March 9th, 2010 | 
Author: Fantasy, A
I twist, and feel the rope bite into my elbows. I count the heartbeats throbbing away, fading slowly, softly. If it weren't for the sound of blood's rush in my ears, I would not know if it existed.
My eyes are taped shut, but so long ago that I have come to accept that my eyes no longer open. I faintly remember my discomfort, my mouth straining at an object that filled my mouth from within yet still touched my lips. Once this caused me to salivate uncontrollably, much to my owner's dismay. Hanging me by the spreader bar caused the spittle to back into my mucous membranes, stinging, burning. But my mouth is now dry, and I have no sensation of fighting an object that gave yet does not tear.
Occasionally, I would feel the slightest of breezes on my skin, the most sensitive part, the ones constricted by clothing by day. I know not what is their cause, nor do I feel them on my face. I hear nothing, and have heard nothing for an eternity and then some. What once was warmth, and the soft tendrils of lambswool that encased my head have become soaked with my sweat, the salty juices of excitment and anticipation. After time, a concept that now exists only in my mind, the water and the wool have warmed and now are my skin.
I try to nudge my head and feel the gentle but firm tug on my scalp. My hair, my long lucious pride has betrayed me and has joined forces with what wraps me, holds me, displays me. I hear the blood's rush in my ear and this keeps me company. I vow not to count heartbeats, not to guess or anticipate the time. The temptation is strong. How long has it been? How much longer until dawn? One... two... three..
Sixt--sensation! The lightest of touches, but something touched me. I arch my back in a vain attempt to reach someone, something. I feel nothing nothing more. A sigh escapes my nostril, audible in my inner ear. That's it! I can still hear myself, even if I can't speak. I wait for another eternity, then count twenty heartbeats, and hum a moan.
My left ear buzzes with the sound of a thousand scratches. A jet of cool air rushes to cool my sweat-coated skin. Then a warm, moist feeling traces some shape. Wet sounds, followed by a sugar-sweet, playful-cat-sneer voice, "Our little pet is not quiet, is umm? Our little pet wanna moan, is um?" The tongue flicks in to touch the hairs, not even the skin. It flicks again, this time at the lobe. Wet, moist, lovely lips caress the node, tugging gently. The tongue flicks again. I moan, arch my back and curse my hair.
Suddenly, the ear is covered again. My head twists, jerks in vain to find its lifeline again. I long for even the single touch, for someone. My desires are answered, in a searing flash on my left nipple. It throbs in quiet agony as I relish each beat of pleasure, each pulse of fire. My breathing slows, rythmnic, deep. My nipple is
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