A Play for Keeps Ch. 01

She's settling into the right spot, the right pace. No longer flexing against my strength but using my hold on her for purchase. Eyes closed, everything focused on that elusive, needed release.

Getting so close now, sprinting towards her orgasm, forgetting the game, the flat, me, even herself.

"Not yet." I kiss her ear after I whisper it. For a second she doesn't want to stop, her legs clench around my waist and I wonder if I waited a little too long, if she's already too close to even hear me.

"Hnnh." A sigh of protest, pleading. But she stops moving.

I can feel the tension in her as she makes the decision to submit against her instinct to disobey. Her cheeks flush red; her gaze, steady on some point on the wall opposite, intensifies in concentration.

"Perfect." I tell her. I kiss her forehead and feel cooling sweat. So close, but not yet.

I feel her still gripping me, feel the temptation to tell her to carry on just to watch.

Self-control...

I release her arms and she slowly, grudgingly sets both feet back on the floor astride mine.

At this point I think on my preparations, force blood back towards my brain through willpower, mental override.

I take her hands, step back into the middle of the room. The now forgotten underwear shimmies off her thighs as she walks, joins the scattered pile of her clothes on the floor.

For a moment I forget what I was doing, my mental script falls to the floor with her panties and a blush almost creeps beyond my collar.

I remember.

"Close your eyes." I tell her, brushing her hair away from her face. Now we've set the mood I feel confident in moving along.

A nearby drawer has the things I want close to hand but out of sight, I take one of the leather ties, hang it over one shoulder as I move behind her. I don't grab her this time, I guide her to what she wants. Fingertips are all I need to draw her shoulders back, her arms behind her back.

The fabric sound of the leather rushing against my fingers as I tie her wrists, her breathing deep and even, standing to unselfconscious attention, posing for me.

I don't check her eyes are closed, I trust her obedience because I can feel her waiting for what's next. She's accepted those shivering nerves as energy now, she's into it in a way she wasn't a minute ago.

I put one hand around her bound wrists and push gently forward. She steps where I direct without opening her eyes, obeying every shift in my grip as I walk her to the bedroom and put her in the place I imagined when I was waiting for her.

Didn't spend money on whips and chains, not that big a fan of latex or the fashion side of it all. Leave the pageantry for another time, if we're into it.

I reach under the bed and find it, careful to hold tight so no sound gives the game away.

A collar, dark green leather with a shiny silver buckle. I rejected those studded with lettering, spikes, cutesy fur linings. I like simple things, elegance is found in function not form. It's something I wanted to get right, felt like picking an engagement ring. I went to a dozen websites and three BDSM shops to find the right one, something her style.

Not so wide it restricts her movement, not so thin as to choke under tension. It's a decoration, a symbol she can use to communicate the shy desires she couldn't otherwise.

A subtle pattern of vines and leaves stamped into the leather, apart from the buckle it's a single piece that I thought would look just as good whether worn as an accessory or as an entire outfit. It's the little details that make the difference to her, showing her I know what she really likes in the end.

I don't put it on straight away. There's always an excuse for another game, just one more tease before I begin to deliver on all the promises in my voice and my touch tonight.

The collar in my left, I let my right hand tug down on her wrists so she leans back into me. I hold the collar by the end, let it graze along her thigh and then upward. She sighs as the textured leather rubs against her skin, shivers when the cold buckle touches her clit, slithers against her side, rubs slowly over her nipple.

She almost melts against me as I slip the collar around her throat in a soft caress, buckle it comfortably tight, the way the girl in the shop showed me, as I blushed an interesting pink.

I stand her up straight again, turn her just a little in front of me. I hold her from behind, warm palms on cool skin. A little contented sort of noise in her throat as I caress my way around her figure, ending up with one hand around her collar and the other dipping low to pleasure her, fan the flames a little.

"Open your eyes." I tell her.

She opens them and stares into our reflection in the full length mirror. Sees herself naked and bound, collared and completely at my mercy. She sees the look in my eye in the reflection, equal parts lust and anticipation.

In the early stages of my plan I had a different line in mind, back when I was still pretending to be into this instead of actually finding a way to get into it. I was going to tell her that this was the symbol of the power she gave me, that it was something I would use for her obedience, compliance.

