Why Don't We date already? | oneshots

the birthday present

warning: kinky smut

*****

"I'm so damn kinky," I groaned, looking at the stuff that I had in a box under my bed. "Is it normal to be this kinky at the age of eighteen?"

    "Lowkey, yeah," my best friend, Corbyn, said, perring inside the box. "But I'm fairly sure there are kinkier people."

    "You're telling that to me," I muttered.

    "What do you even have in there?" He asked, rolling off the bed and sitting next to me. He starts rummaging through the box as I mentally list everything in there.

• condoms of every size

• Several black blindfolds

• Pairs of handcuffs

• A whip

• Candles and matches

• Several more handkercheifs, for use around wrists when I can't find the key for the handcuffs

• Several tubes of lube

• Lotion

• Vaseline

    Among other random objects.

    "Have you ever used this stuff?" Corbyn asked, picking up a random rubber band and letting it fly.

    "Why do you think I have it?" I muttered. "Just the condoms and the lube. And probably the lotion or something, I'm not really sure."

    "Well, now I know what to get you for your birthday present," he said, sitting up. "Union Shelmuir, this is going to be the best belated birthday party you've ever been to."

*****

    I marched up to the little motherfucker, spinning him around to face me. "Corbs, you did not just get a guy to randomly hook up with me."

    "I did," he smirked. "You need to get ready, though. He's as kinky as you."

    I sighed. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

    "Oh, hell no."

*****

    Corbyn helped me strip down to my underwear, leaving me with a black bra, black thong, and cherry-red lipstick. Corbyn had managed to get his hands on a bucket of rose petals, which he proceeded to dump on my bed. He lit several candles around my room, filling it with a multitude of scents. He finished everything off with a black blindfold and left me sitting on my bed.

    "I hate this," I said, annoyed and bored. "I hate this, I'm so damn bored, I'm so getting back at you, Corbyn fucking Matthew Besson, it's bad enough that the party's loud and somehow full of alcohol--"

    "Babe, don't run that mouth," a husky voice said right next to my ear. I flinched.

    "Who was that?" I said, not moving from my position. I knew it would be fruitless to move around. I made that mistake once and almost fell off the bed.

    I heard the door slam shut, the lock clicking. The bed creaked behind me as I felt someone's hands move up and down my arms, giving me goosebumps. "What's your name, love?"

    "Union," I stuttered out. I heard the click of handcuffs as he locked my wrists together. I started to grow aroused, wondering what this guy was going to do to me.

    "Call me Jack," he muttered into my ear, now in front of me. He bit the cartilage as his hand slid smoothly down my leg, handcuffing my ankle and chaining it to the bedpost. He did the same with my other leg, whispering, "I want to hear you scream it."