Long day at work
, she thought to herself, taking a swig of diet coke and placing it back into the cupholder.
Road signs, stop lights, and pedestrians blurred past her as she drove home. She was already planning out her evening, starting by taking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and immediately making herself a very tall scotch—on the rocks, of course.
She wondered if she had truly become an introvert, the way her old college pals had said she would. Bars, clubs, friends, boyfriends; these places were for other people, these "friends" were distant, at best. She liked her men rough, but aside from a bi-yearly visit to the sado-masochistic bar in the big city, she kept the men far, far away.
It was about time for one of those visits, if her math was correct. She added as she drove the last few blocks to her house, and by the time she turned up her drive, a half-mile strip of gravel, she was already planning an ensemble for her next visit to the city, maybe next weekend.
But these thoughts flew from her head when she saw the car parked in front of her garage. She knew the car instantly. Six months had passed since that black Explorer had been parked outside her home. He had driven her home tied up in the bed of the truck. By the time they had reached her house, she had soaked the liner with sticky excitement.
Her nipples stood taut beneath her blouse. There was no way anyone could tell, but there they stood, belying the casual way she gathered her things and went to the front door.
When she opened it, the house was dark except for the glow of three candles burning on her dining room table. She dropped her things, slammed the door, and rushed to the candles. A box sat in the middle, wrapped with black paper and red silk ribbon. Next to it was a note.
Remove your shirt and skirt, but nothing else. Put on the gift, get on all fours, and crawl through the house until you find me. I am waiting.
Her breath caught in her throat, and immediately she felt herself go moist. Her fingers trembled as she unwrapped the box and opened it. Inside lay a collar of black leather.
The smell filled her nostrils as she buckled it around her throat. She obeyed the letter, shedding her clothing and immediately falling to her knees. She knew it would be a while before she found him, so she made a quick sweep of the lower level, finding nothing. She cursed herself for buying such a large house.
As she climbed the carpeted stairs, she began to really become excited. He was a master at the art of waiting, of withdrawing or holding back before finally giving her what she most desired. The last time, he had gone in to tour her house, leaving her bound in the bed of his truck for at least twenty minutes. When he finally came to release her, he had fingered her three times before undoing the knots, each time bringing her close to climax, but never letting her achieve it.
Assuming he had gone to her room, she decided to draw out the game by searching the guest rooms, library, bathroom, and patio, saving the bedroom for last. Noises began to reach her ears. Had he brought someone else? Was it not just them? She listened closer as she headed for the closed door. Realization dawned on her. The TV was on.
She rose and opened the door, then fell to her hands again, crawling into the room. He sat on the bed and glanced at her briefly, then returned to the Television, which was playing canned laughter. A sitcom? Wasn't he eager to begin?
Crawling to his feet, she began to run her hands up his leg. He grabbed her hair.
"Bad girl. Lay at my feet. Do not move or look at me until I tell you. You may call me 'sir' or 'master.' Do you understand?" He held her hair tightly until she responded.
"Yes, sir."
He shoved her head down, pressing her chest into the floor. She held herself still until he released her, then repositioned to comfortably bow at his feet. She stared at his bare feet, sorry for beginning their session poorly. She wanted to make it up to him, to please him.
Minutes dragged by. He drank a glass of champagne, and at one point walked away to refill it. When he returned, he patted her head. The show concluded, a happy ending, and the credits rolled on one side as the ads for the next show played on the other. He sighed and stood, turned off the TV, and placed his glass next to its pair and the bottle on the night stand.
Still she bowed there, unsure what would happen next. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the rustle of his shirt being unbuttoned, then falling to the floor.
"Come here," he commanded. He stood on the far side of the bed. She crawled to him. "How long has it been since you saw me?" he asked.
"Six months, sir."
"Did you miss me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't lie."
"I would never, sir."
He knelt and lifted her chin. "When you saw my truck, what went through your mind?"
Her eyelids fluttered. "I thought of you tying me up in the back, sir."
"Did that excite you?"
"Phenomenally, sir."
He released her jaw, and she let it fall, facing his feet. "Sir, I'm sorry for my behavior."
"What? When?"
"When I first came in, sir."
"It's forgotten, pet," he cooed. He touched her side, tracing a line from the bottom of her bra to her panty line. She gasped at the contact. "So sensitive. I'd forgotten. Let's see how sensitive you are." He unclasped her bra with ease, then pulled the straps from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor, her hands still inside the wide circles. "Stand," he told her.
She slowly stood, balancing on her high heels. Free of her bra, she felt awkward. Her arms dangled at her side. From this angle, she saw he had more items on the night stand. He turned and took a pair of wrist cuffs. "Turn around."
He bound her wrists behind her, held together by two clips. He could easily unclip them from each other. "Turn again, now."
With her arms back, her breasts pushed forward pleasantly. He stroked below the right one with the end of his finger, a look of calm eagerness on his face. Now her nipple was erect, waiting for attention. Softly, he traced a wide circle around her right breast, each time coming closer to the center. She wobbled in her heels.
He reached her nipple, grabbed and twisted, then quickly released. She nearly fell forward into him. He thrust a hand behind her, pulling on the back of her collar. "Stay on your feet, woman. I'm not going to catch you," he said gruffly, never breaking his gaze with her nipple. He stooped and tasted her, clamping down on her tiny bud.
She exclaimed in pleasure. "Thank you, sir," she sighed, trying not to tumble. He held her nipple tightly, running his tongue and teeth over it with timed precision. When he pulled away, she swayed again, but steadied as he pulled her close to perform the same service to her left breast.
When he stood, he maintained a firm grip. She longed to feel him in her arms, but they were still held tight behind her. She surrendered as he pressed his lips to hers, lapsing into a deep, hypnotic kiss that left her with no doubts that he was enjoying himself. Against her hip she could feel a stiff bulge, most assuredly all him.
His hands groped her flesh, working their way down to the waistband of her black pantyhose. He slid his hands beneath them and kneaded her buttocks while they kissed, enjoying the writhing she was beginning to make against his groin. He longed to feel her pussy, to know how wet she was, but even more he wished to prolong their suffering. It made the end result so exquisite.
He withdrew his hands, then his body, ending the kiss. She had her eyes closed, focusing on standing and nothing else.
He surveyed her stance. "Turn to the right, facing the bed." She complied. The bed was high; she still harbored a secret fantasy that taller beds were for royalty. Her bed and her sheets were the most expensive things in the house. For a split second she wondered if she could share them with someone, finally. Maybe him? After all, was he so bad?
Her thoughts were literally pushed from her consciousness as he pushed her forward, so that her torso fell onto the bed. Her ass was now slightly up in the air, and her legs looked stunning in the heels. He caressed her ass for a moment as she wriggled slightly, trying to get comfortable.
She sensed him return to the night table and pour himself some more champagne. He put the glass back down and picked up another item from the table. No wait, two items. A small gasp escaped her as the cold metal of a pair of silver scissors rested between her shoulder blades. He leaned next to her with the second item. "Lift your head. Look down at the bed."
He forced open her mouth with a ball gag, then closed it tightly around her head. Oh, he loved the sight of a woman in a ball gag. "Now look at me. Say thank you."
She could barely make the sound necessary and he knew it, but he savored the moment as she released a muffled "thank you, sir."
He lifted himself to standing. "Now turn your head toward the TV. I'm going to go sit in the chair next to it, you see? I want to see that pretty pink ball in your mouth. And no matter what I do, you are not to move or stand or whine. Understood?"