But then I came to appreciate what she really likes in bondage.

Inversion of roles, expectations, pleasures. She likes her kinks upside down and inside out, it's just no fun to her otherwise. But we need a point to steer by in all this.

I decided not to give her the collar another man might, something with a D-ring to attach a leash to. As soon as I saw it I knew that our collar wouldn't be like the others.

"This is for you." I look her in the eye in the mirror, running my thumb over the buckle. "I hope you like it." She nods, staring at it, herself.

"I'm not going to tell you when to put it on or take it off, ever." I grip with my left, feel the collar. "That's for you to tell me. When you want this..." I emphasise the point with a little grip of my right, the hot slickness of her arousal on my fingers, she has to stop herself shifting her hips around under my hand. "You just have to wear it and I'll know. I'll be here, like this, for you."

I watch her, feel how she responds to my words as much as my touch. Her face is unreadable for long seconds as she considers us, deciding whether this is where it all stopped or where it all started.

She nods and blushes at the same time, I feel the heat coming off her skin, feel nourished by it.

"Say yes." I whisper, I want to hear her say the word.

"Yes." She says, a smile hiding behind her composure.

All the blood in my brain gets diverted to more important areas. Plans and intentions and ideas become hazy as I focus in on the fact that this is the sexiest woman I have ever contemplated, and she just agreed to keep having kinky sex with me. Some days just make the rest of your life worth it...

Her bound hands grasp my erection through my jeans. She doesn't need to read me like a book, my book is made of cardboard, has four pages, and is suitable for teething. Every part of me wants every part of her, I can almost feel a soul somewhere inside, aching to be close to hers.

She engages in a little provocative massage through my clothes and I let her, I decide that I'm the kind of dominant who is okay with a little freewheeling between instructions. If I was the kind who needed total obedience she wouldn't be with me, it's as simple as that.

But then of course, because of the mood, the view, and the fact that my sexuality is barely a window-box compared to the verdant gardens of her lust; I had to either put a stop to it or hang on and let her finish.

I go with the first option, because I feel the need to assert myself a little bit in the face of her obvious power over me.

I step away, sit on the edge of the bed facing her. She's getting into the spirit of it, staying put waiting for my word.

"Come here." I say. I haven't felt the urge to raise my voice, it's the soft whisper that conveys authority, not the angry shout.

She stands in front of me, tied and collared and turned on. I don't give a damn what the next part of my plan was, I have to have her. She becomes as optional as air, there is no way I'm not going to give the woman I love the pleasure she deserves.

I take hold of her by the hips and pull her down until she's straddling my lap. I feel her nerves as she balances with her arms behind her back. I grip her thighs, I won't let her fall.

I start with a fingertip tracing over her in slow, meandering arcs, tracing with the edge of a fingernail to leave an imprint of sensation behind me. First at her neck, her shiny new collar, candle flames glinting on the buckle. She watches me, reading my thoughts as they fade slowly to static. She has a way of leading me into these still, quiet moments.

I take my time coming back, just look at her looking at me. I can feel my heart squeezing harder, I take a slow inward breath of the scent of her.

This is a tease, this is a game and I'm taking my time, thinking a few moves ahead. It feels a little odd to be so turned on and still be thinking. I don't think I've ever made love to her with my brain before.

Strange to be making such jagged turns away from my usual impulses, but I can't dispute the results. She's dancing with me again, following my fingertip on her skin, softly rubbing herself against the hard lump in my lap.

I want to kiss her nipples, just plant a soft kiss on each and then look up into her eyes in a tender moment. But I know if I do that, the ties and collar will become unnecessary distractions to our passionate unhurried usual on the bedroom floor.

Instead I let her attention drift from me to just my touch, let her eyes begin to close...

A slow pinch, getting harder around her nipple as she zones back in and her expected moan of pleasure becomes a halting sigh as pain and pleasure compete for her attention.

I know that pain can build to a comfortable buzz, a hot ache that creeps closer and closer toward pleasure the longer it goes on. I know that, even though I haven't really felt it like she's feeling it. Maybe a reason I love her so much is that she can make me understand anything, even something so opposite to my basic, default tastes.

