"Where's my gag, then, hotshot?” she asks, standing before me. Eyebrow cocked and that certain, calculating grin spreading her face, the grin that says she knows me, and that she knows I know it. I've never seen a woman's face twinkle before; it's irresistible. But I'd never tell her, not here, not now. I have other ways of letting her know, of letting her know that I know.
“None, Cinderella. No ball for you.” She tilts her head to the side. It's as good as a chuckle, given the position she's in. “First, I have a question.”
Both eyebrows cock, but the grin stays.
“Why should I ever untie you?”
She looks around the room, lazily, her front teeth pinning down her lower lip, before flicking her attention back my way.
“Because you're a lovely man, of course.”
Such a dry, businesslike delivery has never sounded so much like mischief. I move to the side, and bring my hand down on one of her rear cheeks, hard and noisy, on the plump exposure afforded by the thigh-high cut of her knickers. I keep it there, grasping as much of a handful flesh as I can.
“No.” I let go, and walk behind her. “In your own time,” I offer.
“Because, I'm a lovely woman?” she replies.
Still monotone, but I hear the crackle of breath-catching effort behind it.
*SLAP*.
The other cheek this time, and an inward gasp through pursed lips. A deep exhalation leaves her, just as I let go of her arse. I'm still reeling a little, from the daredevil detachment of her words. Stood in front of me, wrists roped firmly together and hoisted up high, at full stretch, in her underwear. And yet she still throws a punchline. Adorable. But then, she knows that I know.
I grab a handful of her knickers, where the waistband meets the cleft of her backside. “No.” And I tug, sharply, with my fistful of fabric. Before her squeaky little yelp has ended, I continue: “One more guess. Take as much time as you need.”
Five seconds pass. “Beeeeecauuusssse, ummmmm....”
And I unleash. Half a dozen strokes of my palm, from one cheek to another, only ever bringing my hand back far enough to bring it down again with crisp, heavy purpose, losing count as I speed up the flurry. I stop. If she protested, I didn't hear it. Her mouth wide open, her lips beyond flirting, her breathing swift, her head sagging slightly.
I undo her bra, and move to the front of her. I expose her chest, and use the hasps to lightly knot the bra around her neck. Sloppy. Silly. Insulting, even. But convenient. I cover each breast with a hand, and do nothing other than press, enough to test her balance. She lifts her head, and glares. Her stare wants to bruise me, but I see everything behind it. I see the fresh storm inside her head. A moment passes.
“You shouldn't. You shouldn't untie me.”
And we're there. The union we work and play for, the thing we want but can't confess to when apart, can't properly access without the steel and swirl of these activities, that bring the rawest edges of our natures to the fore. My hands echoing with the sting that's ringing through both of her cheeks, her eyes exploding with secret information. And we're there.
I let her head nod onto my shoulder for a moment. “Good enough,” I whisper.
I fetch her ball gag from a nearby chair. I feed it into her willing mouth, and she gulps it in with a soft pop.
“Uuuhhhh, neeeeurgh, wait!” she garbles, tonguing it back out. “Wait! Do I get a blindfold?”
Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle.
“Tell you what,” I say, popping the gag back in, skirting behind her and snugging the buckle. “I'm going to slap that arse of yours, just the once, as hard as I can.”
The gag sealed, I return to her, standing close, hip to hip. I reach my hands around, and settle them on the small of her back.
“I'll be right here –“ I stretch one hand down, and stroke it over a radiating cheek “ – watching. And if you keep your eyes open, you'll get your blindfold. Deal?”
Despite my question, there's no murmur, no nod, no sign of agreement.
Just her eyes, wide open, peering at me.
Grinning.
04.10.08