Tie Me Up and Sit On Me

She tightened the straps around his wrists and ankles, ignoring his protests as his arms were stretched up towards the top corners of the bed and his legs were forced uncomfortably far apart.

"You wanted it," she told him sharply, "Now shut up and enjoy it."

She consulted the notes she had taken during their preliminary meeting: tied securely to the bed naked. Well, that part was done. He was completely naked and spread-eagled on the bed, and certainly secure. There was absolutely no way he would get out of those wrist and ankle straps until she unbuckled them.

Next? She consulted the notes again: sit on me for a minimum of thirty minutes, and stop me talking to you at all. She considered this instruction carefully. 'Sit on me' was rather vague, with a number of possibilities. As he had not specified, she clearly had a choice.

She chose to sit on his face. Not that it would be particularly comfortable for her but it was, she decided, the best place to be sitting if and when she had to carry out his second instruction of stopping him talking.

He had not specified what she was to wear or anything else she should do or not do, so she decided that it was completely up to her. He knew her particular likes and specialities, and therefore he knew what to expect. He could hardly claim to be unaware of her love of causing pain and discomfort, so undoubtedly he had assumed this would be part of it.

She climbed onto the bed and sat, for the moment, astride his chest. She had not bothered to take off or to change her leather trousers, and in fact they seemed ideal. She tweaked his nipples playfully then turned round to face his feet, and moved slowly backwards until she was sitting right on his face. Her legs were apart and she could just see his mouth and chin between them. She settled her weight down onto him, wriggling to get comfortable.

"You're hurting my nose," came his voice.

Immediately she brought her leather-clad thighs together, covering his mouth. Stop me talking to you. That had been his instruction, and that was exactly what he was going to get.

She had, she realised, also cut off his air supply when she stopped him talking by covering his mouth. That should make him think twice about trying to talk again! She held her thighs together for just ten seconds.

As she uncovered his mouth again, he spoke at once. "Look, this really wasn't what I meant..."

She clamped her legs together again, holding that position for twenty seconds this time. Slowly she moved them apart.

"Stop this!" He sounded angry, and she felt him try and squirm away from her as she covered him again, locking him under her into that airless leathery world. She counted slowly to thirty.

He still had not got the message. "Get off me. Let me go..."

Forty seconds. Really, he should have waited before trying to speak again and given himself time to recover his breath properly.

Now he realised what was going on and had the sense to keep quiet. He would just have to wait, silent, under her for thirty minutes whether he was uncomfortable or not. That was what he asked for, and that was just what he was going to get.

Only... he did say a minimum of thirty minutes. No mention of a maximum. That, presumably was up to her, and she was in no rush. There were no further clients that day, and she was rarely a clock-watcher. She did this more for her amusement than for the money, so it made little difference to her whether he had paid for thirty minutes or all night. She would stop when she wanted to stop, not before.

After ten minutes she was becoming bored. She twiddled his nipples idly, wondering how much male nipples could stick out erect if pinched and prodded enough. He flinched under the tweaks of her fingers and the scratching of her fingernails, but he managed to remain silent.

Five minutes later this too lost its interest. She sat back, stretching and looking around her for something to do. Read a book? Telephone her friends? She shifted her position slightly. Ah, good. He moaned a little. That counts as talking. Her thighs came together and stayed there for fifty seconds. As she uncovered his mouth again she heard his long intake of breath followed by rapid gasps as he gulped at the air he so badly needed.

It would be unfair, she decided, to stop his breathing unless he did talk, or at least make some sort of noise. It did not matter, of course, whether she was unfair or not, only her rules mattered. It was just one of her rules, part of her game, that she made rules which she always followed, and one of the rules of today's game was that he was allowed to breathe unless or until he made a noise.

She tweaked both his nipples sharply, twisting them between her fingers and thumbs and listening intently for any noise from him. Nothing.

She shifted her position. Nothing.

She pressed down, raised herself, bounced a little. Nothing.

She must keep to the rules. She must.

There it was, just what she needed. She leaned forward to reach it, careful that she did not cover his mouth. It stood up, hard, rigid, erect. She took it in one hand, clasping her fingers round it tenderly and listening. Nothing.

Gripping, she moved her hand slowly up and down, then more quickly. She was rewarded with the reaction of his body tensing in response, but no sound. Absolutely none.

Fingernails. That was the answer. Holding it upright and running one fingernail ever so slowly all round the end.

Yes! He gasped and then groaned.

Thighs together. One minute. One full minute.

But now what? No point in doing the same again. Oh yes, he would make a noise again, he could not help that. But so repetitive? No fun at all.

What was the time? Half an hour gone already, but never mind. There was plenty of time. She had nothing else to do.

Next? Yes. That will do. Gently clasping him, then up and down, up and down, up and down, until... That was close. Leave him for a while, sit back and relax. Now again, up and down.

She could do this for hours, and she probably would. So much better than watching the television. No doubt he would say something again sooner or later, and then... where had she got to? One minute and ten seconds next time. It was a little uninteresting, boring, when she started, but now, somehow, she had started to enjoy it. And, naturally, if she started to feel hot and uncomfortable in her leather trousers, she could always take them off. No rush. She really did have all night if she wanted and, oddly enough, she did not feel at all sleepy...