An Unexpected Evening, Part 3

Reaching down the bed I unclasp each of your ankles, your legs closing ever so slightly in relief, your thighs tremoring as they savor their new found freedom.  Reaching above your head, I uncoil the ties around your wrists, noting that they were for show only - you could've escaped at any time.  I will correct that soon.  I give you a few moments to recover before I take command again.

"Take off that... thing.  I want to see your tits."

You comply without a word, sitting up on the bed and reaching behind you to release the various clasps, sutures and loops that holds the bodice so close to your ribcage.  As it releases you fold it in across your chest, hold it out to the side and let it fall to the floor.  In an anachronistic show of modesty, you fold your hands across your breasts, awaiting my next instructions.  They do not come.

As quick as I can I grasp both your wrists and pull them back above your head, pulling you back down to the bed as I do so.  I find the ties that were so recently wound cosmetically around your wrists, separate them, and loop them around your hands and wrists.  Within moments your hands are truly tied above your head, firmly wrapped about the wrists, the knot facing away from your fingers.  If I placed a pair of scissors in your hands, I doubt you could manage an escape. 

You test the bonds playfully, and I hear your breathing quicken when you realize how tight the ties are this time.  For the first time this evening, you are aware of your commitment, the possibilities descend on you like a swarm, and your arms go limp.  Before now, you were captain-in-absentia of this little scene, now with one well placed knot you have become a passenger in steerage.

Stepping back to the bathroom, I rummage through drawers, making no effort to conceal the sounds of my search.  I yank a drawer out to its stops, then slam it closed just as quickly, until I find the tool I seek.

Dental floss.  Waxed and mint flavored, to be precise. 

I return to the bed pulling a long strand of the taut, slick thread from the container.  At the very end I fashion a slipknot, and breaking the line on the handy steel cutter built into the lid, I feed the string back through itself until I have a small lasso tied into the end.  Working quicker now, I prepare a second coil of floss in the same manner.  As I work, I watch your face flush and blanch, over and over, as your mind tries to reconcile the sounds you can pick out. 

With my garrotes in hand, I walk along the side of the bed, dragging my thigh against the sheets so that you'll hear my approach.  I reach down and grab your left breast firmly in my fingers, gathering it up into my fist, until all that remains exposed is a stiff, elongated nipple.  I slip the loop of one floss lasso over the peak, and roll it down to the base.  I smile as I pull it tight, watching you grimace ever so slightly.  Circling the bed, fingers trailing on the sheets, I repeat the performance on your other nipple, snapping it a few times to get it hard once again.

With your nipples lassoed, I slide my fingertips down across your stomach and lower, just glancing across your lips before tracing down your inner thigh, across your knee to your calf, stopping at your instep.  I clutch your foot firmly in my hand and bring it up, bending your knee in the process.  I continue until your leg is pressed into a z-shape against your chest, your knee nearly touching the nipple I most recently secured with the floss.  Before you have a chance to object, I pick up the lead of floss, and wrap it around your little toe two, three, four times.  I close it off with a quick knot, then press up on your calf to test my work.

Your leg yields for a moment, until the motion takes all slack out of the line and your nipple, nay, your whole tit is lifted in the direction of your foot.  You have perhaps an inch and a half of slack between how tightly you can clasp your knees to your chest and when your toe begins to yank on your breast.  I pull your foot upward until you squeal, testing the strength of the slipknot.  Satisfied, I come around to complete the tie on your other side; knowing what's to come you resist, refusing to bend your knee.  I reach across and tickle the foot that's already hanging in midair, and as you try to escape you pull the cord tight again, your giggle turning into a yelp.  You raise your other foot without comment, pulling even tighter to your chest, and I complete my rig. 

I stand up at the foot of the bed and admire my work a moment.  Your hands secured over your head, blindfold still in place, you are now at my mercy.  You carefully work out how much you can relax each leg before the pinching becomes unbearable, and I'm pleased to see the distance for each leg is fairly close.  With both legs up in the air, you are entirely exposed, from where I stand the crotchless panties provide no cover at all; any erogenous zone I could want is splayed open to the cool, dry air of the bedroom.

