Wet. Warm. Gentle. It's as if your thighs are competing with my tongue, betting on who could be wetter, warmer and burning stronger with desire and lo...ging. My hands start moving upwards from your tits, towards the buttons of your shirt. I unbutton your shirt, my fingertips touching your skin every now and then, sending shivers through your body every time they do. I slide your shoulders through the shirt, pulling it down and exposing your shoulders, your bra, and your stomach. My tongue starts. A spreader bar was attached to her ankles, her idea. She enjoyed the strappado and found it stylistically pleasing, the sense of helplessness was both thrilling and frightening, but she derived a perverse comfort from Conan’s attentiveness. He checked with her all the time to make sure there was not too much pressure on her arms. Yet he grew distracted and just plain weird. He’d muttered cryptically when they’d walked in it was ‘a very special anniversary’ but wouldn’t elaborate. He paddled her. More

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