Pain from my right hand at her breast, and slow figure-eights of the middle fingertip of my left hand around her clit. Never quite touching it but always about to, a burlesque of little movements, little responses to her.

I can see them both building in her, I can feel the clench of grip in my right and the soft slickness against my left. Oil and water, fire and ice.

One force holding the other in check, balancing like two tied prisoners trying to stand up back-to-back. I check on her progress.

Such a sexy pose, her hips thrust up and toward my hand, making circles over my fingers. Arching back it's almost like she's trying to escape me, but she's trapped by my finger and thumb.

This woman I love only needs the smallest of changes to elicit the storm right now, the orgasm I've almost but not quite let her reach since she got here. I picked my time, she saves herself for the evenings to exorcise the day's stress either with me or just with her hands, a bunched up pillow, the corner of the mattress. My leg once when I was asleep...

She's needed this all day, but I'm not going to allow her frustrations to make her rush it. This is the moment she looks forward to on the drive home, looks back on when we curl up together to sleep. I want this to be the best one, because we both worked for it.

I tease and caress two fingers into her, use the pad of my thumb on her clit now. My other hand pinches harder, balancing more pleasure with equal pain. I decide this will be the orgasm she thinks about all week, and for the first time I realise it's exactly that kind of power she has given me.

Her breathing fast and in time with her shifting, rolling hips. A moan becomes a soft 'ooohh' of realisation. She's so cute when she comes, like it's all a big surprise...

"Not yet." I tell her again. I already know there won't be another. Her sexy noise fades, like she didn't realise she was doing it the first time.

Her dark hair arrayed around her shoulders, her face upturned and her eyes closed. She makes the same face searching for orgasm that she does straining to hear distant music, it's all about that moment when you suddenly pull the melody out of chaotic air, all of a sudden make sense of it.

She's so close, with ten seconds concerted effort on my part she won't be able to stop herself no matter what I tell her. I see the growing blush seeping over her chest, rising to her throat.

A whisper, too focused on touch to hear. I look up at her, twist with one hand, shimmy with the other. She has her looks, I ask with mine.

"Please..." No cutesy tone or attitude, talking to me like she talks to herself.

"Soon." I stay firm, though rigid is a better word.

It could go either way, pain or pleasure. I remind her of that, rolling her nipple in my grip. She winces and I must admit there is a satisfaction in that for me. I have her exactly where she wanted to be, now it's my choice where we go.

It's not like I was going to stop. I pinch harder, just to make her think twice.

And then let go.

"Ahh..." She isn't sure for a second, hot or cold, on or off. She grinds down on me harder, squeezes her eyes shut.

"Now." I tell her.

I kiss that taut, red, sore nipple. Take it into my mouth and sweep my tongue across slowly. That's all she needs.

She arches back, no sound as her breath catches half in and half out. Her bound hands find my knee behind her, grab two fistfuls of fabric and squeeze hard as she rocks back on my hand.

Not a moan or a groan or a scream of pleasure, but long halting seconds of a gasp she can't quite get out. I kiss along her chest to her throat, her jaw, her lips. I sit back and hold her steady, just watch for a moment, let her come down on her own.

"I..." She trails off after the singular pronoun, the rest lost to a shivering high pitched groan as another jolt catches somewhere, makes her lock up and wobble as she tries to balance. I grip her hips, I've got her. She relaxes a little, pants a few hard breaths as her eyes begin to move again. Looks down at me grinning up at her, leans in for a kiss.

She seems to come back down in that kiss, trembling as I withdraw my fingers, blushing as I taste them. She kisses me back and I feel a flush of... pleasure, joy, love. A mix I only get from her, something I'm still thinking of a name for.

We break off, she's breathing fast, blushing from her thighs to her scalp. She grins through a couple of shivering aftershocks, leans into my chest.

I hold her, let her enjoy the moment. I listen to her breath in my ear slowly settling back into rhythm. I feel a mist of sweat drying on her skin, find myself thinking of the long day she's had.

