my mind as I build and I build and I build and I crave and I crave.

I don't know what comes first.

"Naughty girl."

Those words of judgment, chastizing me, predicting the punishement or explaining it. Said with a smile but an edge of malice that delights in the wickedness of it and relishes it, frankly, that makes it feel good because frankly she is enjoying herself here and frankly she is fucking loving it, but that's besides the point.

Because the point is that I defied her, and that means that I deserve to be put in my place.

So the other half, the action that goes along with the words. The touch of silk wrapping around the wrist of my hand that is between my legs like the kiss of a lover and that cinches so tight it almost starts to hurt or it would if the fabric wasn't cool and maybe would have hurt even in spite of it if it wasn't for the fact that something else hurt instead.

The absence.

Brought on by the tug of that fabric dragging my hand out from between my thighs and making it so that I don't get to touch or be touched anymore. Roughly pulled away from me and pinned up above my head and then pulled a little bit more.

And fuck it all happens so quickly. A swish of fabric and the touch of a hand gripping me just tight enough that I can't break free. Not the wrist with the silk scarf wrapped around it but the other wrist instead, the one attached to the hand pinching at my left nipple but that gets undone as it too is pulled above my head and then another touch as the binding wraps around both of my wrists.

I gasp but she doesn't stop. I whimper out a protest and I kick my legs but a kiss of silk on my ankle and then on my other and I can't move there either. I'm pinned to the bed, headboard and foot of it. Legs spread and wrists pinned above my head and I feel the weight shift on the bed as she slides off and I finally open my eyes and beg.

"Please."

It's all I can manage to get out but she reads me perfectly and she shakes her head, slowly, just once.

"I want to know if you trust me."

She says, saying so much more with it. Her eyes locked into mine as she speaks volumes about what will come.

I catch glimpses, filling in the blanks for myself. Silk scarves and tickles and pleasure and pain and binding and blessings and I know that I do. I do trust her, with all of myself but more than anything with my body tonight.

"Implictly," I tell her.

"Good," she unveils another set of scarves and she steps closer to me, sliding up and slipping one into my mouth to gag me, "Then you're going to have to trust that you'll have to wait a little longer. And you're going to have to trust that it'll be worth the wait."

My words are muffled and I settle for a nod and a grunt of agreement as she pulls out another scarf.

"And you're going to have to trust that, when one sense has been dulled, all of the others get so much more intense."

Then she puts the blindfold over my face and ties it so tight all I see is the dark.

For a limited time you can join my Patreon for only $2 and get access to over a month's worth of new pages of My Second Chance as well as EIGHT FULL STORIES with a new one every month! Join here: https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert