Essence of a woman SeXStoRY

Essence of a woman By Edith Isaacs I can't take any credit for this. Hope you enjoy the tale. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author's Note: I never condone v******e against women, and certainly don't advocate non-consensual bondage. Although at first sight the gist of the following story goes against these sentiments, you should read it to completion before drawing any conclusions. Also remember that it is a work of fiction. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What the hell are you doing?" said the little voice in the back of my head. "This is insane. If you get caught, you'll spend the rest of your life in jail." This morale-sapping talk was certainly no help as I nervously scanned the area. Deserted obviously; a middle-income working neighbourhood on a Monday morning. It wasn't unusual for academic staff, such as myself, to coincide their vacations with a teaching break, which doesn't mean the rest of the world can take time off as well. I'd have ten days minimum of fun and games before having to get back to work. More than enough time for all I had planned. A car drove by, and I waited quietly under the shade of a large Eucalyptus until it had passed. This was the most dangerous part of the operation, since her narrow, two-floor apartment was squeezed in between two others, and separated by a narrow tree-lined road from another row of similar flats. Although I suspected they were all empty at this time of day, if I was wrong and someone spotted me from a window, I was as good as caught. All the more reason to hurry. First things first: ski mask, then the tinted goggles. Quick inventory - canvas bag, entrance key. Check. I strode towards the front door, looking purposeful and, I was sure, quite suspicious wearing a ski mask in this warm weather. I listened intently at the door. No sounds from behind it. Fumbled with the key, dropped it, swore, picked it up, slotted it into the lock. It wouldn't turn. I started to sweat as I cursed and jiggled the thing in the lock, seeing in my mind a neighbour glancing out of the window, calling the police. Sirens, jail, and leisurely days filled with sodomy by big blokes called 'Cream-puff'. Shit! Turn, you bl**dy lump of ironmongery. Just as I was about to give up, thinking I'd copied the wrong key off her key chain, the cylinder turned and I was inside. Sighing with relief, I edged the door closed behind me and looked about. I whistled softly. Nice. A living room, beige carpet, black furnishing, lacy pillows on the sofa, small but cosy. Definitely a woman's apartment, and several notches above mine by the look of it. The room was also empty. Good. Sounds of running water - a shower. Even better. I scouted around a little, found the bedroom and a study on the upper floor, the living room, kitchen, a small dining room, and finally the bathroom on the ground floor. All tastefully furnished, and a little messy, enough to indicate that someone lived here. Back to business. I checked the bathroom door handle. Locked of course, but worth a try, just in case. I removed various items from my bag: a roll of pale masking tape and a heavy hemp sack with the bottom cut open. I peeled back a corner off the roll, and hooked it to my belt, checked the hinges on the bathroom door, making sure it opened outwards, and squatted down to wait against the wall beside it, placing the canvas bag with its attendant goodies beside me on the floor. The waiting was the hardest, what with the adrenaline making me shaky, and the tension mounting with every moment. The shower finished, and I tensed, minutes seemed to pass like eternity as I waited for the door to open, only to hear the hair-drier start up. I released my pent-up breath and swore. My legs were numb, and I stood and stretched them to get the bl**d going again. Another eternity, my heart hammering in my chest. Finally the hair dryer stopped, and I tensed again. The lock clicked open, the handle turned, the door swung out, concealing me from her as I crouched against the wall. Finally she stepped out, followed by a cloud of steam, wrapped in a large towel. She was humming a tune as she stepped past me, completely oblivious, dark brown hair falling to her shoulders. There was an instant of shock, as I surged to my feet, when I thought she was the wrong woman. But no. She turned her head slightly (perhaps having caught my sudden movement from the corner of her eye), and I recognised her profile. I dropped the hemp sack about her head and she gave a cry of surprise, I pulled it down past her shoulders to her waist, until her head popped out from the open bottom. It wasn't very tight, but it hindered her movements sufficiently so that she wouldn't be able to struggle very effectively. Her eyes widened and she stepped back, trying to bring her arms up but unable to as the sack held them to her sides. I pulled the roll of tape from my belt as I used the momentum of my body to push her against, and pin her to, the wall. She seemed a little stunned by the rapidity of these events, and I managed to tape her mouth shut before she fully overcame her surprise enough to scream. I smoothed the tape against her lips with a hand, then tore off the end and smoothed it against her cheek. I like masking tape, it's easy enough to tear, but sticky enough that someone can't peel it loose without the use of their hands. I tore another piece off the