A Duchess Skye Story
Craving Your Sting
My thoughts scream for the pleasurable pain you offer
Morning’s light didn’t bring any relief to mental images of you raking your nails over my chest while smiling at my pain. Following every one of your commands was itself mind-numbing — especially the order to remain silent.
You knew what I wanted, but you wouldn’t let me ask for it. Keeping my requests suppressed simply made them more vibrant in my head. Exhaustion struck as I imagined you stripping to your bra and panties, holding your whip and using it to relieve me of my inner torture.
“Please, Duchess,” I finally begged via texts and emails. “I need you again.”
You knew my internal mess and I was both relieved and nervous when you allowed me to enter your chamber, undoing my shirt one button at a time while you studied me.
“More.” You’re skilled with speaking in measured tones.
I undid my jeans. Every move you make becomes deeply embedded in my psyche and how you strutted to me, teasing my cock through my underwear while you remained fully dressed, was seductive poetry.
My arousal forced me into trembling nothingness when you slowly pulled off my underwear and placed your lips on the tip of my cock, making…
