by Kendra Leigh
Suddenly, his voice startled me. He was closer than I’d imagined, his breath warm against my ear, his smell… exquisite. “How does that make you feel?”
Misreading the question, I nodded to let him know I was okay.
“No, Angel. Tell me how it makes you feel.” His voice was slightly harsher than before, more demanding.
I thought about what he wanted me to say, trying to tune in to the sensations I was feeling, but struggling. “Restricted,” I said finally.
“Anything else?” He’d shifted, his lips grazing the lobe of my other ear now.
“Dependent.”
“Think beyond the blindfold.”
My mind searched for the answer, and then after a beat I whispered, “Aware. I feel more aware.”
“Of what?”
“You.”
“What is it about me you’re more aware of?”
“How close you are… Your scent.”
“My scent? And what does it smell like?”
Hesitating, I scrambled for words to try and describe it, eventually arriving at, “You.”
I felt him smile briefly against my cheek and then he was gone. Sensing his gaze on me, I surmised that he’d shifted around front, and then I felt a slight tug. The belt on my black, silk robe which surrounded my waist was being gently pulled, not to release it, but to encourage me to step forward.
“Come with me,” he said suddenly.
Instinctively, I held out my hand for him to take.
“Do you trust me, Angelica?”
“Yes, of course,” I said without delay.
“Then trust that I won’t let you collide with anything, and I won’t let you fall. I’ll pull on the robe to gently guide you, but you must follow your instinct. Concentrate. Focus your attention on what you know of the layout of your home.”
My home. His words resonated within me, adding another layer to the blanket of assurance I needed to know that everything was going to be alright.
“You’ve walked from the lounge to the bedroom many times—that’s where we’re heading. Picture it. Listen to your natural reasoning and respond.”
Cautiously at first, I stepped forward, my hands outstretched in front of me as a tactual sensing aid to gauge space and obstacles, like the whiskers of a cat. I could sense the gentle pull of the belt around my waist, not enough to navigate me, but enough to give me the confidence to proceed. As advised, I pictured the corridor in my mind’s eye, passing the other bedrooms and the office as I moved. When I’d counted the right amount of rooms to pass, and was fairly certain I’d reached our bedroom, I stretched out my arm to feel for the opening, feeling pleased when my fingers came in contact with the doorjamb.
Halting, I waited for Ethan to assure me, to give me some indication that I was in the right place, but when he said nothing, I decided to trust what my instinct had told me and turned into the room. I walked confidently now, slow, careful strides until I was sure I was in the center of the room.
“Stop.” Ethan’s command halted me instantly. “Very good. Now I want you to focus again. What are you aware of now?”
“There are candles burning.” The answer came immediately, my senses suddenly acutely alert to something my subconscious was only vaguely aware of when I entered the room and for some reason had chosen to ignore.
“How do you know?”
“I can smell their scent. It’s my favorite.”
“What’s the scent?”
“Ylang-ylang, lavender, and lemon.”
“Good. Anything else?”
Concentrating hard, I used my senses to identify any further variations in the room. “The light is muted. As if it’s just the candles that are lighting the room.”
“Good,” he said again. “Okay. Something in the room is out of place. Take two steps forward—carefully, I don’t want you to bang your legs. Use your hands to feel for it. Identify it.”
As instructed, I stepped forward, my hands reaching out until they came into contact with soft, plush fabric. I followed the lines of the piece of furniture, my fingertips running smoothly along until they reached the chic curve of the scrolling arm. “It’s the chaise lounge,” I said with confidence.
The beautiful piece of furniture usually sat at an angle in the corner of the room. It was extravagantly covered in black luscious velvet with gorgeous antique feet.
“Excellent. Now turnaround and move so that you’re standing at the bottom of the chaise, your calves almost touching… then remove your robe.” His voice was gentle, but his words were a demand, and I crushed my thighs together, an instinctive response to the tightening muscles of my core.
Moving into position, I pulled down on the tie around my waist, the folds of silken material falling open.