roll, and placed it above the first, so that it covered her from just below her nose. Then a third strip that covered her almost to the chin. And that was it, really. Three layers of tape effectively muffled anything she had to say, and without the use of her hands, she wouldn't be able to get it off. Although I was not much taller than her, I had weight and strength on my side, and I held her against the wall quite easily. That didn't stop her from struggling, and she gave a good reckoning of herself, until I grabbed her face by the chin and f***ed her to look at me. "Stop that!" I said sternly through the ski mask. "I'm not going to hurt you." I hadn't really expected that to work but to my surprise it did. She stared at me with fear in her lovely green eyes, and in order to allay it, I decided to remove the mask. She would recognise me at once, I was sure, but I'd deal with that problem later. So, still pinning her to the wall, holding her face with one hand, I hooked the roll of tape onto my belt, pulled off the goggles, then the mask, and dropped them to the floor. Her eyes widened in recognition, and her face filled with relief. Her body sagged against me, she swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment, leaned her head back against the wall. Which presented me with an opportunity not to be missed; I moved my head into the juncture of shoulder and neck, and breathed deeply of her. She smelled lovely, light and fragrant. The smell of soap and something else, something I couldn't quite place, a faint, delicate scent. "Mmmh!" She shook her head out of my grip, interrupting my reverie. I looked up and saw that she was frowning at me. Having recognised me as a co-worker, she probably thought this was some kind of joke, and I guess she was telling me "enough is enough!" "No," I said softly, looking at her steadily, "this is for real, but I won't hurt you." She swallowed and stared at me. I looked back at her, my face firm, waiting for my words to sink in. Then I spoke again; "Okay, I'm going to tie your hands, then I'll remove the tape, then we'll talk, okay?" She swallowed, wary, and nodded. Good. I had no real intention of talking to her (at least not immediately), but the lie was a minor sin, considering everything else. I stepped back and motioned for her to turn around, ready to act in case she tried to run. She didn't, and turned slowly on the spot, trembling slightly. I reached forward and grabbed her arms through the sack, pulling them behind her back, then took the tape from my belt and wound it around her crossed wrists several times, securing them together, palms facing out, towards me. I tore the strip free from the roll and smoothed the edges down, ensuring that the number of layers I'd used was sufficient that she couldn't tear herself free. I stepped back and pulled the sack down, so that it dropped around her legs, and she stepped out of it, turned, looked at me wide-eyed, a lock of hair loose over her face. I admired the mussed-up effect, quite charming really. I grinned, relief and excitement mixing within me: relief that I'd managed to get this far without significant problems, excitement at the thought of what was to come. I'm not sure exactly what she saw in my expression, but whatever it was it seemed to fire her up. She lifted her head to glare at me straight in the eye, nostrils flaring with indignation. But that too was nicely offset by her taped mouth. Defiance and helplessness in one, always an exciting combination. I continued grinning as I leaned down to grab my canvas bag from where I had left it on the floor, dropped the roll of tape in, then took her by the elbow. She tried to twist away, angry, but I held her firmly, and walked her towards the main room. Past it and up the stairs to the bedroom. She struggled in my grip all the while. Nonetheless I insisted, and f***ed her up and into the room, giving a little push so that she fell forward across the bed. I looked around the room again, more carefully this time, noting the beige carpet with matching curtains around a large pair of windows, the white blankets and brown covers over the hurriedly made bed; which was a large, double-mattress affair supported by a varnished wooden frame. The windows looked out over a small back yard with a washing line, a low fence, the neighbour's back yard, and the neighbour's house. I could see right into the facing window of their upper floor into an empty study. Presumably, anyone wandering into that room could likewise look straight into this one. I quickly strode over and drew the curtains. Then it was too dark, so I walked back to the door and flicked the lights on. She lay on her stomach on the bed, bent at the waist with her legs resting against the side of the mattress, to the floor. I pulled the roll of tape from my bag, and tore off a long strip, to tape her ankles together. She craned her head around to see what I was doing, then tried to kick me as I reached for her. She really began to struggle in earnest, and in retrospect, I think I made a mistake when I pulled the ski mask off. Now that she knew who I was; a familiar face from work, much of the fear had gone, to be replaced with indignation, at what she presumably thought was an elaborate practical joke, taken too far. So she had no compunctions about lashing out, without fear of repercussions. Struggle as she might, I had my arms free and a lot more leverage, standing