Lay her down on the bed, watch the candlelight make her skin glow as I untie her hands. She turns over, giving me that intense look again, like she can't quite believe it. I guess she likes this side of me after all.

Without another word I get up, walk to the bathroom and turn on the big taps in the bath. Put in the oils she likes, light a couple of candles I left ready. This was going to be an optional extra if I wanted to take more time at the beginning to get into the swing of it all, but it seems like I owe this woman I love a reward for such a wonderful evening so far.

When I return she's stretched out on her belly, enjoying the cool quilt under her, relaxing shoulders hot and taut from restraint. One hand cupping her breast under her, a little smile at the tingling soreness from my pinch. Feels like we've been at this for hours but it's been less than one, maybe less than half of one. Time flies when you're having fun.

Until the bath is ready I sit on the floor next to our bed and take the chance to look at her, in case crows peck out my eyes tomorrow and this is the last time I see her naked.

Stroke a few strands of dark hair from her face, see her watching me.

One of those soft, silent, intimate moments. Like a first kiss, like waking up with someone for the first time.

Okay, I could definitely get into this...

She turns over, sighs at the ceiling, waking up a little. Onto her side, watching me, her fingers stroking the arm I have on the edge of our bed. She takes my hand as her plaything and returns to her back, pulling me with her.

I kneel next to the bed, supported on one elbow as she brings my other hand, so recently the object of her pleasure, to her lips.

She kisses my fingertips, tastes herself there. I watch her face as she closes her eyes, smiles at the memory.

She keeps hold of my hand like a teddy bear, I let her. I like being the guy she holds onto.

She brings my hand slowly along her body, gives me a guided tour in slow strokes, rubbing the heat from my palms into her soft, cool skin. Just like that I'm getting ideas. This woman I love, my shy, beautiful muse.

My relaxed hand grips all by itself as she pulls it across her breast. Her smile behind closed eyes as she lets me linger. I like to hold her there when we sleep, I like to rub my thumb around her nipple in the mornings, feel it harden as she wakes up with a sigh and a wiggle into my lap. I love her beautiful, womanly, sexy round boobs. I like that I still smile at the word boobs, but only when I'm thinking about hers.

She continues on her meandering tour, I can smell her sexy, slick arousal and the bath oils from the other room. She brings me to her lips again, sucks my thumb into her mouth, kisses it like she would kiss my lips, sucking it like she would my cock for a few beats before I feel her toothy grin.

I withdraw my thumb and kiss her, really kiss her. A peck becomes a smooch becomes a snog. I taste her mouth, taste sex on her tongue and suck on it until she moans a little for me. I pull away for a moment, unbutton my shirt and leave it on the floor next to me.

I don't break the kiss as I scoop her tired, naked body into my arms and then stand. The caveman part of my brain lights up as I carry her to the bathroom, she feels good in my arms. She nuzzles my shoulder, a shy smile.

I stand at the bath and slowly sink to my knees, letting the water lap up over her skin. I place her in a comfortable position in the warm water and let her sink slowly down.

My hand goes to her collar, one finger searching for the buckle but she takes my hand and looks at me, she wants to keep her new toy a little while longer.

Instead I smile, bend to kiss the top of her head.

We relax in candlelight, she in the warm water and me kneeling next to the bath, four fingers curling through ripples.

Each in our own heads again for a while, we think and unwind, listen to the silence.

She reclines in the steaming water, a liquid tease of flesh and bubbles and silken steam rising from shrinking spots of moisture on her skin.

She stretches out, puts her arms out on the sides of the tub, tilts her head back, eyes closed. I wish I had a camera, instead I try to etch every bit of her into my mind so I can never forget.

She turns over in the water, wets her hair and rubs her face. She wakes up a bit, supported only by buoyancy and her elbows touching the bottom. It isn't until now that she really lets go of all the things I took and littered around the floor, now she really is mine for the evening.

I take a jug and shampoo, wash her hair with slow strokes of my hands, listen to a melody under her breath. Not quite our song but a fond memory, I wonder what she's thinking.

The collar looks good on her, or rather she looks good in it. There's a difference I'm already noticing, she keeps looking at me looking at it, giving me this smile, our little secret.