Blind Submission: Tongue's Hungry Embrace

The taste of submission still clung to my lips, a bitter sweetness that mirrored the pleasure I’d just experienced. The rasp of the rope against my skin, the relentless pressure, the cold, slick lubricant – it all faded into a hazy memory as he gently removed the restraints. My body trembled, not entirely from exhaustion, but from the lingering echoes of his domination. He’d taken his time, savoring each moment, each touch, each penetration. The slow, deliberate rhythm of his thrusts had been a cruel dance, pushing me to the very edge of my endurance, then pulling back just as I thought I could no longer bear it.

He moved with a strange blend of tenderness and brutality, a predator enjoying the hunt, but also taking evident pleasure in my torment. The forced submission, the utter lack of control, had been intoxicating, stripping away any remaining shred of dignity and leaving me vulnerable, raw, and utterly at his mercy. As he lifted me from the ground, my muscles protesting with every movement, I realized the depth of my submission. It wasn’t just physical; it was mental, emotional, a complete surrender to his will.

The bath was surprisingly luxurious, filled with fragrant oils and warmed to a perfect temperature. The scent of lavender and sandalwood filled the air as he gently washed my hair, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who had just inflicted so much pain. It felt almost absurd, this transition from violent domination to tender care, but it was undeniably real. He worked slowly, meticulously, as if aware of the delicate balance he was navigating. There was an odd intimacy in the act, a shared experience of vulnerability that transcended the brutality of the encounter.

As he dried me, his hands lingered on my skin, tracing the contours of my body with a possessive gaze. The oil left a shimmering sheen on my skin, highlighting every curve and swell. He examined me with an unsettling intensity, as if cataloging my every imperfection, before turning his attention back to the bed. The sheets were cool against my skin, a welcome contrast to the heat of the encounter.

He laid me down carefully, adjusting my position until I was perfectly aligned. Then, he drew a silk sheet over me, tucking it in tightly around my body. The fabric felt cool and smooth against my skin, a small comfort in this strange, unsettling experience. He sat behind me, his weight heavy on my lower back, his presence a constant reminder of his control.

His hands began to massage my body, using a generous amount of the scented oil. The pressure was firm but not painful, designed to relax my muscles and heighten my sensitivity. The rhythm was slow and deliberate, a sensual exploration of my body. As he worked, he made soft, guttural sounds of pleasure, a primal expression of his own gratification.

He continued to massage me for what felt like an eternity, his hands moving slowly and deliberately over every inch of my skin. The scent of the oils filled the air, creating a heady, intoxicating atmosphere. My body began to relax, my muscles loosening, my breathing slowing. The tension that had been building up since the encounter began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of languid comfort.

As he finally finished, he leaned down and kissed my neck, his lips lingering against my skin. The sensation was both sensual and demanding, a clear assertion of his dominance. He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto mine, a silent challenge in his gaze.

Without a word, he rose from the bed and retrieved a small, silver flask from a nearby table. He unscrewed the cap and poured a generous amount of amber liquid onto a small, white towel. The liquid smelled of pine and spice, a potent aphrodisiac. He held the towel to my lips, forcing me to inhale its intoxicating fragrance.

As the scent filled my lungs, I felt a surge of heat, a tingling sensation spreading through my body. My inhibitions crumbled, replaced by an overwhelming desire. The pleasure was intense, almost unbearable, but I found myself craving more, wanting to lose myself completely in the moment.

He continued to indulge me, offering small doses of the liquid, each one intensifying the pleasure. The world around me dissolved into a haze of sensation, my senses overwhelmed by the combination of touch, scent, and taste. My body moved involuntarily, responding to his every touch, every command.

The act continued until we both collapsed on the bed, gasping for breath, our bodies slick with sweat. The feeling of utter exhaustion and profound satisfaction washed over me. It was a strange, unsettling experience, but one that I couldn’t deny. I had been violated, dominated, stripped of my dignity, and yet, in the midst of it all, I had found a twisted sense of pleasure. My predator had been sated, but the memory of his touch, his domination, would linger long after the encounter was over, a constant reminder of my submission and the intoxicating power he wielded. The taste of submission still clung to my lips, a bitter sweetness that would forever mark me as his captive.

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