Sunset Sea 

She held her breath as his fingers danced across the taut white fabric between
her legs, ballroom circles pressing harder and harder against the dampness.
After a momentary eternity inside her, they excused themselves to rest atop the
wide cuff securing her thigh to her wrist.

He returned his attention to the garish images on the TV, an endless parade of
bondage vignettes compiled by a video vendor to preview its latest wares. She
vaguely recalled mentioning something about disliking how her local Blockbuster
refused to carry porn.

His hand kneaded the constricted flesh just north of the leather's smooth edge,
the hairs on his forearm tickling her naked belly, his still-clothed body
pressed hard against hers as they sat next to each other on the couch in a
demented parody of domestic bliss.

She always suspected, of course. Their bantering often included an undercurrent
of serious kink that occasionally escalated into incriminating details. But
propriety and apprehension had seemingly conspired to prevent them from
tripping down that particular rabbit hole.

It wasn't like she hadn't warned him. She had never denied she was looking for
more than he offered. No hard feelings, good luck, stay in touch, etc.

They had gone to the pub to celebrate her success, but they couldn't even
finish the second round before deciding his place would be more conducive to
soul-baring chat. Once inside, the couch provided proximity, and biology did
the rest.

After a torrid series of embraces long repressed, he had removed his tie and
gingerly touched her wrists. She remembered pushing him away.

"What are you scared of?"

"You," she finally whispered, unable to look him in the eyes.

He kissed her forehead and took her face softly in his hands.

"Or maybe yourself," he said, smiling. In the space of a heartbeat, she was
standing by the couch, hands secured behind her back and ankles lashed together
with his belt.

"No sex" were the last words she had been allowed to utter before he produced a
harness gag from the back of a drawer. He nodded his consent as he inserted the
bulge of leather in her mouth and buckled its myriad straps. Satisfied with her
silence, he began to slowly unbutton her blouse.

When she was finally naked save her panties, he produced his bag of tricks and
emptied its contents onto the coffee table. After selecting a slender plug, he
held it up to her widening eyes as he slathered it with lubricant.

"Lead us not into temptation," she heard him say as he pulled down the back of
her briefs.

She knew from his embarrassed stares that he was quite besotted with her
breasts. Most men were. But most men had not been allowed to bind them to the
point of bursting. In fact, none had. Make that one.

What if they had first met via random happenstance in a bar, she thought to
herself, or maybe online? It's so much easier to sin in ASCII. No fuss, no
mess, no telephones ringing, no mothers clinging. Like confession, only without
the guilt.

The video droned on, polymerized princesses moaning and writhing in Houdini
contortions. While his left hand remained on her thigh, his right snaked across
to her closest nipple and started lighting off fireworks worthy of the
Tricentennial.

She closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to overwhelm her, until a
familiar jingle of tiny links snapped her back to the present tense.

She had no business being surprised, she reminded herself as he positioned the
tweezers and pushed up the metal loops. The thigh cuffs, the padlocks, the
spreader bar between her ankles, adjusted to its longest length, not to mention
the plug and the harness…she forced herself to push aside winged thoughts of
crops, floggers and whips.

He gave the chain an unnecessary tug before leaving her side to fetch a pair of
scissors. Smiling that damn smile again, he sat back down, leaned forward to
the coffee table, and selected the longest representative from a rather
formidable collection of dildos, plus another coil of thin rope.

Sure, she'd thought about him that way, and she was equally sure her feelings
had been reciprocated. How could they not? Why would they not? 

She watched in horror and fascination as he tied one end of the rope around the
base.

No. You've made your decision. And there's nothing he can do to…

Cold metal slipped beneath the thinnest part of her panties.

He hadn't even bothered with lube before pushing the plastic missile inside
her, twitching like electroshock gone terribly wrong. He wrapped the loose end
of the rope around the middle of the chain between her breasts, and started
pulling her forward, then down. When he finished the knot, she found herself
forced to stare at her impregnated crotch, nipples drawn and shuddering,
defcon-5 alerts screaming with her slightest movement.

He leaned back and began stroking the top of her imprisoned head, purring
almost as loudly as the vibrator.

Unsure if she was conceding defeat or claiming victory, she moved her right
hand over to his thigh and squeezed it hard, then sent her fingers clawing up
his leg until they finally found his zipper.