“Let it drop to the floor.” The instruction came from in front of me. Ethan was close but not quite in touching distance.
I pushed the robe from my shoulders, stalling it in the crook of my arms before allowing it to fall gently to the floor. My ears caught the sound of a soft, almost inaudible gasp, which I was sure, under normal circumstances, I would have missed, but my senses were now wired and alert.
“You look exquisite, Cinders. The shoes are… remarkably seductive.”
The edge of my lip curled gently as I recalled how sexy the shoes had made me feel.
“Do they make you feel seductive?”
My God, was I so easy to read? I nodded.
“Strange how today they make you feel seductive, when only yesterday I would swear you were afraid of them.”
Oh! I was so easy for Ethan to read—that much was undeniable. He hadn’t missed my reaction to the shoes yesterday; he’d just opted not to broach it at the time. The curl in my lip smoothed into a straight line.
“Why is that?” he continued.
Unsure of what to say, I shook my head.
“Why, Angelica?” His tone was insistent.
“I told myself the fear was irrational,” I blurted, not really wanting to discuss the origin of my unreasonable antipathy toward red shoes.
“I see.” He paused for a beat. “So although only yesterday it was clear the shoes caused you significant anxiety and your compulsion was to avoid them, something persuaded you to reexamine. Today you were powerless to resist them. Your intrigue for how they might make you feel, too overwhelming to ignore. You listened to what your body and your mind was telling you. You reasoned that the fear was unfounded, senseless—you listened… and you became a seductress.”
Oh! I hadn’t quite thought of it like that, but yes, I supposed that’s exactly what had happened.
“It’s progress. A productive beginning to this evening’s lesson.”
My brow behind the blindfold furrowed, still uncertain of what the purpose of the lesson was, or whether it had even begun.
“Have you figured it out yet? Today’s learning objective?”
There he goes again, reading my mind.
I shook my head, a virtually undetectable movement.
Ethan sighed. “You’ll learn to focus on your senses. Specifically hearing, smell, taste, and touch, but with the exception, as you’ve probably guessed, of sight. You’ll experience physical sensations and examine how your mind interprets them—perception, appreciation, reaction—and whether your comprehension has value. You will recognize the difference between instinctive reaction and logical reaction. Without your sight, you’ll be forced to analyze the sensation for longer. You’ll learn not to rely solely on your initial or desired interpretation, but to look further than the surface, deeper than what is in front of you. To listen closely to what your body is trying to tell you, and hopefully—eventually—you will see things more clearly.”
Whoa! Deep!
“Do you understand, Angel?”
I wasn’t sure that I did. I nodded.
“Good. Sit down.”
Without pause, I sat down on the chaise, my knees and thighs together, my posture tense, reflecting my confusion and un
certainty. For some reason, the profound intensity of his words and his mood was troubling me.
“You need to relax. Shuffle forward so your ass is perched on the edge.” I swallowed hard and did as I was told. “I’m going to leave you for a few moments. I don’t want you to move. All you’ll have is your hearing. Be mindful of it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
After a few seconds, I heard him leave the room and then apart from the erratic beat of my heart, there seemed to be an endless silence. Eventually, I heard the soft padding of his bare feet and the vague sounds of rattling and something being placed on the floor. His footsteps retreated again and I waited, my mind examining the possibilities of what was to come. Despite the air of apprehension, I found it impossible to ignore the slow burning excitement that was stirring in the depths of my core.
Suddenly, there was the low tinkling of music, quiet at first then growing gradually louder. I recognized the beautiful tones of the choir arrangement instantly: Scala & Kolacny Brother’s “Every Breath You Take.” It was the piece played in the back of the Escalade when Ethan had made me touch myself. My lesson in controlling impulsive behavior which led to a lack of regard for my safety. I recalled how much I enjoyed the lesson.
