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My angel was taking me to the darker side, introducing me to new sensations and passions, higher levels of arousal than I had ever known before in my heretofore vanilla sex life. He was an addiction, a dangerous habit to feed, I fully realized, and I had come back to his den willingly, wanting to know what more there was, what new heights my passion could reach. My head kept saying no or at least go slow, but my body yearned for his touch, for his domination, for reaching new heights of body awareness and pleasure under his guidance.

I had returned voluntarily to his basement room, as he knew I would. My hands were handcuffed to the brass headboard welded to the wall, and I was kneeling, facing the wall, on a stained mattress. We were beyond the spankings and light lashings that had made my tender ass, inner thighs, and cock and balls red swollen and ultrasensitive to the touch. We were even beyond the soothing and arousing attention his lips and tongue had paid to my swollen thighs, tender kissings that had crescendoed to bitings that had me screaming for mercy and then to the rimming and invasion of my asshole with his searching tongue with its tantalizing knobbed stud.

We were now on to a new phase. He was knelt between my thighs, very close into me now, the studs of the leather harness criss-crossing his bulging chest rubbing against my shoulder blades, his rock-hard cock, with its Prince Albert pierced head ring rubbing between my swollen thighs. He had one hand firmly palmed on my lower belly, holding my ass ...

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