For Now 2

Tensing, you test the rope. The coils of nylon may be soft to the touch, yet they're completely unyielding. Your wrists remain bound at your hips, held tightly to the back of the chair – unable to get them to each other to work on knots, unable to get them in front of you to try and figure a way to escape. Ankles, knees, around your chest, the same story plays out – holding you to that chair, leaving you unable to do anything but sit there.

Your eyes move across the darkened room. You are sitting in the middle of it, hidden from the large street level window by the darkness that envelopes you. Outside, you can easily see people moving up and down the street, taking care of late night shopping – yet you may as well be in another world for all they can see you.

For now.

Those were the words I left you with. "You are perfectly safe. Perfectly hidden. For now." It is true. In the darkness, you are totally safe. The naked woman, ironically, the voyeur on to the street of clothed strangers. But there's a catch – you playfully scowl – there's always a catch with me.

It's not the vibrator inside you, droning away, distracting but not unbearable yet. Even if it should get overwhelming, it'll never threaten you. No, it's those vicious, biting nipple clamps... a steel wire clipped to them, running up over a pulley, suspending far more weight than you thought your nipples could ever take.

If you need to, you can raise your torso just a little inside those bounds and let the weights settle the short distance to the floor. Oh, the weight will be eased. But there's a reason wire was used, not string. The moment you lower the weights, the circuit's made, the lights are triggered. Think your nipples can hold out for however long I've decided to keep you there?

The scowl returns. Once again, it dissolves in to a wry smile. Yes it's unfair. Of course it is. That's why you play those games with me. I'm the one person who never gives in, does the right thing, lets you take the easy way out. Oh, I'm a bastard alright – as you never hesitate to inform me. An evil bastard. But, sometimes, a girl needs an evil bastard in her life.

Your mind wanders back to how you met me. An arrogant bastard on the internet. Well, there's a new one. Only this one could back up his claims. What's the line from that Kid Rock song? "It ain't bragging motherfucker if you can back it up."? I used that line, the first time we talked, when you first called me an arrogant bastard.

Instead of walking away, like you knew you should have done, it drew you in all the more. You were going to prove me wrong, wipe that smug grin off my face – yet it's never quite left. The conversation lasted for hours. I'd make some outrageous claim about what I'd have you doing next, you'd tell me how it would never happen – and then you'd find yourself doing it.

It was that night that you first sat, topless at your computer, with the curtains left open. You'd sworn you'd never do it, sworn such things could never appeal to a smart, worldly-wise woman like yourself. Yet that shiver I promised was there. The fear that turned in to arousal as every cell of your body strained to tell if someone could see you.

Oh, damn it! You really didn't need to think of that sensation as that tingling, aching, throbbing feeling from between your legs draws you back in to the moment. You had been doing so well at proving me wrong about the vibrator. "It can't do anything to me, if I don't want it to," you confidently told me as I taped it in place on your inner thigh. As I hooked up the clamps, as I drew back the curtains, it barely registered. You were going to prove me so wrong. Only now, with the memories of our first conversation starting things going, that step too far has been taken.

Another game, another struggle, another defeat. Oh, you've not lost yet, but you know it's only a matter of time now. Part of you wants to scream about the unfairness of it all. How unfair is a relationship in which you never get to win? Yet it's so deeply reassuring too. Having someone in your life who never loses, who makes the most impossible promises and yet never quite extends himself beyond what he can back up, makes for the safest, most amazing playing. If I tell you it's safe to leap, even if you're certain you'll fall, you know you always can do as I'll never, ever, drop you.

The street, on the other side of that glass window, is a case in point. There's no way you could ever place yourself in such a situation. Incredible buzz of arousal or not, there's just no way you could justify it. Yet, with me, you know I have all the angles covered. You've no idea how I'll make it OK, but you know, somehow, it will be – that nothing will ever quite get out of hand.

Oh that safety in terror feels good. The thought of all those strangers looking on, yet knowing it's OK, knowing it's safe, knowing it's my responsibility lets you revel in it.

The vibrator, pushing incessantly is bringing an orgasm closer. Part of you wants to strain your breasts forward, to make that circuit, to turn the lights on – offering them up and, in doing so, displaying them.

Even the pain from them, building as time goes on, feels incredible right now. It doesn't hurt in the conventional sense. Instead, it surges downwards. Lines of lighting connecting nipples and clitoris.

Your clitoris... It's getting too much now. Thoughts tumbling together. Moving faster. Breathing panting. Barely able to hold back. Yet you want to. Need to. Need to revel in this. Need to enjoy every moment. Need to rest. On the brink. Need to... Need...

And it slams in to you. It's like every nerve has been set on fire, all at once. Thoughts of strangers watching cascade in to memories of scenes past. Even those thoughts start fading to white with the intensity of it all.

As you come back, the last spasming pulses wrack through your stomach. Your thighs are soaked with your own moisture. Your breathing's ragged but coming back.

That first wave of arousal having broken upon the shores, the pain from your nipples is back as genuine pain. It's built up since the last time you truly felt it. The build up went virtually unnoticed behind the arousal. It's definitely here now though.

You fight the pain for a few moments. Burning, screaming, driving tears to the corners of your eyes. You try to muscle it through but you know it's a losing battle. Every battle with me always is.

How much longer are you going to fight? How much more of a "genuine effort" do you want to give it before the inevitable happens. You know you will lose, eventually. It's just a matter of when and how much pain you're willing to take for the sake of your pride.

It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't know that too. If you could muscle on for a minute, two, five... and make me think you were beating me, even in that there'd be a small victory. Yet I know you too well, know exactly what you're thinking at any given moment... know this is just a struggle for pride and, in knowing that, take even that aspect from you too.

The wry frown comes back. "Evil bastard!" you declare, knowing it's already over. It's time to give in. Time to move forward, save those nipples, make the circuit, turn on the lights, be seen like this by total strangers... and, somehow, have me make it all completely OK.

"Let's see what you've got then," you call out. You push your chest forward, the circuit's made, the light comes on...