Sparks Fly: A Post By Heron

Bound. Helpless. You wait for me.

As the neon crackles to life, your eyes widen.

Is it in fear? Anticipation? Perhaps a little of both?

Tracing your curves, I run the glass along your flesh.

You gasp as the static torments your body.

Sparks fly.

One moment you are moaning in agony, the next in ecstasy.

Your breast rise and fall as your breath quickens.

Again the glass strokes your flesh, grazing a nipple, your stomach, your back.

One moment you pull away, the next you strain forward eagerly awaiting.

Again the wand hums. Louder this time.

Sparks fly.

You slump forward as I give you a moment to recover.

Only this time, I am one with the wand.

I am the conduit.

I stroke you with my hands or brush you with my fingertips.

Finally I touch that spot that desperately needs caressing.

Static arcs from me, tormenting your flesh.

You scream.

Sparks fly.

Later, when you are safely tucked into bed I pull you close to me.

I softly smooth the the hair back from your face.

Leaning closer, I brush your lips with mine.

Our eyes lock.

Sparks fly.