My last night has me thinking about amping it up and using the whole toolbox of sexuality vs. the old (and my cherished) philosophy of never using your whole hand when a finger will do. I still think that, deep down, the latter has the most impact – and when the former is withheld, it retains its impact and its power.
A pleasure denied is a pleasure savored, am I right?
Picture this: silk cuffs with a suede lining (LELO – gift from a dear client) wrapped around wrists taut with desire. Body squirming, hips bucking, back arched right off the crisp white sheets. Fingers running over flesh. Flesh becoming eager, becoming impatient, then holding impossibly still waiting for the next touch, and the next before lapsing into a writhing collection of desires for more hair, more kisses, more smooth skin, more touch.
Ah. Denied.
The blindfold: on. The finger: wetted, then drawn over lips hungry for a taste of the possibilities of the Other, that grantor and withholder of pleasure, the gatekeeper of desire. Silken hair draped over his face as I leaned in, tickling his ear with hot breath and whispering impossible dilemmas: I would remove my silkiest, most intimate articles of clothing, now that he couldn’t see…
Even through the blindfold I could see his face cross the threshold between broken desire and joy at having the promise of Tantalus held there for him, just barely out of reach.
Tags: bondage, moblog, sensuality, sessions