Play With Her by Zaira

I closed my eyes, my tongue running over my lips which feel oddly dry. I can hear her voice, so close... warming my ear. Her voice is pure erotic teasing, her tone, her laughter. She is complex. As complex as only a woman knows how to be as my eyelids flicker, she instructs me once more to keep them closed. I can feel though, though she only hovers around my ear, around my head. I can sense her hands close to mine, guiding mine as my nails trace along my arms at her word. “Scratch,” she whispers as I move my nails down my belly, pulling them sharply over my skin to leave a row of small white lines, which flush red almost instantly.

I move to the floor, on her words dropping my pants and stepping from them as I move. I am before her. I can feel her. My eyes are closed. She is in my ear, in my head. She is surrounding, controlling my senses. As I settle back, I feel my heels on my cheeks and the wood of the floor on my knees. It is uncomfortable.

Without looking, I reach to the small cup, removing a single ice cube I feel it already drip though my fingers.. my skin warm as it melts. “Move it, circle your nipples, make them hard.” Her voice swarms my senses as I breath in the arousal I feel, swallowing my excitement as the ice chills my skin, my nipple growing hard against my fingers as droplets run down my belly, leaving a chilling damp trail on my heated skin.

I moan. I can not help it.

As clamps are placed over my nipples, the small chain swings against my skin from them, butterflies dangling in pale pink. My eyes are closed, but my lips are parted as I whimper softly, almost like a breath as it escapes. The ice is directed to my mouth, I am to hold it and not drop it, until it melts.

Pegs follow, marking the circle of darkened skin around the clamp. My head spins. My thighs push wider and I forget how hard the floor is against my knees. “What do you sound like, when you climax?” she teases, flushes my cheeks as I struggle to respond in words. My thoughts are scattered, jumbled, they are hard to structure enough to answer in anything more than “yes Miss”.

As her instructions guide one hand lower, I feel my iced fingertips along my lips, teasing them, like she has teased me for ages. My body is shamefully eager. It has been so long since a voice has warmed my ear.

I flick the clamp, feeling a sharp, stinging pinch pull me back to earth for a moment before I simply float higher.

I can hear her breath, I can feel her around me.

Internet crashes.

She is gone.

Damn.