He’s blindfolded, limbs loosely tied to the corners of the bed. You walk over—slow, silent steps. He can’t tell where you are. A feather brushes his inner thigh. He shudders. “You’re too eager,” you whisper by his ear. “Tonight, I’ll go so slow it’ll drive you mad.” He pants, begging for more. You only flick your tongue against his ear. “Not sweet enough. Keep begging.”