Air Head Sway Play

She hangs there, weightless. The blindfold cuts the world away. Black hair spills down her bare back like ink. Hands glide over her body, slow, deliberate. Someone lifts a leg, tests the give of muscle and joint. Another slides under her chin, tips her head back until her throat is exposed. She's not fighting it. She's not being asked to choose. Fingers trace her ribs, the curve of her hips. A palm flattens against her belly and presses, feeling the resistance. They move around her like she's already theirs. Two palms on her thighs, spreading them wider, holding. The swing creaks. Someone palms her breast, squeezes once, twice, then lets go. She sways. Bare feet leave the floor. They keep pushing, pulling, testing the swing's reach. She breathes harder. Someone strokes between her legs, just enough to feel her react, then pulls away. Denial comes quick. Another hand replaces it, circles, teases, stops short. She tries to shift toward the touch and earns nothing. The swing rocks with every withheld second. A strap tightens around her wrist. Another around her ankle. They're still experimenting, adjusting tension, finding the limit of how far her limbs will stretch before she gasps. The blindfold stays. Her mouth parts. No words yet, just air. They keep touching, keep testing, keep taking pieces of her balance until nothing's left but the rope, the hands, and the slow spin of her body in the dark.