The spot where you bound the knot around my wrists was a bitch to get out. When I smoothed that tie down your chest and stomach this morning, I hoped no one would notice that I didn't completely nail that little oval curve a man's tie is supposed to have.
I will have to give up the dream of being the presser for articles of light bondage after all.
Before last night, that part-time job I had working for the dry cleaner gave me nothing but a hatred for doing laundry.
I wondered today how you will remember me when that tie starts to curve and curl up on you the wrong way. Will you remember me pausing and asking last night, "What are you doing?"
You grabbed my hand and stopped me. I was on the way back from the kitchen with a glass of wine in my hand.
Was something wrong? You looked just so intent.
"Oh, a little everything," you told me.
Then, you kissed my palm, my fingers and my wrist. I thought of the Addam's Family. I waited to hear you say "Cara Mia."
My thoughts were jumping from Gomez and Morticia to how my little brother used to put on a fake accent and kiss my arm. I remembered goofing off and how we used to giggle. My mind was moving onto Saturday morning cartoons and I started to tell you about one of those times involving Conjunction Junction from Schoolhouse Rock when I became fascinated by your lips on my inner wrist.
"We used to..." died on my lips, my open hanging open a little. I noticed the look in your eyes and that incensed smoky heat was as far from my childhood memories of little brothers and sitcom reruns as I could get.
My breath caught as you pulled off the tie that had been hanging loose from your shirt collar and wrapped it around my wrist.
"Oh," I raised an eyebrow in interest.
You knotted it around that wrist.
"I wondered why you were still dressed from work when I got here," you placed a fingertip to my lips and then followed it with your mouth.
Expecting a kiss, I tilted my head, ready. You softly "sssshhed" against my mouth and reached for my other hand, taking my wine glass from me and leaving it on an end table.
I stood there in my living room, my wrists bound together in front of me with a length of silk hanging from them. What a picture I would have made.
Clothed and bound and wrapping my thoughts around submitting to you. In that moment, my eyes had to have been as wide as my mind.
You took the end of that length in your hand and backed away toward the hallway. I wasn't sure if I wanted to follow you meekly to the bedroom or put up something of a fight.
We'd talked about this.
If I followed you, I was agreeing to this. The tension between my bound wrists and the end of the tie you held was loose. I had as much room to back away at that point as you did.
Trust and light bondage. My mind was spinning, reeling at the thought of submission.
This was going to be light, I thought. Right? Right?
Standing with my wobbly knees backed against the bed, my heart felt like it was beating between my legs. I was slightly frozen. I am never sure how to start, how to get myself into my deepest desires. I hate my timidity in the moments I later consider to be those most crucial. But then, the true crucial moment already passed. I'd followed you down that hallway with my blood rushing past my ears.
I wondered how you thought you would pull this off and you chased away that thought by pulling my bound wrists up around your neck.
"Mmmm...." I started to comment and then you kissed me.
That kiss wasn't the kind of kiss a woman can hold back from. You were suddenly in my mouth, your lips prying against mine and your tongue crashing into my mouth. I had known you to kiss like that and I always felt swept back, challenged. You kissed me as if asking me to rise to this challenge or give in to your conquering. What would I do? Would I meet you with everything I could be or hold back bound by my own doubts.
I shifted my head a little and kissed back, hard and long. My tongue pushed yours back into your mouth, twirling around and rushing in while you did not expect it.
You answer was your hands on the backs of my thighs pulling up my skirt and resting on my ass, pulling me tight up against your thighs, your chest.
I could feel your hard-on through your pants. I groaned in your mouth and you pulled my legs up around you.
I hate that feeling of the questions: am I too heavy? Does he know what he is doing? What if he drops me? How bad will that be? Am I willing to let him support that much of me? I strained to grasp your shoulders for support but couldn't properly do it with my wrists bound.
I wrapped my legs around your waist and held on, and found that the giving in wasn't so bad. But that might have had something to do with the feeling of your cock beneath your pants and my underwear, and the growing desire I had to strain and rub against you.
And I did.
And you did drop me.
On my back, on the bed, and you followed me -- your body falling over mine. I began the dance, kissing your neck, nipping at your earlobe.
You pulled my legs from your hips and then my wrists from around your neck. The economy of your movements startled me. For a moment, I thought, Uh-oh. Rejection.
Then, you shifted your weight off of me and took the loose end of your tie in your hands. I looked up at where you were working it around one of the posts in the headboard. I studied your fingers for a moment and then your face, intent in your work.
I watched you tug on the tie, testing it. The look on your face when you saw it would hold made me antsy, in fact, more antsy than when I decided to follow you down the hallway. I wanted you.
"I think there is something wrong with this picture," I told you.
"And what is that?" You answered me, a little amused maybe.
"Both of us are a little too dressed."
"Oh yeah? I thought of that."
"And what did you think you were going to do about it?"
"You are not supposed to be asking me that."
"And why not?"
"I have a plan."
"Oh you do, do you?"
"Yes."
"Well what is it?"
"Do you want me to tell you or show you?"
"Oh god, I always want you to tell me. And then I want you to show me."
"You can pick one or the other."
"Really? Only one?"
"Oh yes."
"No hints?"
"Well, I think the fact that you are tied to your bed, and I am here with one hell of a hard-on should be hint enough."
"That still doesn't tell me what you are going to do about the clothes."
"Do you trust me to take care of the clothes?"
I started to ask you something else and then shut up. I knew what you were asking me. It was hardly about clothes.
"Yes -- I trust you."
"Good."
"And if I didn't?"
You sighed then. "You would tell me if you didn't."
"Well, that is true."
You moved away and told me to lift my hips. Yours hand slipped under my ass and tugged my panties down my legs.
"Thank you."
"Did I ever tell you that you talk too much?"
"Yes."
I watched you climb from the bed and unbutton your shirt. As you tossed it onto a chair and kicked off your shoes, I pulled up the slack on your tie and test it. There was enough slack in my arms that I could reach the place where you tied it to the post. I craned my neck to examine your handiwork when you grabbed my ankles and pulled my body down the bed. My arms were closer to taut and the knots were then well out of my reach. My knees could bend over the end of the bed and my skirt up was all bunched up around my waist.
"Hey!" I protested.
