F is for Feather

He was on the bed, naked, blindfolded, and restrained with black straps to the bedposts.

He could hear her moving around over the sound of the music that was playing. Just barely. She had been barefoot when he had last been able to see and her feet made little sound on the carpet.

The bed shifted as she sat on the edge. He was braced for…what? A paddle? Ice? Wax? Wartenberg wheel? He could hear the blood rushing through his ears and his body was betraying how turned on he was.


“What was that?” he gasped.

“Just the beginning.”

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