Not being able to see.
My heart pounding, my cock straining, and my body needing her touch.
Sometimes my excitement is such that I try to slip my restraints, but they are always too tight for me to break free.
Trying to escape is never tolerated. Maybe the nipple clamps will be tightened? Or maybe she will whip my back?
She likes me with my arms in the air, shackled to the ceiling. It keeps my torso taught, and gives her access to my arm pits.
Candle wax always feels hottest on my nipples. It stings. If I’ve been good, she lets it drip onto other places. It hurts, but my body says I want it.
I’m there to please her. It’s not about me. It’s about what she wants. It’s all about me.
Her hands are delicate, beautifully manicured and painted. They grip so tight: my hair, my throat, my cock.
Put to work, my mouth was made to please her. Her taste, her musk, her smell. Drinking her.
That feeling, that I belong here, gives me a sense of perfection. A moment that won’t ever end.
Endurance: she is always pleased by how much I can endure. The night is always long. Just a single word of approval, and my cock reaches for her.
To always be on the edge, never allowed to fall over until it pleases her.
Taking her into me, the sweating, the moaning, begging for it not to end.
But it does end. My released is a reward, a gift from her.
Bruises, cuts, scratches, welts. My body is simply her marked property. It always surprises me by how quickly it heals.
In the still of night, when I’m holding her in my arms, I know I’m never letting her go. I will give my life to keep her safe.
She is Houseguest.