over her as I did. I also had the advantage of greater weight and strength. I decided to use those more directly, and I basically laid myself over her upper legs, restricting their movement, and managed to grab her left leg just above the ankle. She kicked about with the other and issued muffled imprecations through her gag, struggling all the while to escape from beneath me, and it became obvious that I wouldn't be able to tape her legs together anytime soon. But there was no great hurry as, in any case, I was enjoying myself in spite (or perhaps because) of her lack of co-operation; her writhing body beneath me, naked except for a towel, was far more exciting than many a thing I could have dreamt up. Anyway, time to get on. "Right," I said in a no-nonsense tone of voice, "Stop struggling, or the towel will come loose." That effort to use a potential embarrassment to calm her certainly didn't work, so I'd have to deal with the one leg I did have: holding her foot by the ankle, I bent it at the knee until her heel touched her towel-covered backside, then deftly wound the length of tape around mid-thigh and the calf of her leg. The strip was long enough for two circuits, which effectively immobilised that leg quite firmly in the bent-double position. Good enough for me. She wasn't going to be running around anytime soon. I grunted in satisfaction as I lifted myself off her, and stood back. She was not happy as she realised what I'd done to her, and she squirmed fully onto the bed (the towel coming partway loose) and craned her head to look at me, eyes flashing, furious. "You're so beautiful when you're angry," I said, grinning, which only served to encourage her, and she tried to kick me with her free leg. I stepped out of the way, and stood back, arms crossed, enjoying the view as she continued to struggle and the towel came most of the way off. She was still lying on her stomach, partly on top of it, but she had only loosely tucked the thing at her side, and because of her movements the tuck had come loose. It didn't take much more for the entire fold of towel to slide off and fall hanging from the edge of the bed, pretty much exposing her to my view. All I could really see was the side of a pale breast, flattened beneath her, and her naked backside. Not much of an eyeful as such things go, but she has a lovely body, made all the more alluring by the way she twisted and struggled, trying to get her bound hands to reach the tape around her leg. I could see that she wouldn't be able to do it, but certainly didn't begrudge her the right to try, enjoying her antics as she did. Finally, she came to the same conclusion as me, that with her wrists crossed as they were, facing away from her back, she wasn't going to be able to get her fingers to bear on the tape around her leg. So there she lay, breathing heavily, taut with frustration, when she realised that I was watching her naked form with relish, a huge grin on my face, the front of my pants bulging. Her cheeks flushed red, and she looked away from me, straight ahead to the corner of the room, blinking away tears of frustration and embarrassment. I continued looking at her bare back and side, enraptured by her beauty, the subtle play of muscles as she moved, the rounded, delicate curves, trying to take it all in at once: the ivory skin; the sudden flare of hips from a slender waist; the ripe curve of her breast; the elegant line of her spine, running through the smooth valley between her shoulder-blades; the mussed curls of coffee-brown hair as they lay dr**ed across her shoulders. It was like observing a vast panorama, watching her, impossible to take in all at once, but impossible not to try. And the moment stretched to eternity as I stood there, trying to encapsulate the essence of a woman: naked, constrained, vulnerable, beautiful, lying entirely exposed to my view, yet parts hidden from the eye, forcing the imagination to dwell upon them, to consider what they must look like. And then I had to touch her, this trembling creature that lay before me, to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, to make sure she was real. So I reached forward, to taste with more than sight alone the soft curves and ivory flesh. She must have seen my motion towards her and quickly took advantage, swinging her free leg at me, aiming for the groin, I managed to twist at the last moment and she hit my hip instead. She screamed muffled invectives at me, jaw muscles straining, cheeks and mouth working against the tape that held her lips sealed, and I frowned. "Enough of that. Calm down." I snapped, rubbing my hip. "Mmmph!" she replied, struggling to a sitting position, too worked up now to worry about what I could see. I moved towards her, to hold her, calm her down, but she twisted away and struggled against her bonds, hard. I didn't like this at all, she seemed to me like a little wild bird, beating itself against the bars of a cage in an effort to get free. "Calm down," I said again, without much effect. Well, I had some ideas how to calm her: just as a****ls are often blinded to keep them docile, so I would do to her. I turned and quickly rummaged in my canvas bag, pulling out a soft leather hood with a metal D-ring sewn into the top. I held the bottom of the hood open, and stood over her. She was in such a state that I don't think she even realised what it was I held in my hands, so it wasn't hard to lean over her and