Dinner and...

He knew she found it incredibly sexy, this juxtaposition of his relaxed delivery with the utterly depraved and filthy things he was saying. She knew that was a lie too; he was usually his most aroused when he sounded his most detached. That's how he was addressing her now, touching her lightly. His voice was low, as they were sitting close together, but not a whisper. His timbre light and happy; he was smiling and his eyes were gleaming.

"You're going to slice it off of me?"

"Mmm. Mmm hmm." He stroked her cheek, and then the side of her neck. "Yep. First, I'm gonna tie you up so you can't move. Not much, anyway."

He touched her collar bone lightly, then used his fingertips to trace a straight line down her breast, over the nipple, and onto her stomach. "Then, I'm gonna use my straight razor and slice this dress into ribbons."

His hand found her collar bone again, about an inch away from the first touch. "I'm gonna leave them hanging on you while I slice up your bra." He cupped her breast as his hand slid straight down again. "Y'know, I haven't decided if I'm going actually cut the bra off of you, or leave it in shreds. I guess I'll just have to see how the spirit moves."

Now his hand was touching at the hollow of her throat, tracing down her sternum, toward her belly button and then lower. She was watching his face while he was talking, watching his lips move, unconsciously leaning into him. She felt herself drawn into him, into his orbit, and as though he were her sun. She was so focused on his voice and his light touch that the rest of the world was vanishing.

"When it's all sliced up, I'm gonna beat your ass. When I'm done you'll be so red. Huh. You'll be so red a baboon would be proud of you." He chuckled softly and she sighed.

His hand slid all the way down her torso, and when he got to her lap, he pressed against her crotch so she would open her legs. He smiled broadly, and touched her collar bone again, about another inch away from the last imaginary line. His gaze on his own hand, so sure that he had her rapt attention. She leaned into the crook of his arm and back against the couch, already opening herself to him.

"When I'm done with your ass, I'll get to work on your tits. I haven't quite figured out what I'm gonna use for those. Maybe my hands, maybe my teeth. Or, I know, that new belt I just got. It's stiff, I think. It could use some breaking in."

He looked at her, requiring a response. She managed to chuckle. "Yeah, you definitely need to soften that belt up some."

He nodded. "Yep." Touched her collar bone, started tracing a line over the other breast, across a nipple that was already hard. "And when your tits are thoroughly taken care of, I'm going to attend to your pussy. It wouldn't be fair to forget your pussy, would it?"

"No. That wouldn't be fair at all."

"That's what I thought." He was moving his hand down her thigh, finding the hem of the dress. He pushed against her knee, and she spread her legs further, slid her backside closer to the edge of the couch. Melding herself to his body, aching again for him to do more than touch. He moved his hand up the inside of her thigh. "So. Yeah, your pussy. I'm going to use everything." His hand was closer to her crotch. "My hands, my teeth, that belt. Maybe that riding crop you got me for Christmas. I can't forget about that."

His fingers grazed her naked vulva, making a lazy circle around the outside of her lips. His other hand was lightly stroking her hair and the back of her neck. She was leaning into him, feeling like her whole body was thrumming.

"I'm going to beat your pussy until you cum. Screaming."

He slowly, excruciatingly, slid a finger into her, right over her clit. Found what he was looking for; he added another finger and she felt him tapping her inner walls. She shuddered deliciously. Looking down at her lap, as though he could see the part of her that finger was touching. Still conversational, nonchalant. "You're such a good little masochist. Such a good pain slut. I haven't even hurt you yet. Just the threat is making you wet."

He looked up to meet her gaze, his eyes wide, smiling; his curiosity heartfelt. "Seriously, why is that?"

She gave a small shrug. "I trust you. You're a man of your word."

"When I say I'm going to hurt you, you believe me."

"Yes."

"And that's all it takes to make you horny?"

"Past horny, but, yeah." She smiled.

He practically giggled. "You're such a pervert." He'd pulled his fingers out of her and lightly tapped her mouth. Then he slid them into his own mouth, all the way to the knuckle.

