Four writers for the price of one blog
This was originally posted here, in November 2009, one of my earliest pieces on the blog. I removed it save for a teaser when it was included in the anthology “Through a Tinted Lens”.
Tonight is Friday, and it’s my turn, and I’ve been waiting all day. I dressed just a little more provocatively this morning. No one at work noticed anything for certain, but my skirt was just a little higher, my top just a little tighter than usual. No one could tell I wasn’t wearing panties. But it did make it a challenge not to think about tonight. Because if I did too, I’d probably have stained my skirt, like I did, just a little, on the drive home.
He’s already home waiting for me to get in. His lips just brush mine in greeting at the door. I only get the faintest taste of him. We pass the living room to the kitchen and I catch a glimpse and shudder. Dinner is simple and delicious. We eat slowly, candles on the table framing our faces, wine staining our lips red. We talk of the day, but the air is weighted with the promise of what is to come, and I am trying not to squirm in my seat. I know that under the table, he is straining inside his slacks. This is a game we have played before.
He brings out dessert – a favorite confection of mine, and moves from across the table to next to me, so he can spoon it into my mouth himself. This is how it starts. I sit, hands still in my lap – if only because my skirt is too tight to let them do much of anything. He gives me a bite at a time, watching as my lips close on the utensil and take the sweetness in. It is delicious. I hum and lick my lips, and then the offered spoon to get every last bit.
Dessert is rich and sweet, and not over-plentiful. Even eating slowly it does not take too long before he places the spoon on the plate – the metal on porcelain tink loud in the quiet room. He takes my hand and draws me to a stand, and then leads me into the living room. My thighs slide against one another, slick with me.
He stands me on the edge of the circular white carpet, one of the first things we bought together, and proceeds to undress me. I am still, not moving unless he moves me, letting him. So far it is easy. This part usually is. He unwraps me so well; shoes, then blouse, then bra, then skirt. Each slowly, each placed neatly to the side, until I stand naked before him.
Then come the cuffs. Four soft-lined leather cuffs. One for each wrist and ankle, each with several metal loops sturdily attached. And a matching collar. Each loop fastens with a small lock. It’s the catching of the locks that starts my heart rate increasing.
He kneels down and wraps the velvet around my left ankle – *click*
Right ankle – *click*
He stands and pulls my left wrist to fasten its bracelet- *click*
Right wrist – *click*
He centers before me, settling the collar snug, but not tight around my neck… *click*
A tiny moan escapes my lips then, and it is harder to be still. He puts his finger to his lips. His other hand produces a gag, and butterflies begin to flit in my stomach. He reaches up with one hand, tracing my lips with his fingers, before gently pulling my chin down to open my mouth and settle the red ball inside. I feel the rubber give around my teeth, and taste some of the dessert with my tongue. He has coated the ball with it, making it both easier and harder. I begin to tremble a little when the gag’s lock *clicks* behind my head.
He leads me to the center of the candle lit room. On the carpet, atop layers of soft royal-colored towels, a metal T, a few feet to a side. It is so simple, almost a piece of art. He stands me below the cross bar, feet wider than shoulder width apart, and then touches my shoulder and hip, guiding me to kneel. I shiver at the contact, my body alive where our skin touches. I move exactly where he directs.
My knees sink down onto the soft towels, and my ankle cuffs align with loops toward the outside of the T crossbar. He places one hand between my shoulder blades, and one just below my belly button, and pushes lightly. I bend forward at the waist, letting the slight pressure move me. But it is harder now. I almost resist. A droplet of my arousal runs down my thigh. I can smell my own heat, as I’m sure he can.
I settle a little back on my haunches to maintain balance, and my forehead touches the soft fabric. He turns my head to the left, so my cheek can settle. My arms are limp by my sides, outside my slightly spread legs. My wrist cuffs settle naturally at the ends of the T bar, as my collar rests above the end of the bottom rod. My ass is upturned, my swollen open cunt below it. I am breathing fast now.
He pauses. There are five more locks. Five more chances. I shiver and stay still. He reaches behind me to the right where I can’t see, and adjusts my right ankle.
I am sweating now, but it is not sweat dripping from between my legs. He adjusts my left ankle, barely touching my skin.
Now I’m shaking. It is harder and harder to stay still. I feel the pinpricks of fear along my spine, and they spike again as he reaches under my neck to lock the collar in place.
He’s so silent. So gentle. So methodical. It’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to stay quiet, but little mewls are escaping the gag with every lock that closes. Right wrist, outside my leg.
And last, he crouches down, in my view, taking my left wrist in one hand and the last lock in the other. He pauses until I stop looking balefully at my last free wrist and meet his gaze. Staring into my eyes, he closes it.
The dam bursts, but it is too late. I scream into my gag and pull at the cuffs, straining to get loose. The prickle of fear becomes a wash of terror as I let myself discover and feel just how bound and helpless I am now – and know I let myself become that way.
He stands now, making sure I can see him. I pull and strain as he begins slowly undressing himself, folding away his clothes carefully with each garment he removes. He’s beautiful, but now he is also menacing. He looks at me with a raw hunger only hinted at in everyday settings. I know he means to devour me and I must get away… but I can’t.
And he begins talking now. Filthy, filthy talking about how I’m his to do whatever he wants with. He talks about how wet I am and that he can see it drip down my legs, and smell it so it makes his mouth water. He says he’s going to fuck me, hard, over and over. He says he’s going to make me cum oh his cock and his tongue and other things. He says there’s nothing I can do about it. I scream and struggle and try to shake my head in denial, but my aching, empty pussy reveals me as a liar, and my back arches to show him.
He tells me how much he likes that. How perfect I look for fucking, ass up, cunt open to him. Just the way it’s supposed to be.
He’s naked now, and moving towards me. I almost cum as he strokes one hand along my back, the other up the back of my left leg.
I try to follow him as he moves behind me, but I don’t have enough freedom of movement. I’m still trying to get loose, still crying into the gag when I feel his hands on my hips and the head of his cock coming to touch my open, weeping slit.
I hear the slap before I register the spearing thrust filling me, and I explode around him. I cum and cum, squeezing his invading presence and screaming as he holds himself stiff and rooted in me. His wrists hold me onto him as surely as the locks hold my cuffs.
It is only after I have ridden my peak partway down that he begins to fuck. I am helpless, open, totally and completely his. I can feel myself rising again already. I catch site of the other toys arranged neatly on the coffee table and let the fear and anticipation wash over me again. I try to struggle, but only weakly now. He is taking me, possessing me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. The night is going to be gloriously, terrifyingly long. The gag keeps my smile from showing.
Next week, it’s his turn.
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