slip the thing onto her head. "MMMPH!" She screamed and dropped to her back as her vision was cut off, but essentially my idea worked. Without her sight, she calmed considerably, and simply lay there, making soft, sad noises in back of her throat, as I adjusted the hood properly so that the breathing holes were in the correct place. It was simplicity itself to tighten the laces at the back of the thing, so that the soft leather moulded itself to her features. The hood covered her head completely, all the way down to her neck, which I sealed off by looping the ends of the laces once around her throat, and knotting them together at the back. Her hair was longer than the hood, and flowed out from beneath it, from where it was pinched into her neck by the laces, to cover her shoulders and upper back, a lovely dark chocolate-brown cascade. Thus blinded, there really was little more she could do, and I stood back and watched her. She seemed to be breathing without problems, and she lay there making soft sobbing noises, moving her head around blindly as if trying to seek the light that had suddenly been cut off. It was sad to see her reduced to such a state, and I took pity on her, and laid down beside her and pulled her into my arms. She struggled weakly, making soft sounds of protest, but I hushed her, and held her close to me, and stroked her hair and back. I reached around with one arm to clasp her hands, and she held onto mine with both hers, and trembled in my arms. I continued to stroke her back with my free hand and, placing my mouth close to her ear, so that she would hear me through the leather of the hood, I whispered softly to her. "No need to be afraid, I won't hurt you." I kissed her ear through the hood lightly, and continued to whisper to her, until her trembling subsided, and she leaned her head back onto the covers. "Mmmh, mph," she said softly. I had no idea what she wanted to say, but decided to humour her anyway. "I'm going to leave the hood on for awhile," I said in a reasonable voice, "until I know that you won't work yourself up into a state again." She shook her head at this, and made a few more soft noises of protest, but I hushed her again. I tried to disengage my hand from hers, but she wouldn't let go, so I continued to lie beside her, and stroked her hair and kissed her covered face some more. Eventually, she seemed resigned to her fate, and I managed to disengage myself from her without protest on her part. She seemed calm enough, but I was still reluctant to remove the hood, given what had gone before. Time, I thought, to tie up loose ends, or in particular, one loose end. Walking around the bed, I grabbed a length of rope from the canvas bag and took her right ankle in my hand, holding it tightly, thinking she'd try to wrench it loose. But no, she lay unmoving as I tied one end of the rope around the slenderest portion of the joint, firmly, so that she wouldn't be able to slip it off. Seeing that she wasn't really struggling, I spent a bit of time inspecting the foot I held in my hand, marvelling at how delicate that part of her anatomy was. You wouldn't really think that a foot, designed to support one's weight against the floor, could really hold much attention, let alone be attractive, but hers was simply extraordinary; like carved ivory, smooth and perfect, yet warm and supple. I touched her toes with a finger, grinning as she tried to move them out of the way. I stroked the sole of her foot, and she wriggled it, pointing her toes. Ticklish. But I didn't want to torment her, so I merely kissed the back of her heel lightly, eliciting a murmur from her, before pulling it gently but firmly around to one of the bedposts. This caused her body to swivel on the bed, twisting the towel beneath her (I enjoyed a brief view as her taped leg was dragged around as well, her thighs spreading apart slightly), then tied the other end of the rope to the bedpost, leaving several centimetres of slack between the post and her ankle. And that was that. I patted her lovely rump as I walked to the door. She lifted her blind head slightly from the bed and made a few worried muffled sounds, which quickly brought me back. I assured her I'd only be gone a short while, and that, once back, we could go on to more interesting things. She protested as best she could, when she heard this last, shaking her blind head in an effort to tell me that things were interesting enough as they were, and that, really, I shouldn't make any more efforts on her behalf. I grinned and shrugged, leaving the room with heavy footsteps so that she would know I was gone. I spent about quarter of an hour away from her, although I popped my head around the door of the bedroom every minute or so, just to make sure she was OK. Helpless as she was, it would be dangerous to leave her unsupervised for more than a few minutes at a time... if anything went wrong, no matter what, she would have been unable to call for help, gagged as she was. As far as she was concerned, however, she was alone for the entire quarter-hour, as I doubt she would have heard me through the hood when I came to check on her. At first she lay there quietly, then eventually she began to move, not struggling exactly, but more of an exploratory thing, to test the bounds of her bondage. Nothing too alarming, in any case. In the meantime, I cleaned up what little signs of struggle there were around the bathroom door, and