She cocked her head to one side. "So are you."

He pulled his finger out of his mouth with an audible pop. "Why, yes. Yes I am."

She laid back against his arm as he leaned in. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger to hold her head still. Met her mouth with his and gave her a long, soulful kiss, his tongue searching in her mouth. He bent the arm that was on the couch back, caressing her shoulder and then pushing her closer to him. She reached up with both hands to grasp the back of his shoulder and head and likewise pull him closer to her. His free arm stroking up and down her side, caressing her breast, hip and thigh. Eventually, they broke the kiss and she relaxed into him with a contented sigh.

He touched her nose, lips, chin and neck gently. Now he spoke softly, words only for her ears. "When we get home, I'm going to whip your pussy until you beg me to let you cum. I promise."

He relaxed against the couch, one arm still draped across the back, hand on her shoulder. She crossed her legs and scooted even closer to him. After a moment, he slapped his knee, like he'd just remembered something important. Looked at her, grinning lasciviously, and declared, "Then, I'm gonna fuck you. In all your holes."

She couldn't help it, she let out a peal of laughter and soon he was joining her. But the glint in his eyes reminded her that he was serious.

That's when, as if on cue, his friend and wife came out of the bedroom. It seemed his friend was moving gingerly. It seemed as if the wife's hair was no longer perfect. They both looked a little flushed.

His friend made them all more drinks, but none of them did more than sip. They chatted amiably for a while. The men telling more stories of their days in college together, the two women reconciling these earlier versions with the men they now knew. At some point the wife had offered her a change of clothes, but she said the dress was more comfortable than it looked. She wasn't about to spoil their other plans.

They told stories of their lives together, how they met, funny stories of the early days. They argued about politics a little. They waxed philosophical. All the while she was clinging to his promises, banking on his sincerity. The evening wore on and eventually they'd all talked enough. His friends exclaiming over what a lovely time they'd had, how much they'd enjoyed catching up. Making tentative plans to get together again before they left the city.

As they drove home he demanded the story about the waiter. He nodded along, his mouth twitching in appreciation. When they got back to their apartment, he led her toward the wall of windows, with the sliding door that opened onto their balcony.

She saw that he'd laid out some things on the table near the windows; they had to have been there before they left, but escaped her notice then. He gestured and she went over to pick up his favorite pair of leather cuffs. They were almost infinitely adjustable, and padded so she could wear them for hours. He sat at the table and watched her put on one cuff, adjust it snugly, and then put on the other. He loved that she willingly restrained herself, that she offered herself up to him.

These cuffs had D-rings embedded in the leather, so that they could be linked together with a hook or carabineer. He picked up a length of chain with a carabineer attached to one end and used that to join them. They moved back directly underneath an eye hook bolted into the ceiling joist. Stepping up on a chair he'd dragged from the dinette, he pulled the chain through the eyebolt until her arms were straight and directly over her head. Her back was to the windows and table.

When he got down from the chair, he grasped on the loose end of the chain and tightened the pull on her arms. He wanted her to feel a slight stretch and still have her feet firmly on the ground. When he had the chain adjusted to his liking, he used another clip to secure two of the links together. He ran his hands all over her body, just stroking her with the whole of his hand and palm.

He pulled the hem of her dress down as far as it would go. He ran his hands over her legs down to her ankles, and back up her ass. Slid both hands up her back and then around to caress her tits. Then down her front and cupped her pussy through the dress. He pressed himself into her back, and started moving his hands all over her again. She leaned into him as best she could, sighing at his touches. They were both quiet, the time for talking at an end.

This time when he got to her ankles, he picked up each of her feet and took of her high heels. Knowing that this would increase the tension in her spine and arms. Knowing that with better contact with the floor she could move during the rest of what he planned. Knowing that, at some point during the night, she would grab onto the chain and try to pull herself up, but that it would never occur to her to kick him.

He wanted her free enough that she could move away if she wanted. He loved watching the struggle on her face and in her body, that combat between the instinct to save herself from pain, and her deep sexual need to experience it. The fight between self preservation and obedience to him. He loved watching for that moment when her masochism and submissiveness won.

