Chapter 16
Jules
When Sawyer said I’d be going into this experience blind, he meant it. The first thing that happens when I show up to the media barn is him appearing with a black cloth in his hands. He grins as he lifts it up for me to check out.
“May I?” he asks, asking permission. Always asking permission.
Oak is standing by the computers, tapping on the keys and double-checking all the cameras are working and ready to go. He glances over at me as I look down at the cloth before nodding, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.
“Of course,” I reply, nodding. “You’ve got me, right?”
Sawyer’s smile widens. “I’ve got you. At any point, if you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop right away. There will be no restraints. You can rescind consent at any point and I’ll stop.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this then.”
He wraps the cloth around my head, covering my eyes and obscuring my vision. The barest amount of light seeps around the edge of the blindfold, but otherwise, I can’t see anything at all.
I reach out my hand and his warm one envelopes mine, before he leads me toward the table I know is set up in the middle of the room. “Are we preparing for a feast?” I tease.
“I am,” he replies. Two words, but their meaning goes straight to my core and makes me so wet, I’m almost surprised by it. The words weren’t even arrogant or any sort of boastful. They were matter of fact, a hint of excitement in them.
He spins me and presses the back of my thighs against the table, letting me grab the edge and get adjusted before I sit up on it fully.
“We’re gonna leave the skirt on,” he says, “but if you’re comfortable with it, I’d like you to start topless.”
I nod and reach for my shirt, but his hands stop mine.
“Allow me,” he murmurs, his voice thicker than it had been before. “You can’t see.” His fingers trace the edge of my shirt, before slowly pulling it up and over my head.
“You can’t exactly see either,” I point out.
“Yes, but I’m used to it,” he replies, carefully removing the shirt, before reaching for the clasp of my bra. “Besides, undressing you is part of the fun.”
The cool air hits my bare breasts the moment he removes the bra and I feel my nipples pebble at the feeling. Sawyer hums deep in his throat before pressing me back with a hand on my chest until I scoot along the table. Once I’m far enough in the middle, he says, “lie down, beautiful.”
I do as he says, getting comfortable on the smooth wooden table. I hear the two of them, Sawyer and Oak, moving around the room, getting things in order.
“You all good?” Oak asks from beside me and I turn my head toward him.
“All good,” I reply. “Remember. Don’t get my face.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies. “The camera angles are all set up to avoid your face. If I accidently catch it, that part will be edited out and will wait on your approval.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Double V,” he rasps. “Sawyer is all about the sensations. You may be tapping out.”
His warning surprises me. Tapping out? I doubt I’ll be tapping out because of any sensation play.
“Recording in three . . . two . . . one,” Oak says, and I settle back against the table, waiting.
“We’re slaves to sensation,” Sawyer says, as if he has a whole script he’s following.
“The sensation of touch is one of the strongest. Take any of the senses away, and another will heighten. Take sight away, and touch will be that much stronger.” He moves closer, and I try my best not to tense, not exactly sure what we’re starting with.
The gentlest touch appears on my ankle, a tickle that slowly trails up my calves.
“A feather can feel like a hand.” It trails along my thighs, making them twitch against the feeling.
When he reaches the edge of the skirt, the tickle disappears for a few seconds before it reappears on my stomach.
“The lightest of touches becomes the loudest.”
He's not wrong. I’m so focused on the feather-light touch that I’m not breathing. The moment I realize I’m not, I take a deep breath, dragging in air I desperately need. The feather pauses at my breasts.
“May I?” he asks.
I should say no and keep my rule in place, but instead, I nod my head frantically and say, “yes,” no longer caring what part of me he touches as long as he doesn’t stop.
The feather continues again. When it reaches my breasts, I squirm against the feeling of it tracing my skin before circling my nipple. It disappears before I can squirm harder and I force myself to take deep even breaths.
I hear what sounds like a lighter and tense.
“Just a candle,” Sawyer says, moving closer. “Scent will be heightened.”
As he moves closer, the smell of vanilla fills my nose, stronger and brighter than any candle I’ve ever smelled. He sets it close by, letting the scent wash over me.
“Take away one sense, the rest heighten,” he repeats again. “Cold is that much colder.”
