Nothing's biting, nothing's hurting, so that's all good.
"You know, I wish I could say that this was the first time a date had ended up like this." You look up from your bag and raise your eyebrows.
"You've been tied to a chair before after a date? Really?"
"Oh yeah, really," I glance down at myself, "I wasn't naked that time though. And it was kind of a joke. Wasn't a second date either." You find what you were looking for, and drop something on the table, then step towards me.
"First date?"
"I never let myself be tied naked to a chair on a first date," I come back, "Just... a personal rule of mine."
"Well, this is gonna be fun, y'know. And I think you have a hard time taking anything seriously, so it'll probably be a joke to you anyway."
"I'm taking it pretty seriously right now." I look down again at my dark bush of pubic hair and my flaccid little cock slouching down between my thighs. Aesthetically, I think we can all agree that there is almost nothing to commend about limp dicks. When they're rampant and raging with blood - I can understand the attraction. But when they're all shy and shaking with stage fright... not so much.
This is me saying that I'm pretty bloody embarrassed to be handcuffed naked to a chair in front of you with a soft cock by the way. You, on the other hand, cute as fuck in that semi-cowgirl get-up, have nothing to be embarrassed about. I mean, possibly you had a few too many buttons of your plaid shirt undone while we were out at that Mexican place earlier - the waiter certainly noticed, peering down at the alluring view you were presenting him with. But that's probably necessary, since you seem to be wearing a very small men's shirt that is clearly not designed to contain what you're... uh, packing. Your tits I mean. You probably don't have a choice to be exposing so much of your... gorgeous... anyway.
The jeans are a nice touch too, in that they're just... unfeasibly tight. Seriously, I'm sitting here trying to admire the mouth-watering curve of your ass and all I can think about is how the fuck you got into those things. And the way they follow your cheeks, curving in a little and clearly stretching over that little crack... Oh wow.
Well, shit! And I'm still not getting hard! This is a little embarrassing here. I'm sure you're expecting some kind of 'reaction'. Certainly by past form I'm pretty sure I should be responding. Situations like this are generally like catnip to me, and it's not like your apartment is cold. Maybe it's that astonishing attitude of yours, playful and attentive, but simultaneously utterly unimpressed by anything that's going on around you. Trying to please you looks like a pretty tricky proposition.
Oh, and if you're trying to intrigue me by coming off all cynical and aloof... then I have to say your plan is succeeding magnificently. You seem to have cowed my libido a little though.
"I bet you have a copy of that "Why Men Love Bitches" book don't you?" I joke, lamely, but you just ignore me and head to the kitchen. "Well, feeling a little self-conscious right now," I blurt, trying to make my voice light and carefree. Fat chance of that.
"Well, you're naked, cuffed to a chair and at my mercy," your deadpan voice comes out of the kitchen at me. "I think self-conscious is a pretty mild response."
"Thanks for that," I retort, allowing myself the same dry intonation.
"I think," you appear in the kitchen archway sipping from what looks to be a cup of coffee, "that you talk too much to be a good sub."
"Is that coffee?"
"Yes it is." Your face is utterly impassive as you answer.
"Can I have some? Just a sip?" I can't help the eagerness in my voice. You wait a long time before answering.
"No."
"Oh right, I'm the sub here, right?"
"Well, I thought you were," you raise your eyebrows again as you come towards me. God but you're pretty. "But possibly you're just some naked boy who talks too much."
"Boy? I'm all man, lady!"
"Aw," you touch my cheek and pout affectionately, "that's adorable." I manage to bite my tongue for once instead of answering back. "So," you step back, "what's going on down there then?" I feel completely exposed as you squat down to examine me, still fully fucking clothed and sipping your coffee so very casually. "Is this... restraint? Will power? Because I saw the problem you were having when we got up from the booth after dinner."
"Well..." I start, but you cut me off.
"You know - the massive erection you had." You look up from my still damnably uncooperative cock, and fix me with a divinely condescending smirk.
