Frozen Assets Ch. 1

I walk back into the living room, jiggling the box deliberately as I go. She hears me straight away and cocks her head. "What's that? What are you doing?" Her voice is loud, but not shouting, firm, but with a very slight hint of desperation. She's trying to maintain her barriers – her cool even (oh how funny) – under very trying conditions.

I pull over a small occasional table and position it next to her chair and set the ice box down on it, noticing the freezing vapour still drifting off the contents as the warm – hot – air of the living room meets the freezing surface of the cubes themselves.

"Phew! It's hot in here!" I pantomime, fanning myself with my hand, even though she can't see it.

"What do you want?" she says evenly, her cheek muscles twitching, dislodging beads of sweat.

She really is soaked with sweat. Her blouse is clinging to her body, tight over her breasts, her lacy bra clearly visible through the damp material. Her hair looks lank, her forehead is glistening with perspiration and the blindfold is almost completely soaked, only a thin strip of material in the middle remaining dry, the sweat encroaching downwards from her forehead and upwards from her cheeks. Her mascara has run, leaving a dark trail down her cheeks. Her lipstick is all but gone, her lips dry and beginning to show signs of cracking. Her stockings have been darkened to night black and her toes are twitching frantically in an effort to cool herself down. Another old saying pops into my head: 'Men Sweat, Women Perspire and Ladies simply glow.'

Don't you believe it – women do sweat – a lot, and what's more – it's quite damned erotic!

I've dispensed with the voice modulator. By now, she knows it's me and that we're deep into the game, so she's playing her role to perfection. She won't crack easily.

Or so she thinks.

"What do I want?" I muse, thoughtfully. She frowns, but says nothing.

"Jewellery? Like this?" I ask, fingering the two gold necklaces round her neck, one with a pendant attached, quite low down on her chest, just above her cleavage, the other, smaller necklace higher, round her neck. They'll need to be removed anyway for what is to follow.

"Valuable?"

No answer. She's playing well – she's learnt a lot, not giving me any opening, no weak spot to capitalise on, not even these necklaces, which I know she treasures.

I rip the necklaces off, causing her to wince. "Look like tat to me," I sigh and drop them disdainfully to the wooden floor.

"Bastard!" she exclaims.

Now, whether she's calling me a bastard like she would any would-be thief or rapist, or whether she's calling me, personally, a bastard for ripping off the necklaces which I gave her, I'm not sure. Either way, she's moved the game up a notch.

My hand darts behind her head, grabs her hair and forces her head up. She cries out with pain as I twist her long locks and hold my face close to her own perspiration-soaked face. "Don't be stupid!" I hiss. "I could turn those heaters up even further. If you think you're hot now…."

"Okay, okay…." She tries to nod her head, so show me she's understood. I release her hair and let her shake her head, her hair rearranging itself in lank waves. Obviously the swish of air this causes does her no good – the air is too warm to offer any relief from the relentless heat.

I quietly cross to each of the heaters and fires in turn and switch it off. The metal reflectors on the implements immediately begin to creak and crack as the sudden reduction in heat causes them to contract. I hear her sigh with palpable relief as the onrush of hot air abruptly stops, but still she's itching and twitching with all the sweat rolling down her body.

I stand beside her and reach into the ice bucket and select a suitable cube. I say nothing, but press it to her forehead. She flinches with the shock of the freezing ice touching her hot, wet skin. I grip her hair again to stop her moving and hold the cube to her forehead and move it from side to side, coating her brow with water as the cube melts. The cold liquid dribbles down under her blindfold, down her cheeks. She sighs as the relief it offers her is immense. I swear I can almost hear sizzling as the cube melts.

Her body betrays her as her barriers start to crumble. As soon as the coldness touches her skin, I notice, through her damp, almost transparent blouse, that her nipples suddenly harden as though the ice too, has touched them. But their reaction is only partly due to the sensitivity of her skin. Body language seldom lies without conscious effort.

I release her hair and drop the remains of the ice cube to the floor, rubbing my fingers together to get the circulation going to the tips again after holding the cold object for several seconds. This is pretty uncomfortable for me, too! I mean, all she's got to do is sit in a chair and sweat. Or at least for now…

Another ice cube is extracted from the container – I have to break it off its fellows, as some of them are beginning to melt slightly and congeal into a frozen mass. Once again, I grip her hair. She tenses, she's ready for the cold… but was she ready for it being held to her lips? Pain! Sweet pleasurable pain! She struggles, but she's powerless to resist. As I delicately coat her cracked lips with the soothing coolness of the melting cube, she parts those very lips, revealing her white, even teeth. Then her tongue, small pink and delicate emerges forth, like a probing antenna, homing in on the source of moisture and relief. I let her lick the ice cube, her tongue greedily flicking over it, almost trying to pull it into her mouth, to quench her raging thirst. But no, that would be too easy.

