Stretch. Rip. Drip. Brush. Silence.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Throbbing in my groin, pounding of my heart, shortness of my breath.
I twist my wrists. The tape cuts in, tauntingly teetering between pleasurable and too much.
The ancient chair creaks beneath me. The fabric catches gently on my bare bottom. The fabric of my thong wet between my legs.
I breathe. I wait.
We’re in love. We have been for longer than you’d think considering the way we fall all over each other. Years into a relationship you think we’d be less hungry, but we can’t keep our hands off one another. Perhaps it isn’t as frenetic as it once was – life gets in the way, work stress, scheduling. But when we feel it, that heat, that tension, that sudden need to have each other is maddening. It’s stronger than the day we met, stronger and fiercer. The desire, the perfectly perverted nature of us.
It was my idea. He’s always game, always open to what I want, what I need.
I wanted to be restricted, tied up, blindfolded, made to submit to him fully, to release to the unknown. To be totally freed from control.
Doing it in our flat felt odd. The smells of whatever we’d eaten for dinner the night before lingering in the kitchen, the muffled TV from the downstairs neighbours, the knowing brush of our worn carpet. It was all too safe. Too familiar. Not enough of the unknown to give way to the vulnerability of being entirely at his disposal. And that’s what I wanted.
We booked an Airbnb. Somewhere remote. It had a dilapidated glamour about it. If the furniture and the house had been less beautiful, less statuesque it could feel squalid. But its stately nature had a frozen opulence about it, a broken time machine filled with creaking chairs and ripped upholstery.
We started slow. He stripped me of my clothes, delicately. My breasts puckered in the cold air. His warm body smothered me, kissing slowly down me. His hands gently rubbing my milky winter skin. His messy mop of hair tickled my nose. He came back up and kissed me, hungrily. His tongue aggressively exploring my mouth, a mouth he’d known for years. I wanted him already.