his hard chest, grateful for the security of his arm around me, even if it’s just an illusion, as his hands stroke my back soothingly.
After a moment, he reaches above us and catches a pair of leather cuffs that are dangling from a chain attached to the ceiling and wraps them around my wrists, shackling me with my arms over my head. I struggle slightly, panicked again, and Roman chuckles. He tugs another chain suspended next to the one with the cuffs, pulling me onto my tiptoes. He hops off the pedestal, nods to the photographer, and then walks away. I stare at his retreating back as tendrils of fear creep up my spine.
I stand there dangling, objectified, and mortified, my panties inexplicably growing wet as the photographer moves around me, snapping picture after picture. What the hell is wrong with me that panic and desire can swirl together so seamlessly, making me needy in a way I never imagined?
Then Roman is there, and I can’t help the swell of relief I feel when he joins me on the pedestal again.
“You are lovely when you’re vulnerable,” he says softly. He palms my breasts, and I inhale sharply at the feel of his hands on my body, singeing my skin with his touch. My nipples feel like hard diamonds, and he takes one between each thumb and forefinger, rolling them until I moan.
He pulls two small clamps joined by a thin silver chain from his pocket.
“Wh-what are those?”
“Nipple clamps.”
“I don’t want those!” I say with a hint of desperation. The chain clangs above me as I futilely try to move out of his reach, but I can’t with my arms imprisoned over my head. I can do nothing but hang there helplessly, my body available for whatever pain or pleasure Roman chooses to give.
“You agreed to these in the questionnaire you filled out,” he says mildly. “In fact, you agreed to the use of any and all toys.” His smile is voracious. “I’m looking forward to seeing a plug in your sweet little ass. Maybe one with a tail attached.”
He chuckles at my look of horror, taking advantage of my alarm to attach one of the clamps to my sensitive nipple.
“Ow!”
“Breathe, Ava,” he says softly, his hand stroking my back again. “Breathe through the pain, and it will turn to pleasure.”
I’m not so sure about that, particularly since he’s doing something to the clamp that’s making it even tighter. Fuck, it hurts! I suck in air until I grow accustomed to the pressure compressing my poor nipple. Apparently satisfied that I’m in sufficient pain, he cups my other breast, flicking the nipple hard enough to make me wince before applying the other clamp to it. He gives the chain a little tug that makes me gasp, and then he pulls the blindfold out of his pocket, and I’m once again thrown into darkness.
“Take more,” he orders the photographer. The onslaught of sensation threatens to overwhelm me as I stand there bound and utterly helpless, unable to see or move. The clamps are biting into the tender flesh of my nipples, shooting daggers of agony coupled with an odd craving straight to my core, and my body throbs rhythmically with my nipples as the photographer captures my anguish and ecstasy. Then Roman’s back, freeing my wrists from the cuffs over my head only to cuff them again behind me before lifting me off the pedestal.
He kisses me hard, his own arousal and need evident in the thrust of his tongue and the bruising demands of his lips, and I can feel myself start to unravel. He threads his fingers in my hair and tips my head back until my throat is exposed. With brusque instructions for me to stay still, he steps back abruptly and again orders the photographer to take more pictures.
I sense Roman’s presence near me even before his fingers begin untying the blindfold. He moves back into my field of vision, and the need that has been building in me all afternoon spills over like a volcano that has been simmering for centuries, finally unable to be contained any longer. I want
After a moment, he reaches above us and catches a pair of leather cuffs that are dangling from a chain attached to the ceiling and wraps them around my wrists, shackling me with my arms over my head. I struggle slightly, panicked again, and Roman chuckles. He tugs another chain suspended next to the one with the cuffs, pulling me onto my tiptoes. He hops off the pedestal, nods to the photographer, and then walks away. I stare at his retreating back as tendrils of fear creep up my spine.
I stand there dangling, objectified, and mortified, my panties inexplicably growing wet as the photographer moves around me, snapping picture after picture. What the hell is wrong with me that panic and desire can swirl together so seamlessly, making me needy in a way I never imagined?
Then Roman is there, and I can’t help the swell of relief I feel when he joins me on the pedestal again.
“You are lovely when you’re vulnerable,” he says softly. He palms my breasts, and I inhale sharply at the feel of his hands on my body, singeing my skin with his touch. My nipples feel like hard diamonds, and he takes one between each thumb and forefinger, rolling them until I moan.
He pulls two small clamps joined by a thin silver chain from his pocket.
“Wh-what are those?”
“Nipple clamps.”
“I don’t want those!” I say with a hint of desperation. The chain clangs above me as I futilely try to move out of his reach, but I can’t with my arms imprisoned over my head. I can do nothing but hang there helplessly, my body available for whatever pain or pleasure Roman chooses to give.
“You agreed to these in the questionnaire you filled out,” he says mildly. “In fact, you agreed to the use of any and all toys.” His smile is voracious. “I’m looking forward to seeing a plug in your sweet little ass. Maybe one with a tail attached.”
He chuckles at my look of horror, taking advantage of my alarm to attach one of the clamps to my sensitive nipple.
“Ow!”
“Breathe, Ava,” he says softly, his hand stroking my back again. “Breathe through the pain, and it will turn to pleasure.”
I’m not so sure about that, particularly since he’s doing something to the clamp that’s making it even tighter. Fuck, it hurts! I suck in air until I grow accustomed to the pressure compressing my poor nipple. Apparently satisfied that I’m in sufficient pain, he cups my other breast, flicking the nipple hard enough to make me wince before applying the other clamp to it. He gives the chain a little tug that makes me gasp, and then he pulls the blindfold out of his pocket, and I’m once again thrown into darkness.
“Take more,” he orders the photographer. The onslaught of sensation threatens to overwhelm me as I stand there bound and utterly helpless, unable to see or move. The clamps are biting into the tender flesh of my nipples, shooting daggers of agony coupled with an odd craving straight to my core, and my body throbs rhythmically with my nipples as the photographer captures my anguish and ecstasy. Then Roman’s back, freeing my wrists from the cuffs over my head only to cuff them again behind me before lifting me off the pedestal.
He kisses me hard, his own arousal and need evident in the thrust of his tongue and the bruising demands of his lips, and I can feel myself start to unravel. He threads his fingers in my hair and tips my head back until my throat is exposed. With brusque instructions for me to stay still, he steps back abruptly and again orders the photographer to take more pictures.
I sense Roman’s presence near me even before his fingers begin untying the blindfold. He moves back into my field of vision, and the need that has been building in me all afternoon spills over like a volcano that has been simmering for centuries, finally unable to be contained any longer. I want
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