Her tongue tries to hold onto the ice cube as I move it away, and I have to hold her hair tighter to stop her mouth snapping the coveted cube down. She almost visibly slumps into the chair as she hears the second ice cube drop to the floor.

"Now, I think it's time to cool you right down," I add, conversationally, I carefully heft the icebox in one hand, gripping the lip of the box firmly, as it's quite heavy. With my other hand I pull the front of her blouse out, taking care not to rip any buttons off at this stage, and slowly tilt the box over her cleavage. Whether she has any idea what's about to happen is impossible to read from her body posture, but when almost the entire contents of the icebox cascade down onto her breasts and tummy she screams so loudly that I almost – almost – take a step back in surprise. Now how many barriers were shattered that time?

"Nonononononononoooooooooooo!!!!" How she thrashes and writhes, bucks and twists as the deadly little blocks of ice do their thing, combining in a freezing torrent of fire on her bare flesh. Several cubes are dislodged and clatter to the floor. I hear the chair and the screws that fasten it to the floor protesting at her violent movements. And there, in amongst all the splattering of cold water from the melted ice, I detect flecks of yellow. Once again, her body has betrayed her but then again, how many of us could control our bladders under such circumstances?

Gradually her paroxysms subside and she merely twists from side to side, trying to dislodge as many of the ice cubes as possible, or maintain more comfortable position. Her blouse is now completely soaked, and that and her bra are now almost totally transparent. Her nipples stand out like little pink mountains tops, peeking above the glacial wastes below. As I watch, her body heat is melting the ice rapidly and turning her skirt into a wet rag.

I kneel in front of her and slowly push her skirt up, smiling as I observe rivulets of water running down her legs, droplets splattering to the floor like an April shower gaining speed. Needless to say, her panties – plain white cotton briefs, functional but certainly not frumpy – are totally soaked. But quite where water and piss end and her own vaginal emissions begin, it's hard to tell.

It's a simple matter to pull her panties down a little - she doesn't even notice at first, but she twitches madly at the sudden rush of air as I pull them down further, as far as the posture of her legs will allow, revealing her damp, partly shaved pussy. Her lips are bright pink, almost red, inflamed by the severe reactions her body is undergoing.

I pick an ice cube up from the floor, making sure it's clean, and the, gently parting those moist throbbing lips, I insert it deep into her gaping, inviting cunt.

Oh yes, more screams, more writhing, but her hips are bucking backwards and forwards now, not side to side – her barriers have all but gone now and she wants more. I'm happy to oblige as I insert another two cubes into her, amazed at how quickly they melt, water almost cascading from her needy opening. I pull her soaked panties up and pat them into place, a feeble dam against the floodtide within.

I stand up and watch her, moaning, her head back, her mouth wide open, hands writhing in their restraints, fingers splayed out, almost beseeching some merciful god to release her from this painful, agonising, uncomfortable and wonderful torment.

Timing, as I've said, is all important here – sure, the ice is melting – the water is fairly pouring down between her legs onto the floor now is a steady stream – but I certainly wouldn't risk making a move too soon or too late. She's been writhing like this for nearly five minutes now.

"Well?" I ask.

One simple word.

Her brow furrows, she shakes her head from side to side as though in denial… the ice cubes grind within her blouse. I know what she's thinking – how long will it take for all of these ice cubes to melt?

"I have more ice cubes waiting."

She stops all movement for several seconds then bucks and writhes again. She's fighting it.

"Well?" I ask again.

"Yeeeeeeessss!!!! Okayyyyy! Pleeeeease!!!!"! The words spill from her in one long, agonised scream.

Barriers down.

Game Over? Almost….

I stand behind her. "Sit still!" I command, my voice a little louder, the authority forcing her into compliance. I reach round her, grip her soaked blouse and rip it open in one powerful tug, pulling it as far down over her arms as the ropes and chair will permit.

Ice cubes and buttons spill and clatter across the floor, her goose bumped flash exposed. I have to move fast now. I grab her bra and tear it from her breasts, ripping it in two. Her nipples are now exposed like fiery red points atop the frozen mounds of delicate flesh.

She slumps gratefully in the chair, a long sigh escaping her, her torment over at last. I kneel down again in front of her and bend over, delicately licking each frozen nipple with my hungry tongue, warming it, stimulating it. Each nipple softens slightly, but still remains erect, the goose bumps fading from the breasts beneath. A long, low moan escapes her lips and she shifts her body in response to my touch. There's more to come – she's surrendered to me, now our game will climax – literally.

I pull at her soaked skirt. Now it is harder to push up her legs, so I rip the side seam apart, tearing it away to gain access to her final frozen assets.