checked outside to ensure no-one had seen or heard anything. Nothing. It was surprising how ordinary this apartment seemed from the outside, given what was happening to its occupant. I'd somehow expected that the struggle within would have manifested itself in some way, but no: an ordinary, smallish, two-level apartment, giving no hint whatsoever of the unhappy state of its owner. After checking on her, I walked to the kitchen and prepared myself a sandwich from the refrigerator, found a container of pineapple juice and poured myself a tall glass of the stuff. I ate standing before the kitchen window, looking at the cloudless, blue sky. A lovely day; sun shining, warm and pleasant. A day to anticipate, a day of much promise, which in my case happened to be waiting in an upstairs bedroom. I checked on her again, half disbelieving at how easy it had been to take her. Eventually the fifteen minutes passed. Time to resume. I walked up the stairs and stepped back into the bedroom, loudly this time, so she knew I was there. She lay where I'd left her (obviously), her hooded head lifting slightly as she heard me enter. What a lovely catch, I congratulated myself. I sat on the bed beside her, and reached out to touch the hair which dr**ed her shoulder so alluringly. She lay motionless as I toyed with her curls for a few moments, I could hear her quiet breathing as her head lay on the covers, facing me. I slid a hand across her shoulders and down her back, feeling the silky skin, the firm, soft muscles beneath my palm. I was leaning over to kiss the top of one of her shoulder blades, when the D-ring stitched into the top of her hood caught my eye, giving me pause for thought. A bit of a waste, really. Then an idea came to me. I stood and reached into my canvas bag on the floor, pulling out a length of cord. I tied one end to the metal ring on the hood, and gently but firmly pulled on it until her head lifted from the bed, then until it bent back at the neck. She made a noise of surprise, but didn't seem unduly alarmed. I pulled more until her upper body only just started to lift off the bed, trying to reach her left ankle where it rested against her backside. It wouldn't quite reach, and I had to pull a little more until I had enough cord free to tie around her ankle, which meant that her head and upper body were lifted off the bed. Her breasts swung almost free, the bottom just touching the covers on the bed. Clearly, this was not a position to leave her in for any length of time, but it was fun to watch her contorted in this way. I'd untie her soon enough. When I let go and she realised that she was stuck in this uncomfortable position, she didn't like it one bit, and vocalised her concerns as best she could, considering the circumstances. "Mmmmmh." I heard the long groan issue from the front of the hood. "What was that?" I teased, grinning. "MMPH! Mmh, mph!" "Really? I think you look just fine." I couldn't help but chuckle. She didn't much like my patronising tone, and struggled against her bonds: she flapped her bound hands in an effort to reach the cord, but when she snagged it with a finger, all she could do was pull it down, which just served to pull her head further back. This she didn't like either, which she made known by emitting short muffled noises through the gag in frustration. Eventually she realised that by raising her left knee upwards, she could move her ankle forward a little, which allowed her some small relief. I didn't begrudge her this, seeing as how much better she looked when she had to tense her left leg like that, outlining the muscles in her thigh and backside. They were so lovely, I decided to run my fingers along them, closing my eyes and concentrating on the feel of that firm flesh beneath her silky skin. Absolutely gorgeous. A feast to the senses. She twitched a little, and I opened my eyes, noticing how her breasts swayed with her every move. They hung freely, with only her nipples brushing the towel on which she lay. I reached out and fondled a breast, fascinated by their firm softness as I cupped one, rubbing my thumb over a nipple, squeezing the breast gently. Her struggles died pretty quickly after that, and her breathing became ragged. I felt the nipple harden under my ministrations. I pinched it lightly, and heard her catch her breath. Interesting. Squeezing it again, I brought her breast up and leaned forward to take the nipple in my mouth. I heard her groan, a long, low sound from the throat, as I toyed with her nipple, licking it with my tongue, sucking it and biting it gently. She was making more soft noises, but of pleasure this time, not fear. I released her breast, and held it before me in one hand. Grinning wickedly, I blew gently on the wet nipple, and watched as goose bumps raised themselves all over her skin. I noticed that her neck and upper chest (all the way down to the top of her breasts) were flushed a delicate rose pink. Absolutely delightful. I released her breast, allowing it to swing back down and, moving around her prone form, reached over her bound leg to slide one hand between her thighs. She tried to close her legs, too late, and shook her head 'no', protesting at this invasion. But she didn't seem to have her heart in it. My fingers encountered moisture, and I chuckled, wriggling them deeper. She made a soft, startled sound, and shivered violently, her whole body shaking. I touched her bound hands with my free