Recline

Her vision blurred a little, the leaves in the tree above her overlaid with static as they twisted slowly in the wind. She smiled, and that was slow too-- everything languid and hazy as the edible-induced fog settled over her. Even the hummingbird that flittered by, on its way to the feeder at the other end of the back porch, seemed oddly unhurried. It glinted beautifully in the afternoon sunlight, brighter, more vibrant than it would appear sober.

She settled back in her chair, a reclining piece of lawn furniture made from canvas fabric on a heavy metal frame. The gentle drop backwards was deliciously disorienting, muddled as she was; a wave of sensation rolled over her like a slow pulse, electric on her skin. She gasped a little, then laughed quietly at the lust behind the sound.

Yeah, weed did that too.

She took a moment to glance around the wooden porch, the empty yard beyond it. There wasn't anyone around. There never was. Reassured, she flexed her hips experimentally, sighing as gentle pleasure rolled over her.

She repeated the action a few times, enjoying the static-y feeling that radiated through her, starting at her hips and then flowing in both directions, up to her head and down to her curled toes. She stretched her legs out, flat as she could get, and found to her delight that she could prop her ankles on the solid metal bar meant as a foot rest.

The bar felt cool against her skin, already oversensitive. She wriggled a little, tugging against imaginary rope, and then closed her eyes, head thrown back to the sunlit sky. Satisfied, she slid her ankles to the farthest corners of the metal frame, leaving her legs slightly spread. She moaned a little as she placed her wrists squarely on the armrests and imagined rope tightening there too, binding her securely to the metal frame of her seat.

Yes. Yes, that was good, so good that for a moment she considered going inside, opening the drawer in her bedside table, and getting rope for real-- or at least a vibrator, the quietest one she had. In her two months of living on the property, she had never seen a single neighbor. There wouldn't be anyone to watch her.

But no, said the small part of her brain that still thought rationally. Neighbors or not, there might be a mailman, or someone picking up trash. Her new landlady hired out the lawn work, she knew that much, but on what schedule she couldn't say. It wasn't worth the risk.

She would stay outside, though, and enjoy herself. Eyes still closed, she gasped again, relaxed, mind cloudy. It didn't take long to fall asleep.

She woke up confused, even deeper in the haze. She flexed her hips again on instinct, and this time the wave of pleasure came heavier, rolling over her with an intensity that made her groan. The sound came out oddly muffled around what felt like a knotted piece of fabric pressing on her tongue, tied firmly around her head. Why would there be--?

It took effort to open her eyes, but when she did, she found something lighter tied across them, blurring everything around her into indistinct outlines. A vague shape moved to her right, and she flinched unsuccessfully against bindings that now felt very, very real. She couldn't move her wrists. Her legs, still spread, were similarly immobile, bound tightly to the bar below her ankles.

The realization had her gasping again, over-warm and delicate, skin tingling against the woven texture of rope. For a moment, some fraction of the confusion lifted, and she wondered if she might still be fantasizing alone, so high she couldn't tell the difference.

Then a voice, soft and feminine, whispered in the space to her right.

"I saw you dreaming." The barest suggestion of a finger traced down her cheek, lifting softly over the line of the gag. "I thought I might know what about."

The disembodied finger left her cheek, brushing down her arm and over her bound wrist, tugging gently at the rope.

"Did I get these right?"

She didn't intend the smothered moan that left her lips as she struggled to pull away, but it came out regardless, breathy and obvious. The voice laughed lightly. The hand on her wrist retreated for a few seconds, then returned to settle on the strip of stomach exposed by her stretched-out pose. She went still against the warmth of a stranger's skin, the weight of a hand holding some small object.

"What about this?" the voice asked, as the same finger slid slowly into the waistband of her sweatpants. She moaned again as it traveled down, farther and farther, into her pants, then her panties, then between her spread legs. She jerked without meaning to as the finger reversed course, brushing against her clit.

The voice laughed again. Something round pushed inside of her, and then the hand withdrew. She clenched down instinctively on the hard shape, and warmth shot through her core, tingly and intense. Her body stiffened, trembling lightly as she struggled to regain her breath. She couldn't.

