#i must say

Fiador

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be sticking anything up your bum.”

She was leading him by the hand, and even that was putting him on edge. It didn’t so much feel that something had been reversed so much as a natural order had been perverted. This felt like some kind of affront, that he should rebel against it all because he shouldn’t have even let her talk to him about it in the first place, let alone go along with it.

That he wasn’t was perhaps the only reason he was going along with it. The seed of doubt was well and truly cast in fertile ground, and now Adam just wanted to know where all this was going to end up. Whether he’d still be him by the time all this was done. A squeeze of his hand brought him out of his head and into the bedroom.

“And if you feel properly freaked out at any point, you just let me know. This isn’t about making you feel uncomfortable or awkward.” Emma was smiling, but it had a hardness to it that he hadn’t seen before. In fact, now that he was paying attention, not much about her looked all that familiar. Soft pastels were replaced with solid colours, and her deliciously plump lips had swapped gloss for a stark red. Even her eye shadow had condescend into hard lines that winged viciously off the edges of her eyes. She looked fierce, and something inside him stirred at the thought.

“What exactly do you have planned?” She didn’t answer him, instead continued to lead him into the room until they were in the centre, stood in front of the bed. She smoothed his hands down to his sides, and then took a step back. Drank him in. He felt… weirdly excited by being considered like this, as if every stare or glance he’d thrown a girl’s direction had suddenly been reflected back onto him, concentrated down into that single moment of blinding attention. Her smile grew a little more, and she turned, picking up a length of cloth from her desk.

“So, I’m pretty sure that the instant we actually start your urge to rebel will kick in pretty hard core, so I think we’re going to have to go for some restraints so we can properly have some fun.” He felt that resistance come up again, the urge to refuse, attempt to regain control. He fought it back down.

“Right.” Was about all he could muster. She held up the cloth.

“So this…” She began, draping the black material over his eyes and looping it around his head, once, twice, three times until he was enveloped in the darkness. The blindfold squeezed him, a precursor. “Is so that you can get into the mindset a little easier.” He could feel her hands on him, trailing down his shirt, popping each button clear as they went. Then his belt was whipped away, along with the buttons keeping his trousers up.

In less than half a minute he was wearing little more than boxers, and that little more kept him from seeing the sight of himself. Where he would have felt powerful he felt exposed, like a nerve. He blinked behind the blindfold.

Her voice, when she spoke, was right against his ear. He could feel her body up against his, the solid colours no doubt providing stark contrast to his bare body. It all felt so heightened, enhanced and emblazoned to the degree that it was almost unpleasant, difficult to process.

“Put your hands behind your back, love.” He took his time, but he did it, and they were summarily wrapped, tied, bound. The rope dug into his wrists with a vengeance. And as that final knot was tied, it felt like some sort of permission, a final opportunity to begin resisting, now that the option had been removed from him. His muscles bunched, and he strained at the hemp, trying to feel if there was any give.

There was none. He was blind, and now he was tied. And there was her hand, pressing against his chest, pushing him back onto the bed, and he fell, a strangled cry flung from his lips as she laughed. Without hands, without sight, he had to just trust that it was there, and the sensation of falling had taken him by surprise. The mattress, not so much.

“You’re having far too much fun.” He drawled out, and the next moment he felt the bed shift as she joined him on it. The rope itched against the small of his back.

“I’m having just enough.” She countered, and began to pull his boxers down, to reveal his eager erection. Her hand was quickly upon it, fingertips running up and down the sides, but the touch was light, restrained. Frustrating. His hips pushed up, and she suddenly withdrew her hand.

“Tut tut, don’t be too eager.”

“I’m starting to realise this might have not been the best idea.”

She laughed again. It was melodic, but it was cruel, too, and that just made it all the more attractive given the context. He wanted to slap her, but the lack of ability somehow inverted that desire, made him want to feel her hand against him again, all but crave it. His cock twitched, jumped up of its own accord, and he heard her clap her hands with delight.

“Oh this is just too much fun.” She giggled, hands at him again, and then he felt her chest against his, her lips hard on his mouth. They kissed, her hand running up and down him, before she finally pulled back.

“Have you ever heard of a ruined orgasm?” She asked, as innocent as anything, but all he could do was groan.