“How is it,” He asked, as I trailed my fingers over the silk scarf’s smooth surface, “that you once wore eighteen piercings as a badge of rebellion but hesitate at the thought of a single needle now?”
The question lingered, hanging between us like a taut thread, as I pressed my ear against his chest. Beneath me, his breathing was steady, his heart an unbroken rhythm, calm in the face of my control. We lay sprawled on the polished wooden floor, its cool firmness grounding us, amplifying every sensation.
“It’s not the same, Adam,” I murmured, my nails dragging lazily across his chiseled chest. His pale skin, porcelain in its perfection, yielded to my touch, the faint red trails rising like whispered confessions beneath my fingertips.
“Elaborate,” he said, his voice low, tinged with curiosity.
I smirked, savoring the moment as I adjusted the silk Hermes scarf I’d tied around his head—a gift he had given me, now transformed into a tool of restraint. It covered his eyes, his breath, his thoughts, locking him in a space where he belonged entirely to me.
“Skin,” I began, my voice a whisper, “has layers. Piercings are merely superficial. But this—” My hand dipped lower, grazing his abdomen, “—this reaches deeper.” My gaze flickered to his hands, bound firmly with my nylons to the headboard. Vulnerable. Helpless. Perfect.
How could someone so young, so exquisite, exist in this world? His beauty was infuriatingly effortless, every feature crafted as if by divine indulgence. Though I couldn’t see his sapphire eyes beneath the scarf, I felt their phantom pull, their power as intimate as a memory. Light eyes reveal so much, I thought. And once revealed, they are mine.
I let my nails trail further, slipping beneath his waistband. His breath hitched, his chest rising just enough for me to notice.
“A needle here?” I whispered, my words brushing against his skin like a feather. His heart betrayed him then, its rhythm quickening, pounding in my ear like an eager confession.
“Yes, Master,” he murmured, his voice trembling with restrained need.
I stroked slowly, deliberately, savoring the way his body responded to my touch, how easily he surrendered. The sheer power of it made me smirk. So few men ever experience the joy of yielding, of laying down their armor and offering themselves completely. Fewer still could inspire such a moment of surrender in me.
My fingers traced the outline of him, firm and unyielding, a testament to nature’s favor. “If you were ‘whole,’” I murmured, teasing the skin just beneath, “this would hurt more.”
Though the scarf hid his lips, I knew he was smiling—a sly, knowing curve that made my own pulse race.
“How’s Bubbe?” I asked. He chuckled, the sound breaking the tension with an intimate levity that was all Adam.
“She’s happy I’m not ‘whole,’” He replied as my nails skimmed along his length. His body twitched, responding to the featherlight touch, every nerve at my mercy.
But I lingered, unable to ignore the truth of him. The sheer size of his endowment was almost unfair, a gift so few possessed, a mark of nature’s blatant favoritism. Others could only dream of such magnitude, of the way it filled my hand like a weapon—powerful, commanding, undeniable.
I leaned closer, my breath brushing against his skin as my hand wrapped more firmly around him. “Other men,” I murmured, my voice laced with sultry amusement, “will never know what it feels like to carry such a weapon. But you, Adam, are no ordinary man.”
He exhaled a soft moan, his body arching ever so slightly beneath me, and I couldn’t help but grin. Nature, I thought again, has favorites. And tonight, I’m holding mine.
With a deliberate slowness, I reached up and pulled a needle-styled hairpin from my tightly coiled hair, the kind I’d chosen precisely for moments like these—for lovers who craved the sharp edge of danger. My hair spilled down in loose waves, cascading over my shoulders, a rare sight. Letting my hair down felt akin to letting my guard down, a vulnerability I avoided. Most days, I wore it like a crown, a mark of authority, of control.
Straddling him, my knees pressed firmly on either side of his hips, I let the sharp tip of the pin trail along his cheek, the metal glinting in the dim light. His body tensed beneath me, recognition flashing across his features. He knew exactly what it was—sharp enough to graze, dangerous enough to inflict pain if I chose to.
“Adam will endure because it pleases his Master,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation. He nodded, a touch too eagerly, his excitement barely contained.
I smirked, the corners of my lips curling as I tugged his pants down to his ankles in one fluid motion, revealing him entirely. As expected, there was nothing underneath. We’d only just woken, the remnants of last night’s wine still lingering faintly on my tongue, though mercifully without the headache. Adam had received thoughtful gifts for the holidays, but the good wine had been for me—a decadent indulgence, much like him.
With his length now freed, I paused to admire what I already knew: nature’s unrestrained generosity, carved into the very fabric of him. My body betrayed me, a flush of heat spreading as my desire clawed its way to the surface, insistent and demanding. Only Adam had ever elicited this kind of hunger, this restless ache. I shifted, subtly adjusting to hide the extent of my arousal.
“They should not have cut you so young,” I murmured, letting my nails trace his length with a teasing, deliberate pressure. His breath hitched, the room growing heavier with tension.
Without warning, I turned, straddling him now with my back to his face. The hairpin replaced the path my nails had taken moments ago, its sharp tip grazing his skin with an edge that promised both pain and pleasure.
“Stop moving,” I commanded, catching the slight shift of his legs as he instinctively tried to part them. My tone was firm, laced with authority, and he obeyed immediately.
The air thickened as I pressed the hairpin deeper into his delicate skin, enough to make him gasp but not enough to break it. His voice broke the silence, a sound we’d agreed upon, a rare allowance for connection amidst the power dynamics.
“Why is it a shame, Master?” he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and vulnerability.
I smirked, and though he couldn’t see it, I knew he felt the shift in the atmosphere—the sadistic edge that filled the space between us.
“Because it would be fun to cut you myself,” I said, my tone soft yet dripping with dark amusement.
I sensed his smile even through the scarf, a reaction both absurd and thrilling. The notion was utterly bizarre, yet it ignited something primal in both of us, a shared exhilaration in the unspoken possibilities that hung heavy in the air.
His body, perfectly still beneath mine, was a testament to his surrender, his willingness to yield completely. And as I let the pin trace its wicked path, I couldn’t help but marvel at how nature had favored him so extravagantly, granting him a gift others could only envy.
In that moment, Adam wasn’t just mine—he was a canvas, a masterpiece, a vessel for my desires. And the thrill of knowing that no one else could command him as I did was intoxicating beyond words.
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