48 Hours As Her Plaything Ch. 01byJamesTDH©
You walk into the house and it's quiet. You check downstairs and I'm not in the dining room or the sitting room; in fact, the lights aren't even on. You heard to the stairs, and here there are signs of life. There is a flicker of light coming from the bedroom, and you can hear music. As 48 Hours As Her Plaything Ch. 01 behind my back, they are held there by a pair of cuffs, the black leather shining in the candlelight. You can make out the small padlocks securing the cuffs, and a quick release clasp linking them together. Either side of my wrists are my ankles, held there by a long black scarf, wrapped around one ankle, then threaded between the cuffs before being wrapped around my second ankle. Looking toward my head you see a second scarf. It's been tied around my eyes, completely blocking any sight, then looped around my head again to pull between my lips and gag me, then tucked under the previous turn and stretched back to my wrists and ankles.
You've no idea how long I've been like this, but you can see the tension in my body. You can see the muscles quivering under my skin, from my thighs, up through the dimples in my buttocks, along my back and into my neck and shoulders. My shoulders are lifted from the bed and my head is drawn sharply back toward the soles of my feet. The scarf from my head to my feet is pulled tight, holding my body tight and drawing back harshly in my mouth. My lips are stretched back, and my jaw is forced open. You've never seen me so helpless.
There's a cream envelope balanced on my back, with your initials written in ink on the front. I twitch as I feel the envelope move; I hadn't heard you enter the room. You slit open the envelope and see several folded sheets inside; you decide to read them somewhere else. There's a bottle of wine downstairs and you feel it's a good time to enjoy a glass. Before you go you reach forward and run your fingers gently down the soles of my feet, watching the shivers run through my body. The idea of just walking away to enjoy your wine and read the letter, whilst I remain absolutely helpless gives you an ache deep inside. You walk to the door and turn back to look at me. I can't see it, but a smile crosses your lips. You walk back to the nearest candle, pick it up, and balance it carefully on the middle of my back. Sooner or later that will start dripping onto my flesh. Another gentle touch and then you leave the room....
You sit downstairs in an armchair, a glass of wine beside you. You pull out the folded sheets from the envelope and recognise my handwriting. Up until now, you had no idea how this had all started. The letter is simple. For the next 48 hours, through until Sunday evening, I don't exist as anything more than your possession. For the next 48 hours I am yours to play with. You allow the paper to fall to the floor, lean back and sip some wine. Ideas start to flick through your mind; there is so much you can do in two days. You make the first decision, and walk to the phone. You know you'll only get an answer phone at my workplace, but you leave a message that I won't be in on Monday, due to a family emergency. Now you know that I'll have 36 hours to recover from whatever you do to me, you can really let yourself have free rein. There'll be no need for you to give me any respite at all.
You walk upstairs, quietly passing the bedroom and going into your dressing room. Now, what to wear, you wonder. You strip off your clothes and walk into the shower. You take your time, relaxing in the stream of hot water and washing away the day. You step out of the shower and dry off, before soothing your skin with a cream, gently rubbing it into every inch of your body. You leave the towel on the floor, knowing that I will be the one taking care of the tidying this weekend. Back in your dressing room you spray on some perfume before picking out a few things to wear. I can't see anything, so you'll have to stimulate my other senses. You attach a garter belt at your waist, letting the six straps dangle to your thighs. From a drawer you take a new pair of fishnet stockings and slowly roll them over your calves and up your legs. Once they are pulled tight and straight, you attach the garter straps, one at the front of each thigh, one at the outside of your thigh, and the last two across each gorgeous curve of your arse. You head to the wardrobe and pull out your favourite pair of shoes. They are black strappy sandals, with a small platform under the toe and a four inch stiletto heel. You bend to wrap the straps over the top of your foot, behind your ankle and then up your leg. The straps buckle tight at the top of your calf, crisscrossing all the way up. You add a little make up, knowing it makes you feel feminine, and then pull your hair up into a ponytail high on the back of your head, knowing that makes you feel like a bitch. Now to accessorise! You take out the black driving gloves you barely use, the soft leather fits snugly over your hand, and then you go to our toy chest. You look inside, promising yourself that at some point this weekend, you will use everything that's there. For now you just take a few things.
The candle has continued to burn, leaving a trail of wax running down my back. You reach forward and remove the candle, then flick away the wax. You see deep red marks on my skin where the wax has cooled. I wriggle at the contact and moan. It's obvious I'm uncomfortable. It's nearly an hour since you came home, and I had already been tied before that. It's a strict tie for that length of time, and you can see the aches in my body. You smile again, knowing that there is far worse to come. To demonstrate this you bring your riding crop down hard across the soles of both me feet. It's only one strike, but the agony shoots through my entire body, wracking my muscles with more pain.
You climb onto the bed, and stand with a foot either side of my hips, before slowly lowering yourself to your knees, straddling my back, facing toward my head. You realise that the scarf stretched between my head and my hands is gently tickling your lips and clit. You lower yourself until you're sitting on my back, feeling the scarf pull harder between your legs. I can feel the rough friction from your fishnets against my skin. I moan at the same time and you see how much you've tightened my hogtie by pulling this scarf out of line. God that turns you on even more. You grind yourself forward and back on the scarf, enjoying the dual sensations of the pleasure to your clit and the pain to your slave. You lean forward and knead your hands into the tortured muscles of my shoulders. You keep rocking, getting closer to coming, and working my aching back with your gloved hands. You need more friction and grab the scarf behind my head and pull sharply upward, wrapping the scarf further between your lips and pulling harder on your clit. I squirm as much as I can, which is barely at all, and scream protest through the scarf in my mouth. My frantic movements feel so good underneath you and you pick up the crop again to encourage me. You reach back and start whipping my thighs, like a jockey at a horse's flanks. You're still pulling at the scarf like reins to my head and start digging your heels into my flesh. I struggle more, bucking at the pain and finally you come, whipping even harder as you spasm again and again.
As you calm down, you drop the crop and lean forward along my back. You've let go of the scarf and though you're still sat on it, the extra slack feels so good, releasing some of the pain in my neck and shoulders. I can feel your naked breasts against my back, and my god they feel good. You grab my hair in your gloved fingers and hold my head tight. I feel your breath on my ear, and then your teeth bite into the top of my ear, and warm blood is slowly running down to my neck. You whisper in my ear, four separate words,
"You are absolutely fucked!"
You let go of my head, sigh and relax, just lying contented on my bound body.