Invited

Sleep will be a long time coming tonight. Shaking hands cause me to fumble as I unlock the patio doors beside my bed. I peer into the darkness of my fenced backyard and I wonder if you might be out there already, watching my house to make sure you remain the only danger I face tonight.

You gave me a bedtime hour, but you didn't say what I had to wear. I'm a smart girl so I've got on a pair of pajama pants with a drawstring waist which I have tied in knots that would require patience and time to undo. I just hope I don't have to pee anytime soon or I'll regret this strategy.

For a top, I wear only a tight tee shirt. I'd considered wearing a bra but I want there to be nothing you could use to bind me. There are only two things in the bedside table and, if I can hold you off for twenty minutes, I win and you won't use them on me. That is our game.

I put away the self-defense books I've been reading all week and I climb into bed. Hyper-alert, I revisit the years we've spent together at a distance and I know this way is actually the easier for me to finally meet you face to face. We know we want each other and neither of us wishes to deal with the usual awkwardness of a first meeting. We chose this way instead.

I wake when the bed shifts under your weight and my lips part to scream just as your hand covers my mouth. My wide eyes expected to see the handsome face from the webcam, but instead I see only your unmistakable eyes behind a black balaclava. This is enough to stun me and we breathe loudly for what seems like a long time, staring at each other in wonder.

And then my teeth sink into your hand, and you're cussing as I try to kick you between the legs. We agreed this would be a real fight and I don't want what is waiting for me in the nightstand if I lose.

I sit up, pushing at you, but you're so much bigger than I am. I swing at you and, even though I do it like the book said and I hear you grunt in pain, I wince because I hurt my hand.

You make me scream when you've had enough and I realize you were just playing with me up until then. My scalp stings as you use my hair like a leash, forcing me to the mattress so you can pin my bucking body with yours. Fuck. I'm so turned on.

I can see the timer you stealthily set on my dresser when you crept in. Ten minutes. I'm halfway there, but you're reaching between us to untie my pajama pants so you can pull them down. I can hear your frustration as you struggle with the drawstring knots and I start to giggle smugly. Gotcha.

You put an end to my mirth when you take your belt off and whip my legs with it twice. I squeal and try to crawl up the headboard, inciting you further, but instead of strapping me again, you take my wrists both in one hand and bind them together with your belt.

That's when you reach into your coat pocket and take out the knife. You don't have to tell me to stay still, but you do. I would not move with something so threateningly sharp near my belly as you cut away the drawstring. Who's smug now?

Fifteen minutes have gone by, I see, as you glance at the timer before you grab my pajama pants and yank them off of me so hard I am dragged flat on my back a foot or two down the bed.

I kick at you, connecting hard enough to make you grunt and I'm whimpering, keening as I try to work your belt off my wrists and you slap my face to subdue me.

Your body forces my legs apart and your hands cup my hips, pulling me to you. You thrust. Urgent. Brutal. Stabbing my cunt with your cock.

My sex quivers with pleasure and I moan, arching under you. I don't fight anymore; I know I've lost and so I luxuriate in you, still fully clothed, your cock twitching in the cunt you just won.

I freeze with horror at the sound of the bedside drawer sliding open. My eyes squeeze shut as I hear the lube cap open and I can imagine what you're doing. "Open your eyes and look," you say, pulling off the balaclava so I can finally see my Master's face in person.

And then, there it is; you show it to me. It's the lubed shiny pink butt plug with the curly pig tail. I grimace and try to squirm away, but you remind me that I lost, that fighting time is over, and you make me watch obediently as you push that obscene pink pig plug into my ass. As you turn me over onto my knees, wrists still belted, so you can have your way with me, you command me in your hardest voice, "Oink, little piggy. Oink for Master."

Later, I lay my head on the pillow and study your face for a long time and we murmur softly to one another in unintelligible sounds that mean something like, "I am pleased to finally meet you."