Restraint Ch 2

I met him after work at our usual hangout for our semi-regular Thursday night drinks. This was the night his wife worked late, and my boyfriend was at the gym. He was already seated at a tall table near the bar, a half-full pint glass of dark beer in front of him. Another full glass of pale amber something sat on its own cardboard coaster.

I pulled off my coat and hung it over the back of my chair, grinning hello at him.

He smiled warmly and gestured to the other glass. "I got you a cider, assuming your taste hasn't improved any."

I winked and slid into my chair. "It must have not, since I'm still hanging out with you."

I was still in my work clothes, today a simple black scoop-neck blouse and narrow pinstriped calf-length skirt, only my 3-inch black heels hinting at sex. But with him I felt like a femme fatale. I indulged in the feeling, pulling my long hair out of its ponytail and shaking it out over my shoulders before picking up my drink.

This was the first time we'd had a chance to meet up since his wedding. I noticed that he played with his ring almost continuously, spinning it around his finger, pulling it over his knuckle and then sliding it back in place. That damn ring.

"So," I said, "how's work?" I admired how he looked in professional attire, a collared shirt and loosened tie under a soft wool sweater, over pressed trousers and brown leather shoes with sleek, modern lines. It was a stark contrast with the casual attire my mind had given him in my previous night's dream, but in its own way spoke of the same powerful masculinity.

I couldn't help imagining myself pulled across his lap, skirt pulled up to my waist to reveal the lacy garter belt that only I knew I wore. I fantasized that he'd spank my ass red, until I my pussy was dripping and I was begging him to fuck me. Then he'd let me get on my knees and suck his dick while I fingered myself until we both came.

Mentally, I shook myself and tried to pay attention as he answered my question.

"It's been busy, but actually I'm going to take some time off for the next couple of weeks. You know how much work we have to do on the house."

"It's really coming along," I said. "It looked great when I was last there."

"Yeah," he said, "and now we have the hall painted, and we've finished the trim in the living room and dining room. The exterior is the next big thing..."

I listened as he talked about paint colors and trim options, nodding and smiling. All the while I wished that I had worn a shorter or looser skirt so that I could sneak a hand into my panties and try to soothe this crazy ache. For that matter, I wished I was the sort of girl who would do such a thing.

I smiled to myself, sure that my friend would be shocked if he had any idea what I was thinking. I knew he was a passionate man, but I doubted he would even talk dirty to a woman, let alone spank her or tie her up or fuck her ass, or do any of the wicked things I had imagined. I certainly could not see his wife going along with anything like that -- not that she was a prude, but she did not seem like the type to be interested in games of domination and submission.

He spoke at length about all the home improvement projects ahead of him, and suddenly I wondered if he'd gotten here more than just a half a beer ago.

"That's not your first drink, is it?" I interrupted him.

He abruptly cut off and looked sheepish. "Not the first, no. Can you tell?"

I laughed. "I can tell, but I know you. I doubt anyone else could."

"Crap," he said, "and we haven't toasted yet."

"You're right," I said, raising my glass. "Here's to your new life with your lovely lady."

He shook his head. "We got enough of that at the wedding. How about," he continued, a sudden wicked gleam in his blue eyes, "here's to us, and what might have been."

I was surprised, but echoed his toast and took a drink. He drained his glass. I looked down at my own and realized I would need a refill soon. I usually did not drink this fast.

We were silent a moment, and then I said, "I didn't know you'd ever thought about that, Mr. Married."

"Oh, I thought about it. Don't get me wrong," he said, again playing with his ring. "I love my wife. But you know, I never have thought that there's only one person out there for each of us."

Suddenly I felt like the room was low on oxygen. I could think of nothing to say.

"Not that I'd ever do anything to hurt my wife." He leaned forward and smiled, slow and hot. "But I guarantee you, it would have been fucking amazing."

"Yeah," I managed. "Yeah, it would have."

We were silent a moment more, and then he asked, "So how are things with you and the boyfriend?"

I thought of the emptiness I had recently felt in my relationship, and I shrugged. "Honestly? Work has been really tough on both of us lately. It's been more like having a roommate than a partner. I mean," I blurted, "we haven't had sex in weeks, and I don't even miss it."

"That's not a good sign," he agreed, nodding seriously. The bartender came by with another round for each of us.

Oddly enough, he knew more about my sex life than even my close girlfriends. He'd been encouraging when I first met Mr. Hot Guy, telling me to go for it if it felt right. And after the first weekend we spent together, during which the boyfriend and I had fucked each other mindless in every room of his apartment and mine (not to mention every orifice), I had met my buddy for drinks with a Cheshire grin, telling him, "Thanks for the weekend of great sex!" That had broken the ice, at least with respect to my sex life -- I still knew little enough about his.

He continued, "I thought you guys had really good chemistry."

