"MMmmm..." Your wordless reply sounded just as tired as mine. Snuggling against you, I wondered briefly if you would be there when I woke up before sleep overcame me. Dreaming of making love to you, I never felt my body being tied to the four poster bed, nor did I feel your tears land against my skin...
I awoke in the morning feeling wonderfully stiff. Every muscle in my body ached, reminding me of last night's incredible sex. I would like to call it love making, but unfortunately even I sometimes have to admit when a spade is a spade...
Realising that my muscles were even more stiff then normal, I tried to stretch, only to suddenly come jarringly awake as I discovered that I was tied, completely spread eagle, onto my bed. There was even a tie across my waist, holding me tight against the bed. Opening my eyes, I scanned the room, looking for you. Unable to see you I tried to listen for your movements, but all I could hear was the occasional bird chirping outside. Knowing you must still be inside the house, fearing you weren't, I wondered briefly what I should do. I would call out your name, but I had yet to learn it. Also, I didn't really know for sure where we stood, last night was amazing, but since this morning I was tied down, it kind of stood to reason that maybe you didn't trust me.
The smell of bacon wafting into the room unexpectedly eased some of my worries. Inhaling deeply, I could faintly smell coffee, as well as possibly cheese. Wondering what you were cooking, or why, I tried to imagine you naked, except for maybe my light green apron, cooking me breakfast. I couldn't help it, maybe it was the stress of the situation, but I broke out giggling.
When I finally managed to stop giggling, you were standing at the foot of the bed, wearing a pair of jeans, and carrying a plate filled with a giant cheese omelette, tons of bacon, & a stack of toast. The fact that you really did cook my breakfast, after everything else (especially tying me to the bed), made me nearly break out in giggles again.
"Are you always this cheerful of a morning person, or do I get some of the credit?" What obviously was supposed to be a devilish smile spread across your face, flashing off your dimples, completely ruining any 'devilishness' that otherwise would have been present.
"Would you believe me if I said I am always this cheerful?" It was a downright lie, I was almost always grouchy at least until noon, but I figured it would be bad for you to know the effect you had on me. Presuming of course you believed me, which was doubtful, since I can't lie worth a damn.
"Well, in that case I guess I didn't even need to try to cheer you up with breakfast in bed." Sitting down on the bed, you rested the plate on my stomach as you spoke.
I wasn't sure if I should mention it, but since it was pretty obvious, I felt the issue of my being bound may as well be dealt with now. "Well, umm...breakfast in bed normally doesn't include being tied down, to the best of my recollection."
Laughing slightly, you shrugged casually, seeming to almost dismiss my comment. "Well then, you haven't been having breakfast with the right people. I hope you like cheese omelettes..."
Not giving me a chance to respond, you brought a forkful of eggs to my mouth and proceeded to feed me. Stretching out on the bed, you fed me, taking the occasional bite, while we spoke of menial things. Once we had talked about the weather, a picture I had on the wall (a beautiful Ruth Thompson fire elemental picture named Ember), and how the local sports team was doing, we had almost completely finished breakfast. Well, at least the eggs were almost finished. The plate was still half full with a stack of bacon and about a third of the toast.
"So, now that I have experienced eating breakfast in bed tied up, would you care to untie me?" I tried desperately to make the question sound light and playful, but inside I was starting to get a bit edgy about the whole situation.
The silence that echoed across the room suddenly increased my anxiety even more.
"I can't."
With those two little words, I suddenly knew the breakfast had been something more than simply food. With a feeling of dread, I was suddenly reminded of every time my father had cooked for my mother to make up for something he had done wrong, trying to use food as an apology.
"Why not?" The words stuck in my throat, coming out so that I could barely recognise my own voice.
"I...you...you've seen my face, you could identify me...I..." your words trailed off, drowned out by the obscenely cheerful chirping of birds outside.
Trying to control my panic and the impotent rage that was beginning to build within me, I tried breathing deeply, remembering all of the self-control exercises that I had ever learnt.
"Do you really think after last night I could call it rape? Hell, even the first night was, well...urg! In case you failed to notice, I was thrusting against you just as much as you were thrusting against me last night..."
"You say that now, but later, once I'm gone, you'll change your mind. You'll regret this, regret me. Don't deny it." Your voice was angry, accusing, but under that, I swear I could feel pain and loneliness. Whether it was a figment of my over-active imagination or not, I had no idea, but I almost felt sorry for you for some reason.
I sat in silence, trying to consider your words carefully before replying. If you left right now, and after the memory of last night faded slightly, would I skew events until I believed you had raped me? Would I come to regret what had happened? I had known others who always cried rape when they broke up with a guy.
I couldn't believe that I would ever consider this rape. Although technically it was, for me I had experienced rape more from boyfriends trying to get me drunk and pressure me into sex than from the wildly passionate encounter we had. As for the issue of regret, I was a bit unsure about that. Although I had definitely enjoyed myself, I also prided myself on not sleeping around. I had once made myself a promise not to have sex with someone unless I loved them (even if the love was unrequited), and I had lived by that promise until now. With that in mind, I knew I must word my reply cautiously.
"I...I would never report you to the authorities. Although I might mention you to friends, I would lie and create a different way that we met. You can trust me."
"What about the whole 'never trust a person who says trust me?'" Your words mocked mine from last night.
"But I did trust you, didn't I?"
A frustrated sigh was your only reply as you put the half-empty plate on the bedside table. Returning to the bed, you laid down on top of me, covering my body completely. Your hands traced up my arms, slowly, until you reached where my hands were tied. Entwining our fingers, you silently stared at me, your eyes a pool of confusion.
Closing my eyes against your tormented green ones, I was unprepared when I felt your lips press urgently against mine, forcing your tongue between my teeth. Stealing my breath, you dominated my mouth thoroughly. When you finally drew back I was gasping for breath and could clearly feel your arousal through your jeans.
"This isn't going to solve anything." My words were a breathy whisper.