"And now..." whispered the voice. It trailed into nothing somewhere to her right, replaced by the distinct click of a button being pressed.

The object inside her sprang to life, buzzing wildly against her flesh. She yelped into the knot of fabric obstructing her mouth-- a high-pitched sound that might have been a scream without the gag to keep her muffled-- and writhed against the rope holding her to the chair. It stayed tight against her wrists and ankles, inescapable.

The movement sent lines of pleasure ricocheting through her body, already swimming with sensation from the vibrator seated inside her. She couldn't repress another moan, then another, then another, until she was gasping out lustful, muted sounds with every shaky breath.

She almost missed the soft "ah!" from the space beside her-- the same voice from before making a similar, unobstructed sound of desire. Another second passed, and then the sound of buzzing doubled, half from inside of her, half off to her right. She flushed at the realization that the stranger must be getting off as well, to the sight of her body jerking against her bonds.

She must look obscene, her back arched and hips lifted as high as she could push them, shaking head to toe against the vibrations pulsing through her, groaning through the gag holding her lips apart. The thought put new warmth inside her, fire that built in her straining body until it became too much. She convulsed in her seat, jerking and straining through an orgasm so overwhelming it turned her mind to white static. She shook in her restraints, too distant to gauge how long it took for her body to settle.

Beside her, the voice cried out again, breathy and ecstatic. Sometime later the buzzing from beside her died away.

The buzzing inside her did not. She mumbled an unintelligible plea into her gag, tugging desperately at the ropes around her wrists. They held fast again, extinguishing any hope she might have had of ending the stimulation still radiating through her oversensitive flesh.

The voice seemed to get the picture, because it laughed again. A soft hand gripped her chin, turning her sideways to face the stranger kneeling by her chair. She couldn't make out more than a silhouette through the blindfold over her eyes.

The stranger's thumb traced over her bottom lip, slowly, gently, featherlight across her gasping mouth. The hand withdrew again, and then something pressed into the palm of her bound hand-- the distinctive handle of a pair of scissors.

"Here," said the voice, still colored by amusement. "Don't drop them."

Soft lips kissed her forehead, and then the stranger was gone, footsteps retreating down the porch stairs and into the distance.

She clutched the scissors tightly. If she did drop them, she would never get them back. It took time to cut herself free, the angle awkward, the continued vibrations jerking her hips uncontrollably and making her fingers tremble as she tried to work a blade into the loops of rope.

Finally, the bindings on her right wrist snapped free. She set the scissors hurriedly within reach and yanked off the blindfold, searching the tree line for any glimpse of a retreating figure. She didn't find one. Her eyes fell on a remote control instead, sitting on the wooden floor beside her. The vibrator. She needed it off.

She scooped the remote off the porch floor. It only had the one button, and she hesitated with a finger hovering over it, unsure. Her body was already tensing, fire once again building inside her.

She clicked the button. The vibrations didn't stop. They intensified, buzzing louder and harder inside her. This time she did scream into her gag, shuddering wildly as the second orgasm ignited inside her. Her right hand clenched with everything else, clicking the button once more. The vibrations intensified again as she bucked and exclaimed, the noises sounding to her own ears like high-pitched, tearless sobs. She wandered if the stranger who had bound, gagged, and blindfolded her could hear them too.

She settled some unknowable amount of time later, once again overstimulated and desperate. She held down on the button until the buzzing stopped-- yes, that was how it worked-- and then sagged briefly in her remaining bonds, hurriedly removing the gag. It didn't take long to cut the rope off her left wrist, or to free her ankles. The chair swung upright again as she leaned forward, out of its reclining position. She stood up unsteadily and fled inside, locking the back door behind her.

She pulled the curtains closed on her way to her bedroom, locking that door too the moment she was through it. She reached tentatively inside herself and removed a sopping, slippery egg. For a moment, she held it mutely between unsteady fingers, staring.

Then she slipped it back inside, gasping as it went.