Sunlight streams through the window, coaxing my eyes into opening. Grimacing, I try stretching. My hands are tangled in the blankets, pinning me in place. My legs, too, are tangled, and I experience momentary panic. Claustrophobia, you know.
My eyes ease open. I fell asleep with my glasses on again, dammit. As my eyes adjust to being open I notice several things.
The first of which, there is no sun, at least not in the room Iâm in. There is, however, a bare light bulb, swinging near the ceiling. No windows. A basement? Iâm on a bed, a big soft clean bed. But itâs not mine. And there are no blankets covering me. My hands and feet arenât tangled, theyâre tied down with leather straps.
Taking deep breaths I try and calm my nearly panicking heart and take further assessments. Nothing else in the room. No other people in the room either. Two doors lead out, but theyâre both closed. I donât recognize where I am.
Fully dressed, still wearing what I had been at the club the night before. I wonder if someone slipped me something⊠but no, I was always holding my drink. Except when I gave it toâŠ
You. In you walk. I almost laugh. Youâre so quiet and meek and weâre such good friends. We havenât known each other that long, but weâre been inseparable in the short time we have known each other. And this is a little kinkier⊠you always treat me like a lady, I never expected this.
You smile back. I raise an eyebrow, asking you without speaking to explain yourself.
But you donât talk. You come over beside me and sit on the bed. Sometime, I donât know when, I started to cry. You wipe my cheeks and check my wrists to make sure the bonds arenât too tight, that they arenât hurting me.
âWhatâs up?,â I manage to ask. Smiling, you tell me youâve wanted to do this to me for so long, but didnât have the chance to ever act on it. No other girl has ever been here. This room was made for me, this bed bought for me, these straps also for me. Last night, when I handed you my drink to go to the washroom, and the opportunity offered itself; you couldnât let it go. But if I really am scared and not at all curious, youâll let me go.
I think it was knowing that I had a chance to go, that I had some semblance of control that made me stay. After all, this was a fantasy come true. And youâre not a bad looking guy, not at all. In fact, looking at you often makes me smile. So yeah, letâs do whatever you were thinking about doing so long.
Vanity is probably what kept me there, who am I kidding? You thought I was hot and wanted to fuck me and you telling me was just the push I needed to be yours.
I smile up at you, and you produce scissors. I donât know where the hell they came from, but there they were, wicked and gleaming in the bald light. You start on my left leg. I hadnât noticed, but my boots are off. You cut into the toe of my sock, the cool metal rubs the side of my foot as you cut my sock open, cut up the outside of my pant leg. I donât even think for a second the cost of replacing this outfit, I am too lost in the most sensual thing I have felt in a long time. The metal had warmed against my skin by the time you are done cutting open my pants and socks.
Then you cut open my shirt, sleeves first then right up the middle. As the fabric floats apart, sliding off my skin, my nipples perk up, tightening and reddening. I am hypnotized and cannot stop the gasp that escapes as you bend over and flick your tongue over the turgid bud.
Straightening, you smile at me once more and pass your lips over mine, and over my closed eyelids as you go. You pull off whatever fabric is pooled around me and leave the room with it, quietly going through one of the doors I had noticed earlier. No clock, no natural light, I have no way of gauging time. All my jewellery is gone, except the piercings so I canât tell the time the conventional way of checking a watch, either.
You didnât leave me a lot of time though, before you came back through the door, wearing a black silk robe and looking far more relaxed. I figure my âpermissionâ silent though it was gave you the confidence that had been lacking the first time you came through that door.
Unabashedly, I am checking out that part in the fabric, hoping to catch a glimpse of what youâve been packing in jeans and khakis for as long as I have known you. But you arenât ready for that play yet, weâve only just begun, and I feel a teensy bit of disappointment that is ushered away by the desire already making my body hum.
You flick a switch behind my head and the bed tilts up , so itâs like Iâm standing, only Iâm not, Iâm spread-eagle against a âwallâ that doubles as a bed. That is, until you pull out the centre piece. I am impressed, not only by the design of the bed, but also by the flattery felt at the kind of planning you did to get me into âbed.â
You caress my buttocks with one hand and my flesh tingles, and I moan. Then you crack a leather paddle against my butt and the tears I feel stingy my eyes only get worse as you repeat the punishment four of five times more. I can feel my butt cheeks burning and then something cool and wet is stroking them. Your tongue traces the red pattern left by the paddle. The swollen skin could not have been better prepared for that kind of treatment.