It's a simple matter to tear a hole in the front of her sopping panties, and my nose imbibes a heady mixture of water, urine and musk. Her blood red lips are throbbing and ready, her cunt wide open. I bend to my task, sucking at first, drinking from her, first tasting the sterile flavour of icy water, then gradually the tang of her salty fluids, warmer and more inviting, overriding the last of the now melted intruders. I rake my teeth over her bulging lips, eliciting a cry of pain and then masochistic pleasure from her, and she begins to move her hips thighs towards me, urging me on. I can almost feel her willing my tongue to reach upwards… to find… her hard and neglected clit. As I bore the tip of my hungry tongue onto the little nub, shocks spasm throughout her body. On top of the extremes of temperature and sensation it has been through, this latest rush is by far the strongest and she screams as first one orgasm and then another powers its way through her, releasing a flood of warm fluids into my mouth, staining my T-shirt and dripping thickly to the floor.

I withdraw and lick my lips, slowly standing, rubbing my blood-engorged penis which strains against the confines of my tight jeans. I'll need to conclude the game with my own orgasm, but for that, she must be freed…

"I'm untying you now," I say, unnecessarily as I tug on the knots, swiftly releasing her arms and legs form their tight embrace. That Sea Scout training all those years ago counted for something after all. It's just that I never made a great team player. I like to play for myself or for both of us which, as she'll agree, is the same thing as far as The Game is concerned and –

"Bastard!" She wrenches off her blindfold, squealing slightly at the pins and needles shocking her limbs. She somehow manages to stand up, furiously tearing the remains of her sodden clothing from her, the last items to fall being her stockings and suspender belt, plopping wetly to the floor.

Magnificently naked now, her face flushed with anger she stands before me. She stabs a finger at her clothes and her jacket lying by the door. "Another suit ruined!" she shouts. "My necklaces!" she adds, as she kicks the glittering chains with her feet.

"We can buy you a new suit," I say mildly, "It wasn't even your best one. And the necklace clasps can be fix-"

I'd seen it coming, I'd anticipated it, but, I have to admit, she still manages to surprise me with her strength and determination. With one spring she's upon me, raining blows – not too hard, I notice, as she can hit harder – at my face and body. I grip her arms to try to restrain her and back away.

A split second later we crash heavily to the floor after slipping on a number of ice cubes and I wince as a number of those laying on the floor stab into my back. But I doubt she notices my discomfort as she rips large holes in my t-shirt, her nails raking my chest, grabbing my hair and pulling my head up to her and hungrily devouring my mouth with hers, her tongue thrusting down my throat. And this, believe it or not, is surrender, not attack! Oh yes, she's come a long way in a short time…

She knows that I'm wrenching my flies open and pulling my blazing, throbbing cock free from my briefs. When you're that in tune with one another, you just somehow know what your partner's body is doing, even if you're not looking. But with most people, it's a simple matter of anticipating that the other wishes to hold hands…

Her hand reaches down and savagely grabs my cock, causing me to wince as she positions it so that she slides down over it smoothly and easily. Interestingly, I note, as I penetrate her depths, there are still pockets of coldness within her dark passage and –

"Fuck me hard you fuckingfuckingfucking bastard!"

She slams herself up and down on my tortured member, harder and faster. I dig my fingernails into her buttocks to moderate and control her movements whilst thrusting upwards to meet her frantic downward rhythm.

Not surprisingly, it's scant seconds before a hot tide engulfs us both, she reaching orgasm for the third time this evening, our juices flushing away the last of the cold sterile ice. We scream in unison, the goal reached, the battle won – and lost - and The Game over for this time.

*************************************

She looks up at me, her eyebrows slightly arched, head tipped seductively to one side. Her wet hair enhances her sexual charms as she sits up in the hot bath, foam suds sliding away from her breasts, her nipples decorated with little tufts of foam, pink and inviting. I reckon I owed her this – a hot, scented tub, candles placed strategically around the bathroom, the light dimmed down.

I hand her the mug of tea. She takes it without a word, swallows hard and then hands it back to me.

"Bastard!" she mutters, but a coy smile crosses her lips.

"Thanks," she adds, indicating the tea.

I sit down on the edge of the bath and idly run my finger over her breasts, teasing each nipple into hardness again. She moans slightly, her hand busily working away beneath he water and foam.

"You know, I'll play you and win one day," she says, quietly.

"I'm looking forward to it," I smile back, placing my hand to her foam flecked cheek, so that she can dreamily rub against it.

"So what do you call this one then?" she asks, referring to the game we have played and which I have won.

"Frozen Assets."

She considers this and nods. "Yes, good one, good one," she concurs. "I knew it was you after a few seconds of course."

"Element of surprise though," I add.

She gives me a long, loving look. So much passes between us in that one moment of eye – and body – contact. Oh yes, we'll play again. There'll be many more Games to come.

We speak.

"Well, if you're going to freeze somebody's assets…."

"Then you'd better do it with style."