Wet chill suddenly touches my breast and I jerk in surprise as the ice cube moves along my skin there.
“Easy,” he coos, tracing it around my areola before touching it to my nipple.
My thighs clench violently as he talks me through it, stroking that ice cube along my skin, leaving trails of water where it touches. As it moves along my flesh, another sensation joins, that of something rough stroking along my ankle.
“Leather,” he muses as I still, trying to focus on it. As if to clarify, he lifts what must be a crop and gently taps it against my skin.
Oh. Oh! I shift on the table, trying my best not to run away from the sensations as they start to overwhelm me. The ice cube trails along my breast, and then suddenly, warmth envelopes my nipple. A mouth gently sucking there. The moan slips from my lips so suddenly, there’s no chance to hold it in.
He chuckles against my skin, pleased with my reaction. “So beautiful that sound,” he purrs, barely pausing his kiss. “So full of promise.”
Oak was right. I don’t know how long I can last with this, not because it’s overwhelming, but because all I can think about is getting this man inside me.
Desperation has me rubbing my thighs together, my wetness pooling so fast, I don’t know how to prolong it.
I’m hungry for him, and the more he touches me, the more that hunger grows until I’m frantically clawing at the table.
The crop trails along my thighs, reaching the edge of my skirt before tracing beneath it, stroking skin that I need touched. When it trails along my pussy beneath the skirt, I nearly come unglued, my back arching off the table.
“There she is,” Sawyer murmurs, trailing his lips along my stomach, chasing the path of the ice cube. “Raw, hungry for my touch, desperate for it.” He pauses long enough to, I assume, look at the cameras. “Are you touching yourselves, beauties? Are you imagining my lips on your skin?”
I groan when his hands move along my body, amplifying the sensations. “Please,” I breathe.
He chuckles. “Taste is also heightened when sight is gone,” he continues, shuffling around when his lips leave my skin. The ice cube disappears, but the crop continues to trace my pussy beneath the skirt.
I sense his approach before I feel it, his body warmth growing as he moves closer to my head.
When he presses something against my lips, I open without complaint.
The sharp burst of chocolate explodes in my mouth, somehow making my toes curl.
The moment I finish licking the chocolate icing from my lips, his are pressing against mine in a kiss that rocks me to the core.
He tastes that icing on my lips, taking it from me as his tongue sweeps inside my mouth.
My heels dig into the wooden table and it takes everything inside me not to wrap my arms around his neck and drag him over top of me.
“Please,” I croak against his lips, hungry for more, desperate for it. “I need you.”
His breath wooshes from his lips and he pulls back. “I promised a feast, beautiful.”
I’m not prepared for the way he moves to the bottom of the table, for the way his hands wrap around my ankles and start to trail up my legs.
His hands stroke my skin, along my tattoos, as if he’s memorizing every sensation.
Is this what it’s like for him every time? Is sex this good because he can’t see?
I can’t ask him because I’m too consumed with the feeling of him moving closer and closer to my pussy. When his hands reach my knees, he pulls them open, spreading me around his shoulders as he moves in between them. His hands wrap around my knees and he drags me down the table, spreading me wider.
He takes a deep breath, and I try my hardest not to clench up with self-consciousness.
“You smell fucking divine,” he rasps. “So goddamned sweet.”
His lips press against the inside of my knee and I nearly come undone with the single touch.
But nothing can prepare me for the feeling of him trailing down my inner thigh, kissing a path that he suddenly follows with ice again.
The ice trails down my thigh, driving me insane, before he presses it against my hot pussy without warning.
My back arches as I cry out, and before I can so much as complain, he presses it inside me.
“Good girl,” he moans.
It melts inside me, leaking out as my hot pussy turns it to water. Before it can grow hot again, he presses another inside, and then his lips seal around my opening.
I’m a strong bitch. I’ve dealt with all kinds of things.
I’ve done some questionable scenes for this work.
But never have I had someone so thoroughly play my body like an instrument.
The shaking is the first clue that I’ve lost this battle, but the orgasm that slams into me is the second.
I cry out, grasping at the table with surprised arousal as my pussy clenches beneath his lips.