"We do," I said and sighed. "We always did. I still like cuddling with him at night, and he smells amazing and tastes even better. But I just don't have the same desire to, well, get it on with him. I don't know -- maybe that's normal."

"Well, that's the stereotype, right? Things fade after you've been in a relationship for a while."

"Maybe, but it's not like my libido is totally gone." I blushed, thinking about the evidence I had for that. I drained half my glass of cider, then cleared my throat. "I mean, I still want sex generally. But sex with him is just ... lackluster. Boring."

"So you need something to jump-start your sex life again," he concluded. "Do you have any fantasies that you could explore together?"

I blushed again, but I could no more resist answering than I could resist dreaming about him. "Well, we've played some bondage games in the past, but not for a while. That's, um, that's really my fantasy."

Maybe I was imagining it, but it seemed like his nostrils flared, and he sat up a little straighter. "Really? Who ties up who?"

"Well, both of us. I mean, we've played switch a little. But really," I rushed on, needing to be honest, "I'd rather be tied up. I'm really more of a bottom."

"I see," he said, leaning back in his chair. "So, ah, you haven't been doing that lately?"

"No," I said. "I don't think the sex toy box has been opened in months, maybe longer."

He took a deep drink from his beer. "When you say box, are we talking shoe box?"

"Uh, office supply box," I said. "Like the kind you store old files in."

"Ah," he said. "And what do you have in there?"

"Just an assortment of stuff," I said, a little breathless. "Some leather restraints -- ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs. I have a nice leather collar that hardly has been used. A Wartenberg pinwheel, if you know what that is." He nodded. "And the basics, you know. Vibrator, rope, blindfold, clothespins."

I tried to keep my tone blithe and offhand, but just talking about it with him was turning me on unbearably. My panties were soaked through, and I wondered briefly if he might be able to smell my arousal from across the small table.

I lingered on that thought for a moment -- him smelling my pussy under the table, maybe up close and personal, with my knees hooked over his shoulders, licking and suckling my clit while I tried to keep still and expressionless so that no one else in the bar would catch on, knowing that any second I was going to crack and start screaming my release.

I realized he was watching me, his eyes intently focused on my face. I licked my lips and tried to compose myself.

"That's interesting," he said. "Very interesting. I've always been fond of rope myself."

"Oh, really," I said, unable to think of anything clever through the fog of lust.

He half-raised his glass to me. "Former boyscout. I'm good with knots."

I sat perfectly still for a moment, feeling like a rabbit trapped in a hunter's gaze, and then lifted my own glass and drained the rest of my cider.

"I'm more of a top, you see," he added -- unnecessarily at this point.

My phone rang, and I pulled it out of my coat pocket like someone had thrown me a life preserver. It was my boyfriend, wondering if I could give him a ride home from the gym. I looked at my empty pint glass -- my second -- and told him I was going to walk home, being something of a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

I hung up the phone and stood up. "Well, I think I'm going to head out and meet the man at home."

He nodded. "Time to break out the toy box. I want you thanking me for some more great sex."

I laughed as though his suggestion was a hilarious joke and not a mind-bending turn-on. I wanted to tell him what he could do with me and my toy box. I wanted to tell him that I'd be happy to thank him for great sex any time he wanted it.

Instead, I said, "I'll do that. See you next week?"

He nodded, and I pulled on my coat. As I turned to go, he said, "I usually get a hug. Don't I get a hug?"

I turned back to him, bent down to where he was still seated, and hugged him tightly. Boldly, I added a kiss on his jaw. He turned his head as if to say something, or perhaps to try and capture my lips, but I stepped back, wished him goodnight, and hurried outside.

As I walked home, I could feel the stretch and pull of every muscle and tendon, aching with desire for my friend. My body felt light and loose, my skin sensitive to every brush of air and every chafe and stroke of my clothing.

I had told him that I was interested in bondage, and now I felt as if that wicked aspect of me was riding me like a second skin -- as if somehow under my coat I was secretly bound hand and foot, my most intimate parts exposed and vulnerable even through the layers of clothing.

I took my time walking home, but the cool fresh air did nothing to clear my head. I had made it inside and had hung up my coat when my boyfriend walked in, still sweaty from the gym, still in his workout clothes. He was the same height as my friend, but darker and broader, with hot brown eyes and a smile like the sun.

"Hey, sugar," he said, and I launched myself at him, spreading my hands on his chest and pushing him back against the front door, and kissing him more passionately than I had in months.

When he finally had a chance to pull back for a breath, he said, "Whoa!" and grinned broadly down at me. "What was that for?"

"Just realized how lucky I am to have such a sexy man walking through my door," I said. "Also, I had a little too much to drink."

"Ah, yes," he said, leaning down to kiss me thoroughly himself, not even pausing as he shucked off his coat and let it drop to the floor. "Remind me to encourage you to go out drinking with your friends more often."