Without warning, I seemed hyperaware of my body: the way my chest rose and fell as I breathed nervously in and out, the movement causing my nipples to graze against my bra, until the swollen buds protruded through the fine lace. I felt an overwhelming urge to part my legs and arch my back to press my aching sex against the seat beneath me, just a tiny bit of pressure to soothe the increasing throb. Instead, I fidgeted a little, the inadequacy of the action causing me to scrape my teeth over my lower lip in frustration. My sudden aroused state was unexpected and intense, similar to the way I felt when I watched Ethan’s gaze slide admiringly over my body.
“You’re aroused.” Ethan’s voice and obvious close proximity made me jump out of my skin. I gasped, my head snapping sharply in the direction it came from—a few feet, at most, in front of me.
I shook my head frantically in embarrassed denial.
“Yes you are.” He flicked my nipple, the sudden, sharp, erotic pain causing me to cry out in shocked but pleasurable surprise. “Yes you are, baby.” His breath was inches from my face. “Listen to what your body is telling you.”
I did. Despite my initial objection, my impulse to refute the accusation, he was right. I was incredibly aroused. Now, even more so.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m aroused.”
“Good. Now respond to your feelings.”
I froze, uncertain of what he wanted me to do.
“Respond, Angel.” His voice was velvet smooth, demanding, coaxing. “Your pussy aches, doesn’t it?”
I gasped, nodding. Hating—loving how well he knew me.
I responded. My knees separated, my feet inching apart to spread my thighs wide open, my fingers curling over the edge of the smooth velvet chaise. Arching my back, I began to roll my hips, grinding my sex against the fabric beneath me with as much pressure as I could administer. A soft groan of relief hissed through my parted lips as I found the friction I so desperately needed.
“That’s right, baby—you soothe that ache.” His voice was low and husky, evidence of his own increasing desire. I wanted him to touch me, realizing suddenly, that he hadn’t touched me once since he’d arrived home. “Was it the music that reminded you? Is that why you’re aroused?”
I nodded.
“What does it remind you of?”
“When you made me touch myself.”
“Yes,” he hissed. “And what was the lesson objective?”
“To learn to control impulsive behavior.”
“Yes. Action without forethought is imprudent, Angel.”
I nodded.
“Are you in control now?”
“Yes.” I breathed in deeply, attempting to regulate my wildly beating heart.
“Good. Very good. Now—spread your legs wider.”
What? Like that’s going to help my self-control.
He waited a beat and added, “Do you want to open your legs wider, baby?”
“Yes,” I answered without delay.
There was a pause as I felt his heat against my neck. “Then what are you waiting for?”
Scala’s “Blower’s Daughter” began to sift sweetly into the room as I shifted, extending the distance between my knees and feet until I was wide open for him to observe.
Suddenly, I felt something make contact with the inside of my ankle, the slightest, featherlike touch making its way deliberately slowly up the inside of my calf. As it progressed, the pressure increased, and as I focused on the cold, hard, smooth sensation, a picture began to form in my mind. The vision was that of knife, not the sharp edge, but the smooth flat surface of a blade journeying slowly up my inner thigh toward my yearning sex. I tensed instinctively, the sensation too foreign and indefinite for me to be certain of its intention.
The contact halted its leisurely trail immediately.
“Do you think there’s the remotest chance that I might hurt you, Angelica?” There was a hint of frustration in his voice.
“No, of course not.” Of course not!
“The image you created in your mind was indicative of danger, and although only mildly, you responded to it. Now you’ve employed reason, how do you want to respond?”
Oh! Okay.
My muscles suddenly loosened, my body visibly relaxing as I pushed my legs wider still and gently rolled my hips forward. Ethan sighed in appreciation and continued on his journey. By the time the blade approached the apex of my thighs, I was absurdly attuned to the sensation, my nerve endings prickling with the uncertainty of its destination. The blade suddenly shifted direction, moving to run alongside the edge of my panties and coming to an abrupt halt at the fine sliver of lace which attached the back of the thong to the tiny triangle of lace that was the front.
Suddenly, I heard a sound—a snip—and the fabric relaxed against my skin.
