Playing With Toys

There he was, spread on the sheets. The black leather at wrist and ankle contrasted with his pale skin. The red leather cord that bound his swollen member looked bright there, but matched the red ropes that stretched his limbs toward the corners of the bed. The blindfold and gag obscured most of his face, but the rest of him was bare to my touch.

I contemplated my plans for him as I moved around, getting out toys but mostly just making noise. He was listening, paying close attention, doing a good job of teasing himself with anticipation. His cock twitched when I tested the vibrator's battery by turning it on. That made me grin. So I made him wait, moved around some more, touched him where he wasn’t expecting it.

The way he arched into my hands, the moan into the gag, the turn of his head blindly toward me was pretty in the way that teased flesh is. I wanted more. I was hungry for it. I swept my hand down his belly, around the leather cords to squeeze a bit on that hard flesh. A thumbtip over the little sensitive circumcision scar made him lift his hips.

When they came down again, the vibrator was there, buzzing against that forbidden back door. Exit only today, but the way he grinds down against it hints he might be regretting that decision. No matter. The angle is wrong, and tease is all he can get.

I want more noises. Bells. I watch his hips thrust as I reach for the clamps. The silver bells at the ends jingle merrily for us, and he knows what they are by the sound. He moans for me again. It’s almost “please” muffled through the gag. I like the sound enough that I give him what he wants. He hisses around the gag as the clamps go on. Of course I play with them. They’re bells, bright and shiny and he makes such lovely sounds as I ring them.

I contemplate the other toys for a moment, letting him breathe, fuck the air, ride the vibrator. Will I use the clothespins next? Another vibe? Something softer? So many toys, but the best one is writhing bound on the bed. I can’t help myself. I straddle him, grab a handful of hair, pull his head to the side. I lick his cheek, his neck, his collarbone. And there I settle, seal lips over his skin, suck up a dark mark. The moans are mine, and I’m panting a bit when I kiss the bruise I’ve made then move up to chew on his ear ever so gently.

And then I breathe into it the truth between us. “Mine.” All mine.