Thursday, 22 September 2016

Waiting

For the previous part, see here.

I keep watching him, flames flickering above his body, the subtle changes in the tension of his muscles, the wax melting slowly, the first drips making their way down towards his skin. They won’t be hot, not even particularly warm, not yet. The tension is caused by the suspense, by the waiting, by the anticipation. And by the somewhat precarious arrangement of burning candles, no far from flammable materials, and oh so close to his skin.

He’s zoning out, moulding himself to his situation, to the restraints and demands I have put on him, and there is a part of me that wants to just watch him like this, watch the candles burn down for the next half an hour or so, listen to his breathing, deep but careful. Wait for the moment the flames start licking his skin.

And there is another part of me that is getting impatient and wants to introduce some extra predicament here, to disturb this static tension.

I turn away and reach into my bag again, take two steps and position myself at his hip level. His erection is less than full now, and what’s there is likely sustained as much by the straps that hold it in place as by his arousal. I nudge the candles splinting his cock with my fingers. The wax splatters, some on his pubis, some on his cockhead. He makes a short series of rapid snorting sounds through his nose accompanied by a muffled moan. And he gets noticeably harder. I rub the warm wax in with my fingertips. He groans again, his chest rising and falling much faster now. I gently push the cock-and-candles towards his belly, more wax spilling over.

“You like me to scare you, boy.”

It’s not a question. The way his cock fills up under my fingers a confirmation more than an answer.

“The next bit is going to be a bit fiddly, J. You might need to brace a little,” he can probably hear the hint of laughter mixed up with excitement in my voice.

I pull on a blue vinyl glove onto my right hand, slather some lube on, lean over him, reach down between his legs, glad now that I decided to raise his butt before.

“Hmmm. Fiddly and tight.”

I manage to slide my fingers in, somehow, locate the correct spot, manipulate his flesh so I can push the toy in, adjust it as well as it can be done in his restrained position. The candles are, amazingly, still burning, wax splattered all over his skin, and some on my hands too. He’s breathing heavily now, the air entering and leaving his body through his nose with an audible hiss, the candle in his mouth trembling, its flame flickering wildly with each breath. I pull the glove off and discard it, and just before moving away, drag my nails along his inner thighs, from the groin to the knees. I love to feel him shiver, and this particular shiver is so sharp and abrupt that it makes my own hair stand on its ends at the nape of my neck.

“We’re all good, then,” I smile at him even though he can’t see me do it and flick the toggle on the remote control.

His next breath comes not as a hiss but a choked splutter, a groan that spills from around the candle in his mouth, rising to drown the buzzing sound of the toy. I can see his fingers close on the candles in his hands in a death grip. I press the function button on the remote again, repeatedly, until the vibrations reach the more intense, deeper rumble pattern instead of the initial fast surface buzz.

His whole body tenses up, looking as if it was trying to arch up, stopped only by the restraints holding him.

“Too much, boy?”

He can’t really answer. I get closer to him and run my fingers along his forearms, the inner surface of each of them, lean down and lick the left one all the way to the wrist, holding my hair away from the candle flame, then whisper into his ear.

“You’ll manage this for me, won’t you?”

I rub his left wrist with my fingers, my thumb below the rope cuff, my middle and ring fingers above it, reaching towards the candle, ready to take it if his grip relaxes.

I hope he knows that if he lets go now, I’ll take them away, free him from his predicament. I also hope that he knows that I don’t want him to do it. I hope he knows how much I love watching him like that, how much I love doing these things to him, how much I love that he lets me do them.

My fingers keep rubbing. I am waiting.

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