Time To Waste

Chapter 06: Restraint

Chris ignored his best friend and continued to check the faux-leather restraint that bound his girlfriend's arms behind her back. He had initially dreamt of holding her in-place with an underbed restraint system, but that had seemed a complicated mess of conundrums that would make using her body just, well, difficult. Instead, he had settled on simplicity. Plus, this looked damned fucking sexy: it was like a pleather straight-jacket for her arms.

Rick was using an errant sheet to wipe himself off slowly as he glared, unamused. Clearly, he did not share his friend's appreciation of leather and buckles. "There is nothing fucking sexy about an unconscious body," he argued.

Continuing to play deaf and dumb, Chris repositioned Jenna across the plush hotel bed. Now lying on her stomach, with her face planted gently into the mattress, he double and triple checked that the restraints weren't so tight as to mess with her circulation. She'd already passed out once, he didn't want her passing out again. For now, though, he wasn't concerned: clearly, she had simply overloaded momentarily from the pleasure, and he fully intended to be ready to continue that pleasure when she came back around.

Clearing his throat obnoxiously, Rick tugged his black underwear back on and groaned. "Man, this is not right! What the fuck happened that she passed out? Why the fuck are you binding her fucking arms and acting like this is okay?"

The taller man barely paused before taking a seat on the mattress beside his sleeping girl. She would no doubt wake up any second, and then the real party could start. "Look, Rick," he rolled his eyes in a painfully unamused gesture. "She clearly fainted from sensory overload. That's it! It happens. She'll come back around, and she will be absolutely fine. When she does, I want to be ready for the next scene."

"This is not a fucking scene!" The other man came as close to growling as he would get and began to light a cigarette. He found a chair, tossed his small body into it, and took a long drag before exhaling loudly. This time around, he found no comfort in this routine action. "Something is wrong, man," he shook his right leg nervously as he stared across the room at his friend. "Does she normally pass out during sex?"

Chris grunted, "She's fine. Do you have to fucking smoke that shit in here?"

Rick shook his head slowly, running a twitchy hand up into his long raven locks. He wanted to have the leisure of pondering whether to cut it or continue to grow it, but instead his internal alarm systems were going nuclear. Something was wrong, something felt wrong. In all his years of sex - and he'd been a frenzied ball of slut in his early years of touring - he had literally never seen a woman pass out cold while reaching orgasm.

As if reading his buddy's mind, Chris sighed. "If you don't want to be here, then you can fucking leave. She likes you, she enjoyed you, but we don't need you. I can get one of the other guys; I don't have to ruin the fantasy because you pussied out. Maybe Ryan wants a go at her?" His voice trailed off as he began to slowly stroke his long, tattooed fingers through her beautifully lustrous black hair. Black number one, she always joked, was her favorite. It was a song she loved, Chris remembered.

Trying not to choke on his cigarette, Rick sighed. "Do you really want to just share her with the entire band? I thought this girl was special, huh? Passing her around to the whole band and crew isn't exactly a good way of showing her that she means something to you. That is, if she even really does!"