I wanted to ask so many questions, not the least of which was, “and
then what?” I wanted to know why, I wanted to know his history, how he learned
he was into blindfolds, did it turn him on? But wait, maybe he’s not into them
like I am, maybe he wants to surprise me and this was his way of keeping a
secret. But if I let him put a blindfold on me he’s going to figure out really
quick that it did turn me on. All we’d done up until now was kissing and a
little groping in the car before he dropped me off at home. This was definitely
going to take things up several notches.
He was worried though, concerned about my reaction. This was important
enough to him that he asked me face to face. He cared how I felt, what I
thought of him and his desire. He wanted me to trust him. And he was still
waiting for me to answer.
I nodded and croaked, “OK.” I cleared my throat.
“Yes,” I said, this time with more confidence, “I think I would like
that,” I finished more shyly.
“Good,” he said with a quick nod.
He slid one large hand under both of mine and cradled my wrists with an
open hand. His other reached out for my cheek. His eyes were warm and relaxed
as he laid his hand against my face. I smiled and turned my mouth into his warm
palm, closing my eyes with a sigh.
He stood up abruptly, stepped behind me, and placed a firm hand on my
shoulder that I knew meant, stay. I heard him walk towards the back of
the apartment where his bedroom was, even though I hadn’t yet been invited to
visit his personal space.
He returned in less than a minute and stood behind the chair in which I
was sitting. I felt his hands on my head touching my hair, his fingers pulling
the long stray strands away from my face and tucking them behind my ears.
“I don’t want you to be afraid,” me murmured as he was petting my hair,
“or worried. I’ll make sure you’re safe. And I’ll help you.”
“Now close your eyes, my love,” he said briskly. I did.
I felt a cool cloth cover my eyes. I thought that it must be silk it
was so smooth, and it must be black too because the light from the candles was
gone. He moved it gently to be sure it was in the right place, and then I felt
the layers of fabric tighten around my head. He knotted it without fumbling and
without losing any tension.
He’s done this
before, I thought to myself, many times. I was impressed.
I relaxed a little tension that I didn’t know I was holding, and at the
same time felt a different excitement start to build. My breath rate increased
and a small moan escaped my lips. I was suddenly aware of my own arousal and I
wondered if he was pleased. I hoped so.
He must have reseated himself facing me because I felt him again take
both my hands in his own. He said nothing and I felt myself grow a little
self-conscious. Was he staring at me? What was he doing, I wondered.
His left hand now held both my wrists. I could pull them away if I
wanted to, but I think he was waiting to discover if I would let him be in
control. I didn’t move my hands.
His right hand again went to my cheek and I could feel his warm breath
on my face. He must be leaning in close, straddling my chair with his longer
legs.
“So beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, more to himself than to
me. I smiled in response knowing he was pleased.
I felt him touch the fabric of the blindfold and my breathing changed
again, my mouth opened slightly. He ran his fingertips along the length of the
folds across my face then back again. A single finger drew a line down my nose
and touched my lips and rested there. I kissed the fleshy pad of his finger
then tentatively touched it with the tip of my tongue. He responded with the
slightest pressure and I knew I had his permission for more.
He groaned quietly as I opened my mouth and took his finger onto my
tongue. I ran my tongue up the length and down the other side, then closed my
warm mouth around his finger and sucked it gently.
I don’t think he realized that his hand had tightened around my wrists,
focused as he was on my mouth.
He pulled his finger out of my mouth and drew wet lines with it on my
lips. I wanted more but he wouldn’t let me have it again.
He reached his right hand behind my neck and suddenly pulled me to him,
crushing his mouth over mine. His tongue probed, gently at first, but then deep
and searchingly, exploring every small curve and hollow. I responded in kind,
our mouths and tongues speaking for us of trust, arousal, need, and desire. I
wanted to touch him, to wrap my arms around him to pull the rest of his body
closer to mine. I wanted to feel every inch of him, but his left hand held my
wrists firmly, turning me on even more.
Then just as suddenly he was gone. I heard him moving to my right into
the living room. A few clicks and I figured out that he was putting on some
music. As the opening chords began I heard what sounded like curtains being
pulled. He was covering the big front picture window then, giving us privacy
from the street.
“Please stand,” he said quietly, “and come with me.” He led me facing
him, my left hand in his right, my right in his left, as he walked backwards
toward the living room. I was grateful for my bare feet as they gave me a
firmer sense of the floor beneath me. I felt the fringe of the area rug that
was centered under the dining table, the cool hardness of the hardwood floor,
and then the spongy softness of the wall-to-wall carpet. He stopped me in what
I guessed was about the middle of the room and turned me until I faced the
couch. I could hear the music coming from the speakers behind me, some sexy
slow dance from the 50’s, I think maybe it was in the movie Dirty Dancing. He
left me standing there, arms at my sides, and I heard a tiny creak as he sat on
the couch. A click, and I guessed that he’d turned on the table lamp next to
him.
Minutes passed and he said nothing. I could only assume that he was
watching me. I heard nothing, but because of that I had to believe that he
hadn’t moved from his seat on the couch. It made me a little nervous, and more
than a bit uncomfortable. My hands seemed to need something to do. I wanted
touch, sound, something, some sensation. I noticed that my hands seemed
to act on their own, searching the air within a few inches, then slipping into
the pockets of my denim skirt, then I touched my belly, my breasts, and with
one hand on my chest I took a deep breath then attempted to relax.
“It looks like you need something for those hands to do,” he said
unexpectedly, and I jumped a little. He was watching me, studying every
movement. I could hear a smile in his voice. “Why don’t you unbutton your
blouse,” he suggested.
I smiled back and started with the topmost button. One, two, and by the
third he’d told me to stop. I knew he could see my bra now, and the tops of my
full breasts. I could hear him coming toward me but he stopped at about arms
length away.
“Now put them behind your back.”
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