Blindfold - Part One

I paused for a moment before getting out of my truck to take stock of the situation.  Environment is always important and I believe strongly in being prepared for just about anything. Admittedly it was just a little before nine in the morning and the parking lot of Julie’s apartment complex was deserted, but I’ve always felt it warranted special consideration.  First of all it’s nothing but a series of potholes loosely connected with gravel.  The landscaping was a mixture of dead and Texas natural and whatever had survived years of drought and mismanagement was now unruly and wild.  The sidewalks were a dried slurry of mud washed across the concrete during the occasional rain, leaving a morass of treacherous footing.  The vehicles surrounding mine were either all ancient or what I liked to call “drug dealer new,” a description that went beyond make, model, and color.  Not a crowd I run with mind you, but I have to admit their cars are pretty.

Like I said, I was prepared.  With the exception of a tiny purse containing my identification, cell phone, and some particular jewelry that Julie had asked me to bring, I had nothing on me that would attract criminal interest.  My attire, which no doubt was appealing, wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow out in more mundane surroundings.  Blue jean shorts combined with a button up shirt and flip flops wasn’t the kind of attractant wearing a short mini-skirt and halter top. I suppose the curious might have been wondering about the small, rectangular control box and battery pack that was stuck in my back pocket, or where the small wire that led from it went after it disappeared into my waistband, but that wasn’t something I could really control.  So after checking to make sure no one was lurking about, I got out of my truck and visually navigated the potholes and dried mud slurries to Julie’s apartment. I knocked and the door opened half a minute later.

“You’re early,” Julie said to me.  She was dressed in a slinky, little black dress and looked like she was getting ready to go out of cocktails. Her makeup wasn’t done though but it was apparent she had actually taken the time to curl her hair. She turned and left me standing the foyer as I shut the door.

Julie had changed a lot in the six months I’d been incommunicado, going from Goth Punk Rocker to this respectable, elegant brunette.  It was vaguely disturbing.  Gone was the varicolored hair dyes and ripped, black lingerie and skirts and mesh shirts.  Her image was a complete reversal and I found it odd.  But I suppose we all have to grow up sometime.

Her apartment reeked of pot though and I wrinkled my nose as I moved into the living room.  A massive flat-screen television and a very expensive Playstation game console sat against one wall while opposite stood an old leather sofa.  There was an easy chair and a scarred and battered coffee table that looked as if someone had actually driven wood screws into the surface (*ahem*). And lying across that wooden table top was the blindfold.

I picked it up.  It was solid black and made of silk, cut and stitched.  There was some kind of padding in between the layers and I experimentally put it over my eyes.  Tied properly I wouldn’t be able to see diddly-squat.  The material blocked all light and except for a sliver by the edges of my nose, I was encased in darkness. I put the blindfold down.

It took Julie ten more minutes and then she emerged looking fantastic.  She had begun going for a more natural look, eschewing the dark eyeliner and purple shaded eye-shadow for something more mature.  It made her look suave and ladylike, and except for her still undersized bust she was extremely hot.  Hell, I wanted her.

“Stand up,” she said curtly, half bending to pick up the blindfold I’d dropped back down on the coffee table.  I did as ordered and she pushed on my shoulder to physically turn me around.  I let myself be spun until my back was to her .  Then she slipped the silk over my eyes and my world descended into darkness.  I’ve been told that losing one of your five senses can be a traumatic experience.  I can attest to that. Losing my sight, even for just a Saturday, was disturbing on multiple levels, immediately disorienting, and made me understand just how dependent on visual cues I really am.  Even more strange was how my sight-starved brain focused on my other senses, as if they  could fill in the shortfall of information my lack of sight had caused.

The first thing to was spatial awareness. I knew what Julie’s living room looked like and I knew that her couch was on my left, while the coffee table was on my right.  I felt absurdly confidant that I could navigate around without bruising my shins too badly, but then as Julie turned me again to face her, I lost my fixed point. I tried to keep the mental image in my head, but distances between objects became oddly skewed.  

“Hands behind your head,” Julie said, her voice flat.  “Did you bring them?” She asked me as I lifted my arms and interlaced my fingers , clasping the back of my neck.

