The pussy

As the top of your feather touches her labia, the naked blonde jumps in surprise. Or tries to, as the short chains stop her short. There is no way she could move away from your extended touch or close her legs to prevent you caressing her nether lips. You start slow, softly, almost with a gossamery touch, yet still you see her shake her head wildly, as if she fears the outcome of what you are doing here. Her body seems almost tense in fear or anticipation, her breathing is suppressed and shallow. You tilt your head and continue to aim at her pussy, finding delight in testing how many different options you have with a simple feather. Turns out: a lot! You can slightly touch her with the top, you can sway and saw back and forth and even penetrate her lips this way, you can waggle the feather to stimulate the whole region including the inner part of her thighs... there seems to be an amazing array of options.

As you progress your experiments, the tense resistance has turned into a soft moaning. You can see that both her nipples have hardened, and you are sure to spy some beads of slick juice along your feather. Which is, as you remember at this point, water-repellent. The moaning is stopped occasionally by soft whimpering. "No! No, please stop!", mouths the blindfolded blonde, shaking her head in frustration. Which, of course, just spurs you on to intensify your touches. The sounds from the people chatting around you have died down as everybody seems to watch intensely what you are doing. Meanwhile, you can't hide your own arousal at the sight of this naked and chained woman, who is slowly stimulated against her will. You are sure people could see the bulge in your soft pants, were they concentrating on you instead of watching the blonde on the cross.

Your feather now concentrates on the woman's clit, which prompts more moaning, and evidently sends shivers through her body. Her chest is heaving, her hands are hanging loose and lifeless in their restraints. She still tries to close her legs occasionally, which just challenges you to demonstrate her how helpless and exposed she is. You can see her hips gyrating and spasming, as she tries to somehow control her rising arousal. It suddenly occurs to you that she might be forbidden to climax, and that the feather **** is part of that torment, because while feathers on her breasts might stimulate her, they probably can't make her cum. Yet your relentless stimulation of her most intimite area seems to do the trick - something either she or whoever ordered her up maybe there didn't foresee. You briefly wonder if you should stop, but the tension of the moment is too strong. You are eager to find out if you can make her cum this way, so your feather continues to tickle, tease and softly massage her clit, her labia and her thighs - but mostly her clit.

Her pussy, her thighs and your feather are clearly moist and wet by now, and you grin, as the woman still struggles and fights your intruding touch, throwing her head back and forth, moving her hips helplessly, straining her body, while being ravaged at the same time by waves of growing pleasure which seem harder and harder to suppress. Her cries of protest have turned into moaning, babbling and whimper.

Then, out of nowhere, she cries wildly, throws her head back, and you can see her pussy spasming hard, as a climax grabs and overhwelms her. You own erection is throbbing in your pants as you watch the helpless and blindfolded blonde submitting to the orgasm that has gotten complete control of her body. Her whole body is slumped in her bonds, only held by the restraints and the chains, and she shudders a few times, before she finally can gasp for air again and slowly, slowly regains control. You take a quick look around if anybody storms at you angrily for making her cum this way, but all you can see are people staring intensely at the scene in front of them, quite a few women with open mouths and their hands touching their own pussies and one or two men massaging their erections under their trousers.

As you return the feather, you gather some looks of appraisal and respect. The blonde on the cross is still slumped in her bonds, looking exhausted, sweat dripping down her body, her blonde hair wet and ruffled.