The Twine That Binds

It's after midnight but, you know I just made coffee. You don't bother knocking anymore. We've been living this secret little life for a while now. I know I don't have to wear ridiculous lingerie for you. It just ends up on the floor. Tonight, I chose a simple tank top and boy shorts, clashing horribly with purple socks and leopard print slippers. My hair is still in a ponytail and I haven't taken my makeup off yet. I've still got a hint of whiskey on my breath from going out with friends earlier.

You're wearing the standard jeans and t-shirt with those shoes that only the classiest of nerds wear. Your socks have stripes on them. I don't know why but, they make me smile. Like you can't be serious all the time, contrary to what our mutual friends think. You pour the coffee while music from the 1930's plays on my phone. I've learned your tastes in music. The older, the better, it seems.

Patti Page starts to sing "You Belong to Me," and I finally stop resisting to urge to touch you. I don't know why I always stall. Maybe to give the false impression that I have self control around you. It's torturous.

Concentrating on necklace you're wearing (because I don't dare look you in the eye), I let my hands move from your shoulders down your torso and back again. I like teasing you, feeling you grow harder against my stomach.

I move down to your belt and give a little tug before pulling your shirt over your head. I trace my fingertips over your chest and down your side's, eliciting the tiniest goosebumps along the way. You're almost in that trance I strive for. I love making you happy.

I find your belt again and undo the buckle, the button, the zipper. Not yet. I'm not done writing invisible love letters on your skin. I could never speak them. Your jeans slide down and end up in a pile on the floor. Your underwear is struggling to hold your now-throbbing cock in place. I take them off and give you some relief.

Your hands have been quite busy, sweetheart. My hairtie is somewhere on the floor. I know exactly what you want me to do but, I still feel like taunting you. Gently caressing you from your stomach to the head and back again, underneath, making little circles and causing your soldier to jump to attention. You really do have an impressive cock. It's so damn perfectly sized and curved just right. My underwear are soaked. I hadn't realized it until your expert fingers found their way in and out...and in...

Not so fast. I start kissing your chest and working my way down until I'm on my knees in front of you. Your hands are tangled in my hair. I take you in my mouth and use my tongue to continue teasing. Slow, soft, to the tempo of the song playing. I can't tell who it is. Far too distracted.

I am one of few with extreme control over my gag reflex. I can take all of you, and I do, and finally look up to see you slowly coming undone. That's exactly what I want. You pull my hair a little harder and seem a little desperate for release. Of course, darling. I'll give it to you. I love the way you taste.

Another cup of coffee. A brief intermission. I'm in no hurry. You're still touching me, making me wetter. You pull my shirt and undies off quickly, kneel, and kiss my sex as if you'd found a long lost lover. I come quickly, breathless, needing more of you.

You ask me where the baling twine is. What kind of question...oh. Oh! Your hands are rough as you pull my elbows together behind my back and lead me to the bedroom. You have me kneel on the bed and bend over until my head is on the mattress. I'm not used to being exposed like this. You tell me to stay there as you walk back to the kitchen. You pull me up by the hair and have me take you in my mouth one more time before finally (finally) fucking me into oblivion. Teeth, fingernails, did you just spank me? Again. Harder. I come hard around you and you rub my clit, making the ecstasy almost unbearable. Your name escapes my lips and you bury yourself in me. I can feel it throbbing. Delicious.

Again, you tell me to stay where I am. When you return, you ask if I trust you. Of course, I say yes. I hear you open a knife and assume you're just going to cut the baling twine. I was wrong. So wonderfully wrong. You gently run the blade from the back of my neck, down to my ass, up my arms, down again. This has got to be unhealthy but, I love it. I do trust you. You cut the twine, massage my wrists, kiss me deeply, then disappear into the dark and leave me wondering what will happen next...