She lay in the dark, or what she assumed was the dark. The blindfold prevented her from knowing fully, but she sensed the darkness, the way a mother might sense her child is in need without any other indication. She could not move, her arms and legs bound with the sturdy ropes, but she could hear. Over there was a far off creak of a door moving, behind her sounded a low hum, an appliance or AC unit?
She only knew that she must wait, be calm, be patient, and she would be rewarded.
Quick footsteps sounded near, and her pulse intensified. She felt the blush of air across her skin, and pinpricks of hair as they stood on end. The coolness of the table she lay on felt even cooler as the movement of air surrounded her naked form, and she shuddered a bit. Gagged, she could not speak, but she could whimper, and so she did.
She started at the touch on her foot, and made to move back, only to be thwarted by the rope across her ankle. The hand slid up her inner leg, her thigh, and she could not move away, as she was spread open to the world. A finger poked into her, swirling a touch, just enough to spread wetness up and around her nub, her pearl of pleasure.
Sighing, she relaxed and let the touch excite her. She felt herself swell as the finger continued to move around her clit, and into her pussy. Suddenly, the finger withdrew. No more touch, no sounds, except her own harsh breathing. She waited, tried to calm herself, straining for any indication of what was to come.
She felt a hand grab her breast. It cupped it at the base, and she felt the tiny pinpricks of the wheel. Motionless now, the urge to cry and retreat, but she must not because that would increase the pain from the pinwheel exponentially. Her sensitive nipple firmed under the wheel’s touch, became hard, and her breath labored once again. The line between pleasure and pain is fine indeed.