He swirls it slowly there and then continues to drag the tip down my body, along my sternum, between my breasts, over my torso down to my navel. I'm panting once more as he tugs the crop out of my mouth, trails it down and under my chin, on down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat. He pushes the tip into my mouth so I can taste the smooth, rich leather. Reaching forward, he trails the tip of the crop from my forehead down the length of my nose, so I can smell the leather, and over my parted, panting lips. I am naked and shackled, spread-eagled on a large four-poster bed. He flicks the crop slowly into his palm as he gazes down at me. He's wearing old, faded, ripped Levis and that's all. Christian is standing over me grasping a plaited, leather riding-crop.
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