Did he just cut through my thong?
Before I had time to compute, the blade ran softly over my lower stomach, just above my pubic bone toward my other hip, the light tickling sensation causing an involuntary quiver.
Snip. Scissors—not a knife.
I gasped as the frail material collapsed to completely expose my now pulsing sex.
Ethan took a sharp breath inwards. “Oh Lord.” He paused, waiting to regain control of his faltering poise. “You have no idea how fucking beautiful you look right now. ‘I can’t take my eyes off you,’” he sang along to the words of the song. “How absurdly appropriate.”
My hips jolted forward reflexively, thrusting my soaking sex toward him in search of some relief. I could feel him close, his gaze burning into my hungry flesh.
“Ethan,” I cried out.
“Shh,” his voice was soothing. “I know, baby, I know. But you have to be patient.” He seemed to catch his breath again. “This is so hard… Your pussy is so dripping wet that you glisten in the candlelight.” I groaned because I knew that his face was only inches from me, and I mentally urged him to take me in his mouth. “Put your hands behind you on the seat and lean back. Don’t move forward an inch. Don’t try and reach out for me.” It wasn’t a request; it was a demand.
I responded instantly, desperate now to hurry this game—this lesson—so I could feel him inside me. As instructed, I lay in position, not daring to move, until finally, I felt the slightest almost imperceptible sense of something near me. A breeze—breath, it was his sweet, warm breath floating wondrously across my quivering clit. The tiniest fraction of an inch and there would be contact, and then the sudden sound of him inhaling deeply almost tipped me over the edge. A long, deep moan grated from my throat, an almost torturous plea for him to touch me. And then he was gone.
“No.” I shouted in protest, but he didn’t respond. “Ethan?”
“A second… please.” His voice came from somewhere off
to the edge of the room. I knew from his tone, his words, and his distance, that, like me, he was fighting to maintain his self-control. The thought was comforting and somehow seemed to facilitate in my own composure. Breathing deeply, I waited for him to return.
After a few moments, I felt him approach.
“Hold still.” He was back in control.
Suddenly, the blade was back, gliding purposefully up my abdomen toward the hollow between my breasts. I braced myself. Snip. As the cups of my bra fell away to expose my heavy aching breasts, I gasped again—this time in sheer disbelief.
“What?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I actually liked this underwear—a lot.”
“Mmm, me too. But the gifts of lingerie were for my indulgence. Not yours. Sorry.”
My lip curled at his matter-of-fact tone.
“Get rid of the bra,” he instructed.
My brow furrowed in question as to why he didn’t do it himself. “Why won’t you touch me?”
“Because if I do, I won’t be able to stop. Now get rid of the bra and lift up your ass so I can dispense with this scrap of material.”
I did as I was told, sliding the bra down my shoulders and discarding it to the side then tilting my pelvis to feel him tug away the thong.
“Now lie down. Your hands above your head.”
Reacting instantly, I lay with my arms stretched above, my legs open wide in a blatant display of utter, solicitous want. I felt brazen, and sexy, and not in the least bit inhibited. Ethan’s breath came in short, sharp gasps in communion with mine, and the scent of desire hung heavy in the air.
All of a sudden, I heard the sound of a button popping, the slow gliding of a zipper, and the swish of material as he worked his jeans past his hips and thighs. The image of his pulsing cock springing free from the confines of the denim had me thrusting my pelvis skyward. For a second, I wanted to reach down and touch myself, the burning rush of liquid desire becoming almost too difficult to control.
“Focus, Angel.”
I inhaled deeply, my senses on red alert for the next sound or movement. Somehow, I seemed to sense the shifting of light, as if a flickering candle had been passed in front of my eyes, the scent of a burning wick and melted candle wax wafting under my nose. And then without warning, a sharp stinging burn seemed to scorch my skin. The pain was localized to the trail leading from my navel down to my sex, and I cried out, jolting away from the sudden contact. It was gone in a second, the shock leaving me gasping in confusion.