Several hours have passed, and everything is still beating on my skin: your kisses, your caresses, the marks of those squeezes that were engraved. My mouth is still imbued with its trace, and my tongue feels strange not to find it.. not feeling his caress.
The bed is still warm, even though the sheets still wrap our smell. A dense aroma, loaded... not because of what it is, but because of how we took it too far.
His hands comfort my body, intertwined with rough strings that mark every inch of its journey. Smile as I tense them, pushing my muscles to the limit, to a tension so delicious that alone is already pleasing.
Whisper words in my ear, words that infuriate me but excite me even more. He likes to make me feel like a random, like he's choosing me just for that: to subdue, to push me, to push me to the limit; like I'm worthless... an obedient dog, in need of her rigor.
He holds my gaze, which ceases to be challenging to become more open, more exposed, until I get lost in the depths of his eyes, which say so much that my doubts fade and I stop resisting him, though I continue to fight not to fall.
- Well, my little doggy... finally you got it!
It's the only thing he says before continuing, before separating me, before exposing me unreservedly, before taking his hands where he knows I'm going to react. It's obvious that he has me right where he wants me, at the exact spot to turn up the intensity.
A kiss on the shoulder.
One slap, and then another.
The weight of my body struggles with a gravity that claims on me. On the floor, clear evidence of how little I can contain: saliva, sweat, the mark that pleasure is overflowing without asking for permission.
My body decorated with clamps, bound by a chain that extends to a point where tension becomes impossible to ignore.
An ice cube in one hand, and in the other, a red candle that gushes and clings to my skin, drawing traces that will stay with me even after.
The temperature contrast becomes unbearably delicious when my lips attempt to hold the cold, while the crimson-tinted heat reaches them.
He continues to be serious, trying to control the pleasure he gets to see his work trembling and enjoying without measure, but there is no longer possible control.
In front of me, get low enough that there's no doubt about what he wants.
Without thinking, I open my mouth.
Strokes my hair, setting the pace.
My breathing becomes insufficient, but I look at it and decide to resist every assault.
My body no longer has strength, so the sword that used to restrict me, now holds me, making the movement more constant, deeper.
The clamps continue to do their job, and while the tension grows without me being able to contain it, a final pull overflows also what I was previously forbidden to release.
Because there are times when it doesn't matter how much you want to hold on...
when what you feel just overflowing.
®️ Jasmine Law ✨
April 24, 2026.
His hands comfort my body, intertwined with rough strings that mark every inch of its journey. Smile as I tense them, pushing my muscles to the limit, to a tension so delicious that alone is already pleasing.
Whisper words in my ear, words that infuriate me but excite me even more. He likes to make me feel like a random, like he's choosing me just for that: to subdue, to push me, to push me to the limit; like I'm worthless... an obedient dog, in need of her rigor.
He holds my gaze, which ceases to be challenging to become more open, more exposed, until I get lost in the depths of his eyes, which say so much that my doubts fade and I stop resisting him, though I continue to fight not to fall.
- Well, my little doggy... finally you got it!
It's the only thing he says before continuing, before separating me, before exposing me unreservedly, before taking his hands where he knows I'm going to react. It's obvious that he has me right where he wants me, at the exact spot to turn up the intensity.
A kiss on the shoulder.
One slap, and then another.
The weight of my body struggles with a gravity that claims on me. On the floor, clear evidence of how little I can contain: saliva, sweat, the mark that pleasure is overflowing without asking for permission.
My body decorated with clamps, bound by a chain that extends to a point where tension becomes impossible to ignore.
An ice cube in one hand, and in the other, a red candle that gushes and clings to my skin, drawing traces that will stay with me even after.
The temperature contrast becomes unbearably delicious when my lips attempt to hold the cold, while the crimson-tinted heat reaches them.
He continues to be serious, trying to control the pleasure he gets to see his work trembling and enjoying without measure, but there is no longer possible control.
In front of me, get low enough that there's no doubt about what he wants.
Without thinking, I open my mouth.
Strokes my hair, setting the pace.
My breathing becomes insufficient, but I look at it and decide to resist every assault.
My body no longer has strength, so the sword that used to restrict me, now holds me, making the movement more constant, deeper.
The clamps continue to do their job, and while the tension grows without me being able to contain it, a final pull overflows also what I was previously forbidden to release.
Because there are times when it doesn't matter how much you want to hold on...
when what you feel just overflowing.
®️ Jasmine Law ✨
April 24, 2026.
