In one of my biggest fantasies, I am naked and bound. Sitting or kneeling, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is my submission. My hands cuffed behind my back. Legs tied at the ankles. A dog collar sits around my neck, chained to a nearby table or pole. I should be blindfolded, gagged, and earplugs should make this experience as close to sensory deprivation as possible. There is only one sense I need, after all.
Charlotte, alone, or perhaps as part of a group—paces around me. She, or they, might rap me with a paddle, twist or clamp my nipples, tickle me with a feather, or lash me with a whip. It’s all part of the warm-up, building to the main event.
I can imagine that first drip of hot wax from a candle hitting my tits. The sharp burning pain followed by the rapid cooling as the wax hardens on my body. I want wax dripped, drizzled and poured all over me and I don’t want to know when, where or how much.
Those exquisite sensations of stinging pain on my tits, my shoulders, my neck, my legs, my ass and my cunt. I want to be coated with the wax of dozens of candles. Turned into a piece of human expressionist art—covered in a rainbow of colours and variety of scents.
Perhaps I’m left alone for five or ten minutes, wondering whether it’s over only to feel the wax alight my nipples once again. My nipples can’t be left alone. I want the joy of feeling the hot drips brushing past the very tip of them before it splatters on my legs below. Some hardens on them, leaving stalactites clinging to them.
I want to feel a wand pressed against my aching clit—to be made beg to come while more fiery liquid is poured all over my body. And then, I want it pulled away at that final moment before bliss, while even more wax is trickled onto my desperate cunt. Squirming, flinching, longing and needful, my restraints only adding to the desire I feel.
The pleasure continues as my ass and tits are paddled, shaking loose some of the wax to make space for more. My sore breasts and cheeks sting as another round of molten pleasure touches my skin.
When all the candles are virtually gone, and as much of my body is covered as possible, I want her to take the blindfold off and make look at myself in the mirror. Unshackled from my restraints, I can ever so gently glide my hands across the mess all over me, enjoying the smooth sensation across my fingertips.
Finally, I want to be forced to masturbate to the sight of myself coated in the hardened wax. She could hold my head in place so that it’s all I can see. Just as I’m finally about to come for real, I want to feel just that little bit more drizzled on me while I orgasm.