He went back to the table and opened a box that was sitting there. He pulled out the new item. It was a gag he'd had made, basically the same size and shape as his own flaccid dick. Flaccid, because then it would fit in her mouth and she'd still be able to breath comfortably. He'd had another one made, which replicated his erect cock, and he knew he'd use that on her too, some night. He showed her the gag, held it to her mouth and told her to kiss it. Told her to suck on it and lick it like she was trying to make it hard.

When it was thoroughly covered in her saliva, he pushed it into her mouth and fastened the straps behind her head. She sucked in a breath through her nose as well as she could; she tried to swallow around the gag, like she sometimes swallowed around him when giving him head. He didn't usually gag her, because he liked listening to all the involuntary noises she made. If he needed her to be quiet, she was in for a long night.

Just that thought made her pussy clench, and she could feel more juice flowing out of her. He was circling her, slowly, with one hand out, barely making contact with his fingertips. Touching her waist, hips, the width of her ass, grazing lightly over her pussy and then back up to her shoulders. Around and around he circled her as she settled the gag in her mouth. She writhed against him, trying to prolong the contact, every nerve ending in her skin crying out for something more, something firmer, something harsher. She bored into him with her eyes, wanting to beg him for her release, the tension rising in her.

Then he walked away. She heard the curtains being opened behind her. She stood there, trying not to whimper, her eyes watering and fingers clenching around the chain. She laid her head back, relaxing her knees, slightly bending her legs to hang there, luxuriating at the increased tension in her arms and the proof of her reliance on his mercy. Or reliance on his mercilessness.

He left her there like that, went into their bedroom and stripped down to his boxer briefs. His cock was more than half hard and he wanted a moment to really plan the rest of the night. His goal was to keep her going until dawn.

He gathered some more implements and toys, and laid them out on the table. He told her to turn around, and the twisting of the chain caused her to rise up on her toes. He watched her eyes widening over the gag as she looked at the table and catalogued what was laying there. The straight razor. The new belt, and one of his old favorite belts. Several wooden spoons, and a couple of spatulas. The riding crop. Another butt plug, dildos of various sizes, and at least two vibrators. A box of thumb tacks. A flogger.

She felt her breath coming faster, as she anticipated what was going to happen to her. Memories of other nights, and visions of him fulfilling his promises were colliding in her mind's eye. She felt hot and cold, shaky and very calm. She was afraid of being consumed by her growing need.

Her saliva was running and she was sucking on the gag, this poor substitute for him. Her ass barely registered the plug and ached for more. She kept clenching her vaginal muscles, just wishing that something was inside her. That something was rubbing her clit. That she was feeling the impacts of all these instruments, all preparation for him.

He picked up his newly sharpened straight razor. He came to her and touched her spine and shoulder blades with his free hand. Turned her away from the table, so her heels were on the floor. Glided his hand over her back and down to her ass. Tugged at the seam where the skirt of her dress flared out. Circled her again so that she could see him, see what he wasn't wearing; so that she could clearly see his growing erection. She watched him hungrily.

He stepped very close to her and ran the back of the razor over her cheeks, up one arm and down the other, and very lightly across her collar bone and throat. She shuddered against him and let out a long breath through her nose. She laid her head back again, baring her neck for him to do his best. He traced more lines across and down her neck with the back of the razor, pressing lightly in the hollow of her throat.

Then he pinched up the fabric of her dress where it covered one breast, poked the corner of the razor through the fabric and turned it sideways. Made the first long slice in the dress, carefully avoiding cutting her skin. For now. She shivered and the first moan escaped around the gag. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated, her breathing controlled in the moment. Her anticipation growing, fingers clenching around the chain holding her up, her body arching toward him.

He finished the first slice, and pushed the razor through the next section of dress. He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the hollow of her throat. Then looked deeply in her eyes, his gaze full of love and admiration.

"Happy Birthday, Cunny. I promised you wouldn't be disappointed."