“I felt a shiver of fear as I nodded, wondering if the punishment Julie had promised me earlier in the week was about to start.  To be honest, this whole escapade was the brain child of three different dominants.  It was Master Dan who had suggested that I be denied the privilege of seeing.  Kari kindly gave both Master Dan’s suggestion and her own right to torment me to Julie, and now Julie herself, who had me in her clutches.  My stomach tightened as I felt Julie’s fingers at my throat.  Slowly she worked her way down my chest, between my breasts, and I felt the buttons of my shirt open, loosening.

I wasn’t wearing a bra and as soon as Julie had opened my shirt she spread the material and I felt the cool air caress my bare breasts.  My nipples hardened in anticipation, my imagination clearly visualizing the toothed metal clamps that Julie had been inquiring about closing down on the pink tips.  She touched me gently instead and I practically jumped in shock.  Both hands, fingertips around the outside edges of each curve, moved inward as she brought her fingers together in a soft, sensual stroke that ended with my nipples both caught in the folded pads of her fingertips. It was erotic and delicious. I couldn’t help moaning.

The tension drained out of me and I relaxed as she repeated the motion, playing with my nipple piercing and padlock jewelry.  It felt so sweet that just that simple caress made me surge with wetness.  I let out a lusty sigh designed to let her know just how much I was liking what she was doing.

When people say they never saw it coming, they’re usually speaking figuratively.  Me? I never saw it coming literally.  I was blindfolded.  So when Julie switched from soft pleasure to something more intense it came as a complete shock.  Her open hand struck my right breast so hard that I both yelled and turned away, twisting from the pain of it.  It was only because I had a tight grip on my fingers that I was able to keep my hands from coming immediately down and covering my boobs.

“Get back in position,” Julie said, her voice still emotionless, as if causing me pain and pleasure meant nothing.

The sting was still there, only gradually being replaced by heat, but I straightened up and again turned to face her.  I tightened my grip on my own neck as I braced myself. I expected another vicious slap and instead the caress began again.  She teased me, softly and incessantly.  At first I stayed braced, expecting her to hit me.  But she continued the mind-blowing flutter of her fingers against my flesh, minute by minute until I had again completely relaxed, lulled into complacency by the pleasure.  Again it came as a surprise, even if it wasn’t unexpected, when her hand slammed into my left breast and I reeled from the blow.

She hit me again, driving my body back the other way, beginning a cadence of spanks that left me breathless.  There was a burning sting followed by a surging heat as Julie hit me back and forth.  I sucked in air, totally unable to anticipate the strikes thanks to the blindfold.  She didn’t get into a rhythm either, making it even more difficult to anticipate the blows.  Not being able to see her, to adjust myself, even to turn slightly to change or mitigate the angle of impact, was absolutely awful.

Julie didn’t let up till I let out a pain-wracked sob.  I couldn’t see them, but I was positive my boobs were both a dark pink.  It felt as if flames were racing from one nipple to the other, the heat a sensory perception that my lack of sight seemed to emphasize.  

“Cup your breasts,” Julie ordered and I brought both my hands down and forward, clutching my burning curves, trying to massage some of the pain away.  Still unable to see, I felt her hand at my waist, only to feel the slight pressure of her removing the remote control from my back pocket. A second later the two vibroballs, both about the shape and size of quail eggs, rumbled to life, nestled in the soft and wet depths between my legs.  I let out a startled gasp as everything changed, the heat and pain washed away by the fresh sexual stimulation.  I felt a surge of moisture as I pressed my thighs together, clenching, and I couldn’t help pinching my own tender nipples between thumb and forefinger as the first waves of sexual urgency swept me away.

Julie returned the controller to my pocket and left me standing there, tenderized and now marinating in my own juices.  I heard her puttering around, the jingle of car keys, and then she took my arm and led me forward toward the front door.  When it open I froze, a flash of terror flying through me.

“Julie?” I asked timidly.  “My shirt?”

There was a moment of silence and then I heard her shrug.  The rustle of cloth was unmistakable.  “So what? Keep your hands there.”  Then she pushed me out of the apartment and onto the concrete, mud-covered sidewalk.

This tale is no longer available on Michael Alexander's Blog, but can be found in its entirety in Breanne Erickson's latest novel, "Tales of a Nympho Humiliation Pain Slut Volume 9"!  Stop by Amazon.com today to pick up your copy!

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