The barefoot sub twists again for twist again.

Twist again

The barefoot sub twists again for twist again.

It didn’t take much for her to feel off balance.

He’d not bound her arms behind her back this time, but he had made her “comfortable” in the stiff posture collar and blindfold. Binding her voluptuous breasts in a tight harness. Her luscious nipples presented for the weighted clamps to be attached to. Occasionally he tugged these, his dark chuckle reverberating through her soul as muffled groans escaped her gagged lips.

As had happened so often before she had been asked to wear heels.

These heels were his favourites: glossy, black and very high. When her smooth bare legs were separated by the spreader bar, these heels forced her to depend on him entirely whenever she needed to move, show her soft vulnerability rather than the strong, almost formidable woman that faced the world away from him. This time though he had brought something new.

Something she couldn’t quite work out.

If she was meant to know he would have told her, rather than proffering a hand to help her step up onto it. It felt sturdy, she felt safe, and she started to relax. More chuckling from him, and she tensed up again, standing straighter, trying desperately to work out what the sounds were. A gentle scrape? A rubbing? A cable being dragged…yes, that she knew… Hoping she knew what was coming next her lips curled around the gag. The oozing drool soon put a stop to her grin as it dripped onto her tender, weighted nipples. He spotted it and rubbed it in, jiggling the clamps as he did… Muffled yelps this time met by his delicious chortles as more saliva trailed down and needed rubbing in.

There was a familiar click as his attention turned away from her slippery breasts.

The buzzing of his wand, the pressure on her apex, the waves of pain flowing from her nipples to her cunt and jolting back to her brain… It didn’t take long for that question to try to come from her lips, but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. In her confused state she didn’t know if it was the gag or the wand that hindered his hearing, though hindsight would suggest he just didn’t want to hear, or more importantly grant permission. Not yet, anyway.

He stood up, kissed her wet chin and lips, and roughly massaged her naked flesh.

“Would you like some music?” He asked her? She couldn’t remember this ever happening in a scene before, and while she tried to work out how to answer he grabbed her chest harness firmly and kicked below her step. Suddenly things became much less stable and predictable. “I know you’re having trouble speaking so… don’t worry about asking for permission. Consider it given, I’m feeling generous. You can cum whenever you need to. I’m going to enjoy watching you.” All the while that he was talking he was holding her harness tightly in his hand. She could feel his eyes burning into her, watching, waiting for any inclination that she understood.

She nodded as best she could in that collar, grunting a reply.

With her acceptance she heard the scrape again and out of the dark came an unexpected tune. First came the buzzing pressure on her clit, then he relaxed his grip on her chest harness.


It quickly became clear what she was standing on, a wobble board. And her dancing consisted of flailing arms and gangly legs, she felt as ridiculous as she looked. But frustratingly she couldn’t meet consistently with the vibrations… the freedom to orgasm would be wasted if she couldn’t get a grip of herself! “You can have as many as you like, but you’re going to have to work for it” came his voice through the music, she could hear the amusement curling on his lips and couldn’t help but laugh at her predicament. The resulting spittle raining down on her breasts, his arm, the floor.

“Dance for me… Show me how much you want it”

The touch of his hand between her breasts, cool and secure; the vulnerability; the music; the silliness; the intermittent vibrations; the humiliation. “Focus” was her internal whisper and she was able to match the rhythm of the music briefly, finding the head to rub herself against in a brazen display of her slutty need for release. As the tunes rolled into each other he knocked her off balance again and again, always keeping her safe with his strong grip, but delighting in her vexation. The tears had started now, equal parts frustration and mirth. The blazing between her legs had little to do with the wand, the snaking trails of her desire only served to humiliate her further in her quest for climax.

This was going to be a long night, and all she could do was twist again.

Have a look at the other posts for Wicked Wednesday.
Twist Again was first published on A Leap of Faith.


    1. It wasn’t whatbj intended to write, but I just went with it. Definitely captured by mood last night though. XX

  1. ohhhh yes! I like him and his style. putting her in precarious positions but never without him as he safety net. i think i chuckled along with him as I read this and rubbed my hands with wicked glee. I think I might need to try something like this out on my unsuspecting partner.

    1. I’m not sure how well it would work in reality, but when you’ve tried it I look forward to reading all about it. 😉

  2. The unease you are writing about in how things happen painted an amazing picture in my head. I can only imagine being allowed to orgasm, but on a surface that unstable would make it so hard.

    1. I think orgasm denial features heavily in my imaginings, being allowed but unable is, I suspect, a game that holds more allure than the reality would. But it’s worth a try, right?

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