Pretty Tied Up

You reach your apartment door; your nose is stuck into your purse while you dig for your keys. There’s shuffling coming from the other side of the door and you pause to listen closer. It’s almost nine thirty on a Saturday; why would he be home? This has never happened during the course of your relationship: probably even over the course of his career. Brian was never home on a Saturday night, ever. It seems eerie and you panic for a moment thinking that it may not be Brian inside your apartment.

You pull your keys out of your purse as quietly as you can and drive them into the lock. You turn the handle slowly and push open the door. A force on the other side slams the door shut in your face before you could even see inside your apartment. You try to push your weight into the door and it doesn’t give.

“Do you trust me?” Brian’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. You are partially relieved but confused and a little irritated. Why did he need to pull this shit with you tonight? Why is he even here to pull this shit on you tonight?

“Brian.” You sigh and flop your arms to the side while staring up at the ceiling.

“Please? Do you trust me?” He persists.

“Yeah, fine.” You roll your eyes and wait for the door to open. It doesn’t.

“Can you close your eyes for me?” He’s whispering now, you can hear the doorknob creaking as it’s turning.

“I’m really not in the mood-”

“I’m not in the mood. Do it.” He warns from the other side.

Your heart stutters and your face pulls together. Against your better judgement you close your eyes. “Alright, Bri’. They’re closed.” You sigh with resignation.

You hear the doorknob click as the door swings open. His hand is wrapping around yours and pulling you inside. The door shuts behind you and you can feel his steady breath on your face. Something grazes against your face and you jump back a little. Brian’s hand is against the back of your head to keep you still. It brushes against your face again; it’s soft and it comes to rest against your eyes. It snakes around your head; you feel Brian’s fingers against the back of your neck as he tightens it and ties a knot. Your hands reach up to touch it: it’s silk fabric.

There’s a slap on your hand, “Hush, kukla.” His breath tickles the side of your neck as he whispers into your ear. You open your eyes underneath the fabric but it’s tied so snug that you can’t see a thing. “Come.”

He guides you by both hands and you step uneasily as you follow his lead. You find yourself in the bedroom and the only thing that you hear is his calm, rhythmic breaths. “Sit.” His hands push down on your shoulders and you rest on the edge of the bed. You feel his hand on your ankle pulling your heel off slowly; his fingers caress your foot as he slides his hand up your leg. His other hand is busy with your other foot. His fingers are trailing up your legs and under the hem of your dress, your breath hitches in your throat as they brush lightly against your mound. His hands stop at the tops of your hips; pulling your pantyhose and underwear down your legs.

His breath is calm and grounds you in this moment. Slender fingers slide back up your legs again; you realize that he has nails on his fingers as they scratch up the sides of your thighs. His hands don’t stop on your hips like they did before; his sharp nails send shivers down your spine as they run against your ribcage. He pushes upward and you lift your arms over your head so he can slide your dress off.

“Lie down.” You can barely hear his voice as he speaks; you move to lie in the middle of the bed. The bed shifts and you feel long nails brush against your bra. You’re chewing your lip feverishly as his fingers move up your arm. His cool hand holds your wrist and you feel satin against your hand. He ties it uncomfortably tight and you pull your arm away only to find resistance. Your other hand gropes to find the fabric and loosen it.

Sharp nails dig into the flesh of your wrist and you gasp at the pain. He wrenches your arm down into the bed and holds it there. “Stop.” His voice is rough and he squeezes tighter, you try to squirm out of his grip. “Enough.” His other hand seizes your throat and twitches just enough to warn you.

The bed moves and he’s gone. Heels click against the hardwood and it dawns on you that Brian might not be here right now. He circles around to the other side and the bed dips as he sits again. Your other hand is guided to the edge of the bed. Smooth fabric loops around your wrist and constricts, you give an experimental tug and you can’t move your arm at all.

The weight on the bed shifts again and his lips are by your ear. You feel long hair brush against your chest and you bite your lip. Brian is definitely not here.

“Do you want me, detka?” She bites your earlobe, and trails her tongue down your jaw.

“Y-yes.” You sigh while turning your head to the side to give her better access.

“Yes, what?” Her voice turns on a dime and it’s sinister again, her hand is pinched around your throat again.

“Yes, Miss Zamo.” You say uneasily, hoping that you have chosen the right title.

“Good.” She hisses and loosens her grip on your neck; her mouth is pressing kisses up your jaw line, her tongue laps at the sensitive skin below your ear before biting into it. You cry out and pull on your restraints fruitlessly. Your legs snap together and you rub your thighs to try and get some sort of friction against your throbbing clit. Her hand clamps down on your thigh and she tuts disapprovingly at you.

“You will do as I say. Do you hear me, devushka?”

You nod your head frantically, “Yes.” Her hand comes down to slap against the inside of your thigh, you whimper at the sting. “Yes, Miss Zamo.” You correct yourself through your quivering lips.

The knot around the back of your head loosens and she stands up off the bed. She pulls the fabric from your eyes and you squint to try and readjust to the lighting in the room. There’s a large candle burning on the bedside table flicking streams of light into her face.

She’s standing at the foot of the bed with her weight shifted onto one foot. Her black leather boots stretch up to the middle of her pale thighs just below the hem of her black lace dress. Under her dress is a black leotard that hugs her curves. She’s wearing a long, lace shrug with fringe. On the bed in front of her is a black, leather flogger. You’re in awe of her and your breath hitches.