one, and she clutched it tightly, as best she could, as my other hand continued moving deeper, my fingers rubbing and stroking whatever they came across. Her thighs clamped about my arm, and she even managed to lift her hips off the bed a little (no mean feat that, considering the way I'd bound her). This continued for a another half a minute or so, as she strained against her bonds and groaned through her gag, her hooded head moving from side to side, trying to find a less taut position so she could move her body more to enjoy the sensations that were flooding her. Finally my fingers rubbed against a certain tender spot once too often, which was too much for her, and she climaxed, giving another shudder, and arched her back a little more and squeezed my hand in hers. Her legs were clamped so tightly round my other wrist that I could barely move my arm. Then it was over, and I extracted myself from her, and undid the cord that kept her head up and back. She dropped back onto the covers, her hands releasing mine. I stroked her beautiful body a little, as she relaxed back onto the bed. I tickled the sole of her left foot, but she only wriggled it a little, too spent to put up much of a fight. I patted her one last time and left her to enjoy the aftermath, walked to the bathroom and washed my hands. The towel that she still lay upon would probably need a wash too, but then that's what towels were for. I strode back to the bedroom, whistling, and squatted down beside the head of the bed. "My turn now," I whispered. She made a quiet noise of satisfaction, and I wasn't even sure she heard me properly. Never mind. I undressed slowly, running my eyes across her naked form, then picked a condom from my bag, and applied it as appropriate. I placed my hands beneath her, rolled her over onto her back. She groaned, but didn't struggle too much. "Well, fair's fair." I said, grinning. She lay there unmoving, her breasts falling to the side in that alluring way they have when a woman lies on her back, one nipple still damp from earlier, moisture between her legs from my previous work. I climbed onto the bed, and positioned myself over her. Slowly, I lowered myself onto her, into her, eyes half-closed in ecstasy. I shuddered as I lay fully on top of her, feeling her stomach against mine, her breasts like warm, soft pillows beneath me. She moved her head slightly, but didn't really struggle or do much else. I just lay like that for a while, inside her, without moving, waves of pleasure rolling over me. I wanted this to last for more than a few seconds, so I tried to concentrate on things other than her body beneath mine, until I had backed off from the cliff's edge a little, so to speak. Then I began to move against her slowly, savouring the sweet ecstasy that radiated out from between my legs. Nice and slow, one hand reaching for her hair, twining my fingers in it, the other hand worming under her back, supporting our combined weight, bracing myself against the bed so I didn't crush her (a silly conceit, I suppose, but she seemed so delicate and fragile to me at that moment, so infinitely precious, that I was scared to rest my full weight upon her, lest I injure her or she break like a porcelain figurine). She shifted her hips against mine, and I almost died from the pleasure that that gave me. I heard myself groan, and I laid my head beside hers, rubbing my face against her leather-clad one, feeling the contours of her ear through the soft hood with my lips. Eventually, she started to move along with me, and I couldn't restrain myself for much longer. The slow build-up forgotten, I came suddenly, fiercely, like an explosion of light in my head, an explosion of pleasure in my loins, so sweet and intense I almost could not bear it. Then I was spent, and I slumped against her, holding her against me tightly with my arm beneath us. Still she kept moving her hips, and not wanting to disappoint her, I did likewise, almost as an afterthought, lost as I was in the afterglow. She continued like this for a little, until she shuddered against me, and then was still also. We lay together for a long while, as I held her tightly against me, kissing her neck and throat and the line of her jaw through the hood, as it presented itself when she turned her head. Feeling her breasts press against me with every breath, her stomach flat against mine, wisps of hair against my face. After what seemed like hours, just holding her to me and kissing her, and toying with her hair, curling a lock around my finger, smoothing it back down, tugging it gently, I felt my bladder mention that a visit to the lavatory would soon be in order. Sighing unhappily, I lifted myself off her. She made a soft sound in her throat, whether of relief or something else, I couldn't tell. I walked naked down the stairs to the bathroom, made use of the facilities there, washed my hands, and made my way back. I stood in the doorway to the bedroom, and a wave of affection swept through me as I saw her. Beautiful, delicate, almost fragile, she seemed to me. She had rolled back onto her stomach, onto the towel, and was squirming against the bonds that held her in place. Just as suddenly, a surge of guilt hit me at what I had done to her. It seemed almost wrong to feel the affection and love I had for her, seeing as how I'd f***ed myself onto her in the way I had. I quickly reminded myself that this had been mostly her idea anyway. And