Simplicity
He wrote quite a bit about why he enjoys blindfolds.
Truth is, out of my varied toys and our varied experiences, the simple things are the most alluring. Geisha balls are simple in design, when compared to the many other things that He enjoys pushing inside my pussy: two linked silicone spheres, hollow, balls inside that rattle around during movement, and a loop to better tug them out with. But when he made me endure their torturous, sensuous torment all day, I could think of little else. Each time he told me to press my little egg vibrator against my panties, I would squirm and writhe anxiously, clenching on those geisha balls, but never stimulated enough to come close to orgasm. With the geisha balls inside my pussy, I was reminded every moment of His presence, His control over my body and my pleasure.
Blindfolds are not, perhaps, what one might consider a sex toy in the most specific sense of the word. Vibrators and ropes feel good, but the blindfold is at once exciting, frightening, anxious, and phenomenally sensual.
When He places a blindfold over my eyes, my senses heighten, tingling, sensing him close but achingly too far away for me to touch, to feel comforted. I don’t know what he will do to my body next. If he takes my hand, I follow hesitantly, sometimes stumbling, not knowing where he’s taking me. When he touches me, my body yearns towards him, the desire his embrace and his caress sometimes overcoming my desire to be obedient and still in my pose.
The worst - and best - part is that I can’t predict what he will do next.
Sometimes he pinches my nipples. I can’t see Him, but I know He’s smiling and confident, devastatingly satisfied as my nipples pearl and harden under his heated gaze, under his calloused fingers.
Or He might press something to my lips - candy, sweet chocolate, a slice of fruit - and I chew and swallow tremulously, knowing that he’s watching how my lips wet, watching my tongue flicker out to catch each sweet bit of juice and sweets.
When He moves about the room, I listen eagerly, my breathing shallow. I wonder what he is looking for in the toy bag to torture me with next, and my body quivers as I imagine all kinds of naughty, pleasurable things.
When He orders me to crawl into his lap, I know what’s coming next. He spanks my bottom hard, swatting it with his palm until heat floods through my flesh. Sometimes he will caress his hand over those spots, caressing the soreness away before he swings his hand back. I can hear that soft whisper of movement in his clothes, of his hand moving through the air - and I cry out, softly, increasingly louder, as he brings his palm down, again and again.
SMACK.
The sound is loud in the silence of the room. The only other noise comes from me as I plead and whimper and moan and cry out.
And humiliatingly, when he presses his fingers against my pussy, he will find it all too easy to slide one finger in, two fingers. I listen, trembling even more as he sucks the honey off, masculine pride in his ability to play my body like an instrument suffused in his limbs, in the way his other hand grasps my thigh gently, holding me in place.
There is much to be said for the simplest of toys.
