Weekend Wake-up Call – Netherworld II: Blood Potion No. 9

 Tristan’s tongue probed my mouth, claiming all he tasted as his.  The blatant exploration left me breathless and wet.  His hands squeezed my breasts as if testing for ripeness, slid firmly down my ribcage to cup my hips.  One hand roamed to my mound, his long fingers checking for wetness in the crevice.  He found a deluge there, and he took a moment to spread the moisture over my clit.  I jerked in response as a spark lit from his fingers to enflame my pussy.  Then his hands moved back up my body to pinch my nipples hard, sending another lightning zing through my nether regions.    He broke from the kiss and swallowed my gaze with his.  My voice very breathy, I said, “Good argument, Sir.  I’m definitely coming around to your point of view.”
Tristan’s face lit with delight.  “Then let me make a few more points while I have your attention.”
Oh boy.  This was so my kind of debate.
Tristan’s tie was suddenly around his neck again.  I couldn’t help but giggle to see him wearing nothing but the splash of silk red.  He grinned like the devil himself and pulled the tie off.  He held his hand out to me.  “Wrists.”
Oh goodie, goodie.  Bondage always suits me just fine, thanks.  I wasted no time putting my wrists in that outstretched hand.
Tristan bound them at one end of the tie.  The other end he secured at the headboard, giving me no slack to play with.  With my arms stretched over my head, my breasts lifted like twin offerings.   Tristan smacked my inner thighs lightly.  “Spread ‘em.”
I did so, bending my knees to tilt my pelvis up and open me wide for his pleasure.  He looked me up and down, his expression stern but pleased.  “Good girl,” he praised.  “Stay absolutely still in that position.  No coming without permission.”
“Yes, Sir.”  Tristan loved having complete control, and I loved giving it to him, even though he’d torment me mercilessly.
He started with my breasts. He cupped them both gently, testing their weight in his long-fingered hands.  Then he stroked slowly all around, raising gooseflesh on my skin with his light touch.  Caressing me so sweetly, like an art aficionado appreciating a Michelangelo sculpture.  
His hands closed over the twin orbs, and he squeezed just hard enough to approach pain without quite causing it.  Electric pleasure flashed from my breasts to my clit.  I fought not to squirm in reaction.  My lips parted as my remembered breath came fast.  
Tristan kept his gaze on my chest.  He traced the edges of my areolas with manicured fingernails.  I bit back a moan to feel how they scraped.  Then his forefingers and thumbs seized the pebbled tips of my nipples.  He pinched down slowly, applying more and more pressure.  Heat grew to burning there, and then slivers of pain came.  I hissed but offered no complaint.  My breasts were his to play with, to torture if he so desired, as was all my body.  He pinched harder, and I shuddered as the pain and arousal doubled.  
The pressure eased, and Tristan rubbed the swelling red nubs with gentle thumbs.  He lifted his gaze to mine for just an instant to smile his approval at me.  I’d done well.  Then he went back to eyeing my breasts, his eyes dark, his expression hungry.
He lowered his face to the left one, his tongue flicking out to swirl around and around like soft velvet.  The gentle caress eased the still lingering ache, and I sighed with contentment.  Tristan at his kindest was a tender lover.  At his worst, he’s incredibly cruel.  I like him both ways, especially when he mixes it up.  He was about to make me a very happy girl.
His mouth latched onto my breast, sucking it deep into his mouth, rubbing that glorious tongue all over.  A moment later, he bit down, his teeth digging into the soft flesh until stabs of pain mixed headily with soft delight.  My pussy gushed a warm flood.  I arched a little, forgetting myself for about half a second before I remembered I was to be still.  I made myself go limp with acceptance once more.
Tristan licked and sucked and nipped the one breast while caressing and squeezing and pinching the other with his hand.  Pain alternated with bliss until I didn’t know one from the other, and they combined into one incredible sensation.  I felt as if I floated on the bed, acquiescing equally to torture and reward as if they were no different from each other.  For me, they weren’t.
Tristan sucked hard on the nipple he’d been mouthing so delightfully, making the tip a scarlet red point.  “Clamp it,” he ordered.
Like the clothing I affected, I conjured a tweezer clip to appear on the distended nub, the kind Tristan likes best on me.  He tightened it until I whimpered, the bright pain too much to keep silent about.  Then his mouth went to work on my other breast until it too was inflamed from his attentions.  At his command, I provided a clamp for that one as well, which he adjusted until I squirmed.
Red-hot and engorged, my nipples throbbed with my returned pulse.  Tristan spent a long time playing with those sensitive tips, making me shudder and enjoying his mastery.  His pinches and nips finally forced the words, “Please, Sir!” from my lips.
Another tie appeared at his neck, and he used it to gag me.  With my vulnerability increased to the nth degree, I was already desperate for climax.  And he had only played with my breasts.
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