Fetching my jeans from the floor, I tug out the thick leather belt I've had for years.  I wrap it, buckle first, around my hand, and loop until only a foot or so of strap extends beyond my clenched fingers.  Without word or warning I bring the strap down across your ass, now pointing nearly straight out off the bed. 

The result is immediate, a small squeak bursts from your throat, hangs in the air for a moment and is lost beneath the rush of air as you gasp hurriedly.  On impact, your instinct was to hide your backside, and your legs attempted to straighten out.  As they did so, the line securing nipples to toes was stretched to its max, and your feet attempted to take your breasts with them.  Recovering from the blow, your chest heaves, and I can see that both slipknots have dug deeper into your tender flesh.  I raise my arm above my head for another stinging slap.

You have learned now; while each stinging blow elicits a fresh convulsion, your feet do not stray from your chest.  Even without your hands, you keep your knees pressed tightly to your breasts, exposing yourself further to the sharp, taut leather, sacrificing your most sacred offerings so that the tight string not bite any deeper.  I revel in it for a while, the strap licking back and forth, until I'm satisfied with the hue of your thighs and ass, and realize that you're not going to move your feet again no matter how I tan your hide.

I drop the belt to the floor, and crawl up on to the bed until my head hovers just over your weeping sex.  Up close now, I study the telltale lines the belt has left behind, counting how many slightly raised welts extend off the curve of your ass and into the luminous white flesh of your inner thigh, the quivering border of your outer labia.  Gently I press your lips apart, grin at the surplus of moisture that lies beyond.  Curious, I slide two fingers deep inside you, they glide knuckle deep without resistance.  As I extract them a small river of wet breaks its headwaters, trickling over your exposed pucker and down between your ass cheeks.  I stare, unable to help myself, until it's crept out of my sight.

I replace the fingers with my thumb, and run the pad up the length of your lips, right and left, pressing firmly on your clit as I pass it.  Three more times my thumb slowly probes your sex, until it comes to rest just below your canal, tugging it open to the night air.  My middle finger slides up the back of your crevice, finding natural lubrication, and stops just above your ass; my mouth, half-open, descends from above, aiming for your clitoris. 

As I make contact with my mouth and my thumb presses more urgently, I can hear you blaspheming at the head of the bed.  You strive to hold your legs still, the floss still tethered to your toes just above my head, as my tongue laps up and down, around and across your clitoris.  The scene has had an affect on you, you are clearly very close to cumming again, but I grant you no mercy.  Each time I find a particularly good spot, your legs twitch, and your moan becomes a gasp as you pull your feet in tight again.  I slide lower, tonguing the entrance of your canal, pressing in as far as I can and pulling back out, fucking you with my mouth.  As I feel you begin to shake, I lift my thumb from your asshole and let my tongue drift down instead.  As I run the tip of my tongue across your rosebud, I raise my hands and clasp your ankles to my head tightly, anticipating the reaction as you crash over the edge. 

You scream wordlessly as you crash into your second orgasm, and from the looks of things this one is far more intense.  Your feet crush against my head, pulling me down further into you, I fight a moment's panic as I fear I might drown.  Instead I press more firmly with my tongue, shaking my head vigorously, determined to make your climax as memorable as it was complicated.  I slow my onslaught to soft, languid circles as your convulsions come further and further apart, I release my hold on your ankles, leaving you to again control the tension on your nipples.  You ease the clamping force on my head and I withdraw, breathing hard myself, I sit upright and observe the predicament I've placed you in.

I grab my pocketknife out of my jeans and disconnect your toes.  Carefully I loosen the slipknots on your nipples and cast them aside.  Reluctant to take the knife between your toes, I settle for using my teeth, loosening the floss from around your pinky toes and watching the blood flow back into them.  As you stretch your feet back out down the bed, knees still bent and thighs still wide apart, I see and then hear you begin to laugh.  It starts off as a twitch, but quickly grows to hysterics.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

Your reply came between fits of laughter.  "I was genuinely afraid that you were going to hurt me!  The last thing I expected was to come twice before you'd so much as fucked me!!" 

-- To Be Continued --