yet, the nagging voice in my head asked whether her consent was real or imagined... had she ever explicitly asked for what I was doing to her? Maybe the intensity of her struggles had been because she genuinely didn't want any part of this. And why would she? Most women wouldn't. I shook my head against the next thought; that many convicted rapists, when asked about their crimes, honestly believed their victims had been willing participants, feigning resistance only because that was expected of them by society. And that's pretty much the way I was thinking about her at this point. Frowning at these uncomfortable thoughts, I walked towards the bed. Her head was lying on the cover, facing my way, so I had to bend over her to unlace the hood and pull it off. She squinted against the sudden light and looked at me, her face shiny with sweat, a couple of strands of dark hair wet against her cheek. I squatted down beside the bed, so that we were eye-to-eye. "Hey, pretty lady," I said softly, as I wiped the strands of hair to one side. I dropped the hood, and peeled away the layers of tape from her mouth. She swallowed and licked her lips, and just looked at me for a while. "Please," she whispered eventually, "please don't do this to me." I stroked her face gently. "Why? Didn't you like it? Seemed to me that you did." I spoke jovially enough, trying to hide the effect that her words had on me, going to the heart of my guilt, as they did. Showing up my rationalisations for the lies they probably were. I ran a thumb across her pale pink lips, full and curved and oh, so kissable. Which I did: I leaned forward, kissed them lightly, lingeringly. She swallowed, her eyes half-closed, pale eyelashes trembling. I touched them with a finger, lovingly, marvelling at anything so delicate, so fine. Her eyes had me mesmerised, deep green like an ocean, a vitalising splash of colour in an ivory face with pale lips. I couldn't look away, absorbed by the minutiae of their colour. "Please," she said breathlessly, less than a whisper, sounding close to tears, "why are you doing this to me?" She swallowed, lips trembling. Her eyes implored me, begged me for release. I was a taken aback by the intensity of her pleading, and pulled away, sitting back on my heels. She sounded pretty distressed, and I wasn't sure how to take it, confirming as it did my earlier misgivings. "Because I love you." I stated as flatly as I could, trying to control the tremor in my own voice. Emotions I hadn't felt in a long time roiled within me. I didn't know what to think; reality and fiction had blurred... was she a willing participant, as I had thought? Or was that just the imaginings of a deranged mind? Her distress seemed so genuine, I couldn't tell which was which. I looked at her, trying to judge whether she was pretending or for real, not sure how to react, looking for some way out of what seemed to have become a nightmare. I saw her eyes widen as she stared at me, a look I couldn't interpret. She bit her lower lip, looking at me expectantly, hoping against hope that I would release her. I felt as if a giant hand had reached into my chest and was squeezing my heart, as I watched her, delicate, beautiful beyond words, bound against her will and helpless to resist me, pleading for release in the only way she could: with her eyes and mouth. And I was the cause of all this. Even as I did it for the love of her, I caused her pain. Again, reality and fiction blurred in my mind. I frowned as I tried to think what to do next. She sniffled slightly, and a tear tracked from the corner of her eye, across her cheek to be absorbed by the cover on the bed. The hand around my heart squeezed again, and I closed my eyes against the pain. "I'm sorry... I can't do this anymore," I said suddenly, standing, turning and reaching into the canvas bag, pulling out a red Swiss army knife. With a fingernail, I unfolded a pair of small metal scissors from its side. Not very sharp, but strong enough to cut through the masking tape. I turned with them in my hands and she bit her lip again, looking slightly puzzled, not really on the verge of tears anymore. "What are you going to do?" She said, a frown creasing her forehead, looking at me strangely, staring at the hard glinting object in my hand. "Cut you loose." I bent over her bound left leg, turning my face away, not wanting her to see how much her distress (feigned or otherwise) had affected me. "Hey," she said quietly, in a tone of voice that stopped me. I looked at her and she actually looked worried. I cleared a lump that had appeared in my throat, and half-smiled at her. She shifted around, twisting her body so she could better look at me. "Hey," she said again, softly, "I love you too." She said this as if she were trying to reassure me, and I had to smile at the irony of the situation. A weight seemed to lift off my chest. "Come here," she said with a worried smile, "hold me." "bl**dy hell", I muttered to myself as I folded the scissors back into the penknife. The relief was overwhelming. Mind games. I'm just not cut out for this sort of thing, but she loves it. Twenty-four years of age, only into bondage for what, six months, since she met me? And already she was pushing me to my limits. And I've been doing this for years. Shaking my head, I put away the army knife, and she rolled to lie on her side, giving me one of her intense come-hither looks. I laid on the bed beside