Sandra stared up at Simon with wide eyes and her full lips parted to contradict him, but no sound came out. As much as she wanted to lie, she couldn't - her body had spoken for her.
Simon, seeing the stunned, defeated look on her face, didn't wait for a response. Sandra watched in confusion as his chest suddenly rose above her. In frustration he tipped his head and arched his back in perfect imitation of the 'Cobra' yoga pose, giving her a clear view of his solid physique, the strain in his thick, taut arms betraying the tension in his body.
As Simon arched, in his mind he made all kinds of promises to a God he didn't believe in to suppress his climax. Just being naked on top of Sandra felt better than any sex he'd ever had. Feeling an unfamiliar longing, he realised that as much as he needed to get inside her, he wanted to withhold his orgasm for the right moment. He'd just been gifted with an invaluable prize, and had every intention of holding her unwilling arousal over her head like his trophy. Her body's response was like a silent submission to his dominance, infinitely more precious than the coerced film on his phone.
When Simon discovered Sandra's incredible wetness, realised her body wanted him much earlier than anticipated, a thousand exciting thoughts followed and he very nearly came. What stopped him was the mental image that he wouldn't get to take her like he promised, he wouldn't make her come, that she would somehow triumph over him sexually. It was enough that he couldn't control his desire for her - she wasn't going to get more than that over him.
While it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do, while his cock roared abuse at him for even considering his next action, Simon decided to retreat. He needed to collect his thoughts and calm his overheated body. With Sandra trapped right where he wanted her, he could afford to take the time to cool off. He wasn't fool enough to ignore the fact that the current hold he had on himself was dangerously temporary. Leaving Sandra would hurt him, but if he didn't walk away now he was going to lose, and that wasn't an option for their first time together.
"FUCK!" he screamed angrily, making her cry out in fright beneath him. Without any explanation he dragged himself from the bed and stalked naked from the room, leaving her bewildered and not least of all, relieved.
As soon as he was through the door Sandra immediately rolled onto her stomach, not believing her luck at literally the last minute. Ignoring the humiliating slickness between her thighs and trying not to get tangled in her open robe, she used the scarf to pull herself up onto her knees by the headboard.
Not spending a second thought on when or whether Simon would come back, she made the most of her precious moment alone and frantically worked at the knots around her wrists. They were brutal, pulled furiously tight by Simon in his determination to keep her helpless while he did his worst. Idly she wondered why he'd stormed out in a rage.
'That fucker, is definitely on drugs,' she thought absently, shifting to manipulate the tangled scarf with one hand at a time. Fortunately she was talented with undoing knots, and in her current state of urgency her desperate fingers made short work of the restraints. She barely flinched when she caught a nail, drawing blood.
Finally getting both hands free, Sandra took a deep breath as she pictured her future like a dawning sunrise. She'd turn Simon in to the police and not care whether he spent time in jail. She no longer wanted revenge, justice or retribution. She didn't give a fuck if he sold the sex tape online and made a million dollars, didn't care if the whole world called her a whore - she was going to be free. She'd abandon her beloved job in a heartbeat and disappear. He'd never have power over her again. Tears ran down her cheeks as she fought to control her movements and make minimal noise.
Rubbing her sore wrists, she paused, listening. If she heard him coming back, she would scream out the window. It didn't matter if the police thought she was a petty attention-seeker, their arrival would cut the assault short. Then again, Sandra knew very well that if she screamed Simon would silence her quickly, possibly before anyone could decipher where her cry for help originated. The better thing would be to sneak down the hall and out the door to immediate physical freedom. Riskier, but without question the more worthwhile option.
As she crept toward the door she listened for footsteps. Simon wouldn't bother to tread quietly if he believed she was still tied up. Sandra could hear the kitchen tap running full force. Shutting out her terror and all accompanying thoughts that might shake her resolve, she nimbly darted from the room and dashed past the kitchen down the hall.
***************************************
In the kitchen, Simon turned on the tap and splashed cold water over his face and body, particularly his protesting cock.
If he was going to do this thing properly, he couldn't be stopping and starting, with the nagging possibility he might explode without notice. Angrily he acknowledged he should have realised this when he'd first had Sandra's breast in his mouth, but he'd been too distracted by her amazing body, accessibly naked under the robe.
Simon's bruised ego was reeling from the fact that for the first time ever, he had been forced to back down from a sexual encounter. With women he always had masterful control over himself; he was never quick unless he wanted to be, he took as long as he wanted, he came when he chose.
A combination of sexual frustration, anger, and male pride formed one irrational thought - his overwhelming reaction to Sandra was somehow her fault, she'd set him up. He hadn't expected to find her so scantily clad, and he hated how close his plans had come to disaster on the one occasion it actually mattered to him. A part of him hated Sandra for making him want her more than any other woman.
Musingly Simon wondered if he should masturbate. After exploring her body so intimately he would no doubt release quickly, and then he could start over again without worrying about an unexpected climax. His expression morphed from a murderous scowl into a Cheshire cat grin when he considered he could get three orgasms in the same night, courtesy of Sandra, who'd done everything in her limited power to spurn his advances. The third time would be the charm - they'd come together. Boy, was she in trouble.
The moment he turned off the tap, his fantasising was cut short by the faintest snippet of sound - a floorboard creak.
'Impossible!' he thought incredulously, ironically imitating Sandra's shock when she'd heard him close her balcony door.
A shadow dashed past the doorway. He lithely poked his head out in time to see Sandra tiptoeing, still in her robe, down the hall.
Blinding rage clouded his mind as he charged after her. After already making him feel inadequate, she was going to leave and make a complete fool out of him!