"I know about the..."
"The one that was... kinda trying to force its way out of the front of your jeans. It was cool how you just acted as if it wasn't there."
"Well y'know, acting like I'm trying to hide something generally makes it more obvious that..."
"Didn't work though, did it?" God, you won't let me finish a sentence! "I noticed, and so did the girl at the register. She gave me a little thumbs up as we left."
"I..." wait, a thumbs up? "Really?" One look at your wicked smile and I know that you're just teasing. I imagine there will be a lot of teasing.
"Look at you, all happy about girls checking out your 'package'. Of course not. She did notice though, and she did make a little face to me."
"What did you..."
"I rolled my eyes and let you drag me out to the car. Anyway, back to your willpower in not allowing yourself to get hard now."
"It's not really will..."
"Shhhh," you press a finger to my lips, it's smells gloriously, maddeningly of rich coffee beans... maybe you'll let me just... suck your finger to get a little of the taste? Oh, and leaning forward so that the aroma of that... what is it dark roast? Oh wow, it smells vicious! "I'm going to test your willpower..."
I think there are four pairs of cuffs. The first pair secured my hands behind my back (and behind the chair back) after I had, bashfully, got naked. There I was, sat on this... strangely sturdy large wooden chair that you have in your lounge, and next you snapped those metal bracelets around my ankles and the chair legs. The cool wood on my bare ass - that was something that really reinforced my position here. And then finally the first pair of cuffs was cuffed to... well I can't see, it's behind me, but I'm guessing you attached the final link to the bar that goes between the rear legs. So my arms stretched back, my legs not going anywhere, and my shy little penis seemingly daunted by everything.
"Test...?" I frown weakly, "What do you mean?"
"Well," you stand up, placing that longed-for coffee carefully on the table behind you, "I'm going to do some things, and if you can keep yourself from getting hard with that iron will of yours, then you'll be rewarded. If you can't control yourself though, and that big, fat, thing comes back again..." I hold my breath, "then probably I'll have to punish you." You shrug and make a face as if those are the rules and you have no choice but to follow them.
"You'll 'probably' have to punish me? You're not that tough a dom are you?" I risk teasing you a little, but you just shrug.
"Well you're a fucking awful sub, so we must be perfect for each other."
I smile, but inside someone's stepping on the accelerator in my chest. Now that I've been told to stay soft I'm pretty sure that I'll have a storming boner in minutes. I hold my breath and feel for my heartbeat - not that I need to, my pulse is pounding in my ears now. I can feel the blood rushing to my crotch in preparation. Great, thanks a lot body. Way to help me out.
Oh, who am I kidding? The punishment will probably be just as fun as the reward.
"Ok, here we go," your voice has a flippant singsong quality to it as you stretch your arms up above your head, lifting your shirt and giving me a fantastic view of your flat stomach. I bite my lip and think of political speeches that have bored me, and the shoddy comb-overs of those who have given them. I'm not just going to give in to this - where's the fun in just letting you win? You grin at my impassive expression and step, step, step - slowly and deliberately until you're standing over my knees, looking down at me past that sensational decolletage. Oh God, politics is for suckers...
No! No, I won't allow myself to just give in like this! I bring my head down, escaping from those hypnotic grey eyes, and start number crunching. How much money I spent on alcohol last week, my taxes, the starting numbers of the great sportsmen of our time... The pressure inside me abates and I get control again. My prick, traitor that it is, is sensitive and ready, but it's still lying dormant at the moment. I can do this, maybe I can even beat you. Then your slender fingers come down in front of my eyes and pop the button of your jeans open with one scornful motion.
Oh fuck, you're standing there, your flat belly right in front of my face, and I can't bring myself to look away as you pop one... two... three... more buttons on the fly of your jeans open (really? You have a button fly on jeans that tight? How is that even possible?). Oh God. Pink. Pink cotton panties it looks like, as you tug the gap in the denim open and give me a peek of what you're wearing underneath.