her, and put my arms around her as she moved happily into my embrace. I felt her smooth body mould itself to mine as she pressed herself against me, her lips were warm and soft as she kissed the base of my throat. I held her tightly, still shaken by my unexpectedly strong reaction to her play-acting. "You were very convincing," she whispered to me, looking up, eyes bright, smiling. "So were you," I said, thinking of my confusion not a minute hence. She laughed, a soft, lovely sound. More than anything, I think it was her laugh that I fell in love with. I looked down, smiled ruefully. She shifted in my arms a little, and reached up to kiss my lips lightly. "The hood was a nice touch." "Yeah, well, I wasn't too sure..." I hesitated, but she shook her head. "No, it was okay. Just like being in a dark room, with a soft weight stroking my face. It was a really nice feeling..." she paused, looking at me expectantly, hopefully, and I had to laugh. Lifting one hand from where I held her against me, I stroked her face. She half closed her eyes and sighed, giving me a dreamy smile. I kept on that way for a while, rather enjoying it myself, until eventually she looked at me again. "Why did you suddenly stop, before?" she asked. I shrugged, reached my hand around to hold hers. "I guess your pleading must have worked." "Hum. You wouldn't be a very good k**napper," she murmured, leaning her head into the hollow of my throat. "I didn't know you'd take it so seriously; I was just having fun." "Yeah, well, you were pretty good at it. You looked as if I'd really hurt or frightened you, and I couldn't go on if I'd done that." She squeezed my hand, I felt her lips against my throat curve into a smile, and sighed with pleasure. "You're so sweet," she murmured against my neck, moving even closer to me, if such were possible, making a soft noise of contentment deep in her throat. We laid there for a bit, and boy, what fun that was: her body against mine, all curved and smooth and soft in the right places, her lovely weight lying in my arms, strands of scented hair against my face and mouth. Lips against my throat. Bliss. Heaven. I felt a warm, wet tongue run along the lines of my Adam's apple, and shivered at the sensation, goose bumps raised themselves across my back and arms. Her left knee pressed against my legs, pushed them apart, and came up to find a sudden hardness. She rubbed against it, and my arms tightened convulsively around her at the sensation. She gave a low, soft laugh, and moved against me again. I had no time for prophylactics; my arms were suddenly filled with a squirming, laughing bundle of femininity, warm and soft and oh, so willing. Our lovemaking this time was far more satisfying and oddly, also more frustrating at the same time: more satisfying because it was relaxed, as she didn't have to struggle or pretend I was a rapist. More frustrating because of her bondage. Her right leg was extended behind her, tied to the bedpost, her left leg was doubled up and restrained, limiting its movement to hip and ankle only. I got the impression that she really wanted to wrap her legs around mine, but couldn't. Her hands were also pretty useless, and even as she moved against me, she strained against her bonds. In a strange way, I think her frustration heightened her enjoyment of the situation. Certainly her climax was far more intense than mine, judging by the sudden pain in my shoulder as her teeth bit into me. As for me? Well, I certainly enjoyed it, but I'm only human. Twice in the space of ten minutes is a bit much, and I can't say the second time was as good as the first. But, hey, I'm not complaining. She didn't want me to let her go, afterwards. So I held her loosely in my arms as she struggled a bit more against her bonds, seeming to enjoy the restraint as much as my affection. After a while she gave up, and lay still beside me. I kissed the tip of her nose, as she looked at me, our faces separated by only a couple of centimetres. "You're the sweetest man I've ever met," she said quietly. "You tie me up so I'm helpless, and you do delicious things to me, things I wouldn't have dreamt of. Most men wouldn't care about my pleasure, they'd just use me as an object to satisfy their lusts. A dumb blonde who doesn't have the brains to know when she's being abused in a relationship." She said this last with a certain amount of bitterness, which I could only presume reflected past boyfriends. "Is that why you dyed your hair brown?" I asked, trying to liven the mood. "Don't you like it?" "No, I think it's nice, I just don't know how you managed to get it so curly. Normally your hair's pretty fine, and rather straight." "A girl's got to have some secrets," she grinned at me, wrinkling her nose. "Hm. Fair enough, but you gave me a serious fright when you stepped out of the bathroom. For a moment there I thought you were the wrong woman. Why'd you decide to dye it all of a sudden?" "I was getting tired of the blonde jokes." I had to laugh at that. Here was someone who'd just completed her doctoral thesis in physics at age twenty-four, being typecast as sub-average intelligence because of the colour of her hair. No wonder she wasn't fond of her previous boyfriends, if that's the sort of attitude they'd taken. "Well anyway, I don't care what your hair colour is. I'll always want to k**nap you." She looked at me and smiled, eyes gleaming. "Oh Paul, you say the nicest things." THE END