She and I are in my apartment. It is all white and the lights are
on. It is late afternoon, and the shades are drawn. I have a special
evening planned for her and she knows this, although she does not know what
I have in mind.
We are both excited to the point of electricity on our skin. We
undress, our skin tight and cool. I can feel my heart thumping in my
chest. She can sense that something is afoot, her nipples are hard, her
aereolae contracted about them, dark with tiny bumps. The pale flesh
across her chest and shoulders is beginning to show a telltale flush.
She knows the basic plan. I place a blindfold on her, and make
sure that she cannot see. I guide her to my futon on the floor, where she
lays down. I position her in the center of it, then put her arms out above
her head, reaching for the two corners of the futon. I move around and
spread her legs in a similar fashion. I can see that her labia is becoming
red and swollen. Her hands and feet are nearly reaching the corners of the
pad.
I begin to tie her wrists with the cotton rope attached to lag
screws that I have sunk into the floor at each corner of the futon. They
are immovable. She begins to breath harder, writhing slightly.
I continue to tie her up, pulling the cords taught at her wrists
and ankles. She can move her torso a little, but cannot appreciably move
her limbs about. I sit back to admire my handiwork, gazing over the
fullness of her breasts, her slim, boyish hips, the dark patch of hair at
the apex of her smooth slim thighs. I watch her stomach move in and out
with her breathing, its concavity arousing me (more…)