An hour ago the chair had looked so innocent and unassuming against the hotel window. Not even a glimpse of the cityscape that was hiding behind the curtains.
Now, he saw the chair as a cage, dark and confining as he struggled to move. His legs and arms were tightly fastened to the legs and a blindfold covered his eyes. He might have been able to hear the sounds of the city if he were so inclined, but his focus was totally on her touch.
There were times when she was so close that he could feel the fine hairs on her arms. Other times, he was writhing as she tickled him with a feather. Or jerking with the feel of the wax dripping on his bare leg. Each touch, hard or soft, was his whole world.
As she would touch his cock, he could feel it rising up for more contact, but then her fingers would dance away. The clamps on his nipples created a hot feel that numbed until she grabbed the chain and set them on fire again.
He felt her hair tickle his face as she leaned in, biting at his lip. Then, the rake of her nails down his chest and stomach, again catching the chain and forcing his brain to choose which sensation to focus on.
Hot, cold, sharp, soft, ticklish–all of them whirling in his head.
And finally, the light touch of her lips on his face, neck, chest as he slowly returned to the room. To the chair, which again, was just a chair.