Just Janine #1

He left the air conditioner on. His bedroom is frigid and every inch of my body not wrapped in the bedsheets is cold and numb. I can't believe I slept as late as I did.

I need to get out of bed and dash to the window to turn the AC off. Just a few more seconds of exposure. It's February, anyway, and as his neighbors get up and go to work they're probably wondering why he's running his window unit.

I'm lying still on my back. My hands and arms are alright. My chest and midsection are okay, too. All I wore to bed were socks, sweatpants, and a thin white tank top. Now my nipples are hard. I'm trying to wiggle my toes but they're frozen. Rubbing my thighs together generates a bit of warmth but makes me feel silly. I wonder if that's what he wants.

My nose is stuffy and my throat is sore. I don't know if it's because he's trying to freeze me to death or because of what happened before I fell asleep.

I need to get out of this bed.

My lips are chapped and my teeth are chattering. I need to throw the covers off and get this over with.

With one arm, I throw the covers to my left. With the other, I press down and begin to awkwardly push myself upright--OW!

My right foot is touching the floor. My left leg is still in bed, held in place by what feels like a metal shackle. A wrought iron shackle. Not something he bought at the adult store.

I wiggle my left foot. There's a heavy chain, too. It's scraping against his bedframe and clunking on the wooden floor. It must be fastened to the foot of his bed.

I pull my right leg back in, grab the covers once more, and assume my position on the mattress. I'm going to be here for a while.

Panicked, I pull the sheets over my head. I curl up, shifting to my side and bringing my head closer to my knees. My whole body is covered by blankets now, except for a draft of cold air by my left foot. It makes sense why my feet were so cold, the chain sticking out from the clasp on my ankle is letting the air from the AC seep in.

And to think that back when I swiped right on his profile, I had described myself as "adventurous" and "playful." Was last night not good enough for him? Or...

Could he be on the other side of the bedroom door listening to me struggle? Could he be recording? Was he going to save me or was this another test?

I can't yell out. Where's the adventure in that? His neighbors in this apartment building don't know the safe word. Only he does.

My abs tighten and I'm closer to the fetal position. It's warmer like this. The stream of air is relentless but most of my body is warming up. There's some feeling in my face now. This brings the painful sensation of the nerve endings waking back up. OW!!

I'm working my facial muscles into contortions never before seen. I need to restore feeling through my cheeks and jaw. I'm going to start screaming if he doesn't help me soon.

My hands slip beneath the waistband of my grey sweatpants. It's so much warmer there. I'm not wearing underwear. I trace the whimsical paths of his dried semen up my thighs and around my vagina. There was so much and he didn't allow me to clean much before my bedtime. I smudge the traces of him while the back of my hand is tickled by the fuzzy liner of my sweatpants.

This isn't so bad. I'm just shackled to a bed in an apartment that could be used for cold storage. My eyes are closed and I'm thinking about him. How did he manage to chain me up without waking me up? Just this once, couldn't he have said goodbye before he left for work?

I'm curled up snugly now. I relax to the extent a woman in this position can "relax" by closing my eyes. My face feels better and so do my hands. My pussy's hot.

While my left hand traces his leftovers on my skin, examining each spurt of cum, I can't resist touching myself with my right hand. Just two fingers, neither pressing particularly hard. I trace my labia up and down at the same rate that I inhale and exhale.

This is so much better. My breathing grows deeper and deeper as I feel the blood rushing to my pubic area. I need to be penetrated. I wish he was here. I wish he was here.

My head is under the covers so the air is getting stale. Everything is feeling more sensitive. My fingers press more deeply. I'm yelping a bit. Not loud enough for the neighbors to hear, though.

With each exhale, my fingers linger for a bit longer around my hole. I press a bit harder, with a little accent of the fingers at the crescendo of the downstroke. I keep going. Eventually, I feel like I'm anywhere but under a blanket inside a sadistic love chamber.

I can't take it anymore and slip both fingers inside. It's perfect. I'm going in and out at the same cadence of my breathing. I'm getting my fuzzy sweatpants liner wet. I forget where I am. I'm biting my chapped lower lip. I slip my right leg out of the sweatpants, then use my right foot to cuff the sweats down my left leg, resting just above the shackle around my ankle.

Everything is so hot now. With my left hand I'm rubbing my clit. I'm glad I took my sweatpants off to make room for both hands. As I penetrate myself more deeply, I make the same quick little flick with the pads of my fingers. It's so much better when he does it.

I'm reimagining last night as I get closer and closer. His warm touch. His confidence. His penchant for putting me in these situations and making me figure out what he wants. If he was here he'd be asking me to cum for him.

My legs are quivering now and my abs are spasming. This usually only happens if I go a few days without it. It's been less than five hours. My breathing is involuntary now. The cadence is faster. "I..."

"I'm going to cum for you! I'm going to cum for you!" I shout into the bedsheets. The pleasure envelops me as I kick my legs hard enough to have broken any plastic restraint.

Maybe that's why he used metal this time.

Lightheaded, I fully turn onto my back. I pop my head out from under the covers for fresh air. It's so cold that it hurts my throat. I can handle it now, though. He usually compliments me after my first orgasm. This is what he wanted from his little adventurer. I'm so sure. I inch myself down the mattress, closer to the foot of the bed where my left foot has the thick metal shackle attached with my hastily-shedded sweatpants just above.

I start bending my knee and pull my left heel closer to my stomach. I pull closer until my right leg is hanging off the end of the mattress. The iron grazes my other leg and it's chilly. I bend my knee tightly and point my heel toward my belly button. I grab the shackle with my right hand and press the freezing cold metal against my vagina. I scream and my whole body spasms.

The air conditioner turns off. I hear him whisper, "You're such a good girl, Janine."