Touch.

For me, touch is sacred. Electric. It ignites. It generates forces that effortlessly direct an explosion. It entices, teases, captures, releases. It plays mind games in the physical realm. I crave touch. I crave his touch.

I shiver. Goosebumps race along my skin; it comes from within. The need builds, a cry is loosed; it emerges and crashes over my surroundings. Wave after wave of sound hits everything around me - the walls, the ceiling, the fixtures, the man in front of me - and reverberates through the air.

I close my eyes, and can hear my cries echoing in my ears, though I haven't yet made a sound. The wave of noise peaks in my head, crashing over me, filling my mind with a static buzz. My tongue works inside my mouth to wet it; I am parched, all moisture in my body having pooled in one place.

A breath tickles my ear. Eyes flying open, I look around me, trying to place the reality before me in that which exists in my head. The two quietly merge, as touch begins to torment me. His touch. Fingers play lightly on my neck; creep along my stomach; graze my arm; tease at my nipples; rake my back. My clothes feel paper-thin, every sensation magnified tenfold. Every nerve in my body is focused on where the touch will come next, straining to feel it, capture it, lock it in sensory memory forever, to be revisited over and over again.

It's driving me mad. My eyes roll into the back of my head, the lids close; my head is thrown back, my mouth hanging open, shallow breaths making my chest rise and fall with rapidity. I am lost to the world, my concentration focused solely on the sensory masterpiece slowly playing itself out over my skin. A blindfold, silky soft, is slowly drawn over my eyes and bound tight around my head.

The touch intensifies, becomes harsher. My flesh is kneaded, pulled, stretched to the limits of my endurance, till I can take the pain no more. I cry out, unable to believe what my nerves are telling me. I am soaking wet. I can feel the moisture beginning to seep through my panties, more so with each tweak and pull at my skin. Scissors cut apart my clothes, the cold steel sending shivers down my spine, and what is left of them is ripped off. I whimper. I love this. I have missed it so much.

I hear a growl in my ear, a harsh, unyielding voice asking me what I want. I don't know how to respond, as he has already understood my wants better than I could ever hope to. I struggle to make sense of my confused thoughts, but before I can even begin to form a coherent sentence, all thought is driven out of my mind by the impact of his hand on my bare ass. I gasp in surprise, a sense of humiliation and the desire to submit completely competing with each other for the spot of most prominent emotion in my mind. My ass stings, and I can feel the heat spreading slowly from the spot that he struck. I draw in a deep, shuddering breath, wondering how much further he plans to take me.

I soon find out, as blow after blow set my ass on fire. They are not harsh - merely instructive. I know that I am expected to respond quickly and deferentially when spoken to, and failure to do so angers him. I know this, without ever having been told. But I have never found myself able to comply with this simple rule, and it has always resulted in my having to bear the brunt of his anger. This time, he is punishing my ass by spanking me; other occasions saw punishments much harder to bear.

I sense, however, that he doesn't want to be too hard on me today; this is our time to love each other, and through experience, I know that he is a tender, gentle lover when he wants to be. We have been apart for too long, though, and we both need this release too much to waste time being gentle and unhurried. The tension is raw and unpolished, and our needs too powerful, to succumb to the temptation to make love. I can almost taste his hunger and his desire to have me, and I have craved his touch, the torture of his touch, for too long to hold back.

My cries fill the air as he spanks me hard and strong, varying the placement of his blows so that my entire ass begins to throb. I am wet beyond belief, rivers of wetness running down my thighs, and my pussy aches for his touch.

I don't have to wait long. He tires of the play, and throws me down onto the bed, face-up. The blindfold is roughly pulled aside, and as I blink to readjust my eyes, I find him staring down at me, lust filling his. I can see his need, and it mirrors my own. We look into each other's soul in that moment, knowing one another for who we are, and accepting everything we encounter. He leans in and kisses me, deep and strong, his insistent tongue finding my compliant one. I surrender to the invasion of my mouth, loving the way he fills it up. My moans turn into a muffled shriek as he drives into me, having silently manoeuvred himself into position while I was occupied with his tongue. Slowly, and with deliberate, even strokes, he begins to fuck me, pushing me into the bed with each thrust. His hands, which earlier held my wrists down, release them. One, he moves down to my clit, stroking it slowly - so slowly that it drives me mad. The other, he uses to prop himself up, altering the angle of penetration so that he can increase his pace. His tongue leaves my mouth, but not before he leaves an imprint of his teeth on my upper lip, causing a rush of blood to the area and making it throb painfully.

He then starts to fuck me in earnest, sawing in and out of me rapidly. With my hands now free, I use the leverage to push back into him with each thrust. The feeling of being filled so completely, coupled with his frenzied stimulation of my already sensitive clit, creates a familiar buzz in my head. My eyes close, and I start to gasp. Sensing what is happening, he picks up the pace even more, bringing both hands up to grasp my hips so that he can fuck me harder and faster. I let him, no longer able to move. All that I can perceive is the length and breadth of him filling me up, the friction of his movements, and the pleasure that flows from deep inside of me to every nerve in my body.