Leather

I love leather.

The sound – the creaking of restraints as you struggle; the hush of My leather clad thighs brushing as I stalk towards you; the satisfying thud of a gloved hand or flogger against your skin.

The scent – the earthy scent of My leather stilettos imbued with My sweat; the mellowed tobacco and beeswax aroma of freshly tended working leathers and straps; the soft embrace of the glove leather against your face, filling your world with the soft yet sharp scent brought to life by the heat from My body.

The feel – the velvet soft roughness of suede; the structured stiffness of layered bridle leather, raised stitching at the edges patterned as a Braille declaration for your exposed skin; the tender embrace of well-worn restraints holding your body firmly, securely at My mercy.

The sight –  the sharp shine of fresh patent, glinting as you gaze; the luminescent glow of the well-worn, oft-polished leathers in low light; the tousled motley of a flogger’s strands.

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