We continued kissing, stroking our hands over each other's bodies as he backed me into the bedroom. At the edge of the bed, I pulled up his T-shirt, and as he finished taking that off, I pulled his shorts and boxers down, watching eagerly as his cock bobbed free. He was already thick and hard for me, and I stroked him and tickled his balls.

He groaned and put his head on my shoulder, enjoying my touch. I nibbled on his earlobe, then whispered into his ear, "Fuck me. Hold me down and fuck me. I want to feel you inside me."

He straightened, and turned me in his arms so that I was facing the bed. He pushed me forward roughly. I fell forward onto my hands, bent from the hips, and as he lifted my skirt, I brought my knees up onto the edge of the bed.

He drew his hands up my thighs as he pulled my skirt up to my waist, and I arched my back to present my pussy to him. Under the skirt, I was wearing a black lacy garter belt and matching thong. He pulled aside the thin strip of fabric and pushed a finger deeply into me, easily.

"Shit, you're wet," he said, his voice hoarse. "How did you get so wet, baby? Fuck."

He added another finger to my snug sheath and reached under me to pull up my shirt with his other hand. He pulled down the cup of my bra and grasped my breast, massaging the full flesh and then pinching the nipple hard, and then gave the other breast the same treatment.

"So hot," he murmured, and I felt his cock prodding at my cunt. He pulled away his fingers, then began to thrust into me in one long, heavy motion. His wet fingers moved to my ass in an echo of the finger-fucking he'd given me, pressing one large digit into the tight opening, then adding the second.

"Fuck," he breathed. "So tight."

I tried to work my hips back to take more of him, but he would not be hurried. Finally, I felt his balls tap my pussy as he rocked into me completely, and he began to thrust. In time with his cock, he worked his fingers in and out of my ass. With his other hand, he teased and tweaked my nipples, then grasped the back of my neck as he began to thrust harder.

"Yes," I panted, "yes, fuck, just fuck me, please, please..."

An orgasm hit me like a low wave, its force unexpected as it pulled me under. I felt my pussy clench and my anus spasm around his invading body, and I begged him not to stop.

He used his grip on my neck to push my face down to the mattress and doubled his pace. His dick felt enormous inside me, and every few thrusts he tapped my cervix -- not painfully, but hard enough to make me feel the depth of his possession.

With every thrust, my breasts bobbed against the bed, the texture of the blanket abrading my nipples. I pressed my face into the bed and screamed as the second orgasm hit me harder than the first.

Dimly, I heard him groan behind me. "Yes, baby, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come now!"

My orgasm crested and I relaxed in his hold as he thrust into me a few more times. He came hard, and his thrusts turned into quick, short pulses as he shot his load inside me.

We panted together for a moment, and then he leaned forward against me. I pulled my torso up the bed and stretched out, and he lay down with me, alongside me, tilting my hips and pulling me onto my side so that we were spooning, his cock still in me.

We lay together for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow. Finally I got up to go to the bathroom and clean up. I brushed my teeth, braided my hair, changed into a sleep cami and panties, and by the time I crawled back into bed, he was sound asleep.

I started at the ceiling, and absentmindedly my hands stroked over my body, basking in the lovely used feeling. It had been great sex -- I would have to report back to my buddy -- but I couldn't help thinking that next time, maybe we could break out those ankle restraints. A blindfold would be nice. I could wear that pretty leather collar, and maybe get my wrists cuffed to it. Nipple clamps would be a nice touch.

My hand slipped into my panties as my mind spun out the fantasy. With my boyfriend asleep in bed next to me, I imagined another man tightening the restraints, positioning my ass for his pleasure. I pictured my friend holding my leather flogger, spanking me with it, punishing me for being so naughty, for wanting him and teasing him with my desire.

While I fantasized, I stroked little circles over my clit, then dipped my finger into my pussy to feel the wetness there. I slid my other hand into my panties to part my labia with two fingers as I rubbed my clit using the other hand. I was careful to keep my motions restrained, to not disturb my sleeping boyfriend.

In my mind, my friend slapped the flogger across my ass a few more times, then turned it around to press the thick wooden handle against the entrance to my pussy. I imagined him telling me that naughty girls like me did not get real cock, but if I begged him nicely, he would fuck me with his toy.

I imagined him pinching my clit and teasing me with the flogger until I was crying for him to fuck me, then finally driving the handle deep. In time with my fantasy, I pushed two fingers into my cunt while the other hand worked my clit.

I choked back my cries as I came around my fingers, feeling every little clench and pulse. Every muscle in my body strained against the compulsion to buck against my hand, to keep still and quiet.

Finally I relaxed, going boneless and feeling wonderfully lethargic. Leisurely, I brought my fingers to my lips, one at a time, to suck off my juices. I could still taste my boyfriend's cum flavoring my pussy as I cleaned my fingers.

Satisfied, at least for tonight, I rolled over and fell asleep.