By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
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They both lay back on the bed and sighed, a dewy post coital glow covered their bodies, but it was a glow born of effort, not passion. They both stared blankly at the ceiling, in a cold realisation that the spark had left their relationship, and just like a guy on a production line, they were just going through the motions.
She held back a tear as he took her hand, turning and lifting his head to catch her gaze “I love you” he said earnestly, and he meant every word, all that was missing was the word ‘but’.
The ‘but’ didn’t come, a long conversation did. Neither tried to blame the other for the dwindling physical side of the partnership, both were honest with each other “Do you trust me?” She asked “Implicitly”
“Then please just do as I ask, it may take days, it may take weeks, perhaps a month, but please wait”
“You’ll know” she sighed. She turned away from him and clasped his hand to her chest as she did “You’ll know”
Days stretched into a week, and then beyond, he was becoming frustrated, and worried, she wouldn’t let him anywhere near him, other than to cuddle or to just hold. His hormones were running riot and he felt like a teenager again, even down to sizing up older women work colleagues.
In a moment of angst he yelled “Come on! I want some action! I’m going to pull my cock off if I don’t get any!” Calmly she turned to him and in a gentle, firm voice she chided him “You said you’d trust me, so trust me” she then grasped his crotch “And if you some much as touch yourself, I’ll pull your fucking cock off myself. Understand?” Shocked at both her comment, and her grip, he nodded, she turned away and took a shower.
The following morning turned into the day from Hell. The project he was working on was turning to shit before his eyes, his staff were falling like nine-pins with an office virus, and his boss was on his case “FUCK THIS FUCK THID FUCK THIS” kept repeating, in a loop, in his mind. He sat hunched over his desk, the knuckles of his first fingers grinding into his temples; he barely heard the text tone of his phone above the grinding of his teeth. He looked, with bloodshot eyes, at his phone, a text, from her, no, a picture message. He opened the message and was greeted with a close up photograph of her beautiful lips, in a deep red, gloss lipstick; the text read “You will use the grid reference below in the map application on your phone to find me. You will be here, showered and fresh, at 3:30 pm. The consequences of you being late are not even worth you contemplating. There is no conversation, you will simply reply YES to acknowledge your receipt and understanding” A six figure grid reference followed.
“What the Hell is she on?” he questioned, his curiosity was, however, aroused, as were his loins, he felt a rush of testosterone, and suddenly he felt alive once again. He reached for his desk phone, hooked it in the crook of his neck and dialled. He felt the blood pound in his ears as his boss lifted the receiver at his end “Look boss, something’s come up, I have to leave work at lunch”
“You can’t, the project’s behind, hundreds of thousands of pounds rest on this being finished on time, you’ll stay where you are until we’re up to date again”
“Something has come up; if it wasn’t important I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you. I WILL be leaving at lunch, I have no staff, and nothing is moving anywhere today. I will see you tomorrow…” He gently replaced the handset and smiled as he heard his boss still blustering at him as he did so.
Once showered he pulled on a simple white tee shirt and didn’t bother to tuck it in his jeans, he felt free of the office grime that penetrated his pores, a touch of aftershave, and he was ready to depart on his odyssey.
He set the grid reference into his telephone’s map application and it swiftly calculated the route. The application told him his journey would be by both car and on foot, taking around an hour, the time was 2pm, he decided he had better get a move on, or he would never find out what had possessed his partner.
The phone directed him further and further into the country, he could smell the clean summer air through the open window and subconsciously he turned down the sound system, he felt as though he was imposing upon Mother Nature in her own home.
Suddenly the road stopped, terminating at an aged, rusty gate. He turned off the ignition, climbed out of the car, locked it and double locked it to activate the alarm, he smiled at himself “Who the fuck is going to hear my alarm out here. Never mind ‘space’ in the countryside no-one can hear you scream”.
Following the map he side stepped the gate and began to walk through the bedraggled meadow, his mind still raced and tried to figure out what she was thinking, doing, planning. No not planning, this was happening right now, this was planned.
As he topped a rise he saw an elderly beacon, or tower, hidden in a copse, silhouetted by the Sun. The map was directing him to it. As he reached the crest there was nothing else around, for miles and miles. This must be it.
He found the solitary door, attached by a drawing pin was a note, written in the very same scarlet lipstick she was wearing in the earlier photograph “Undress inside” it read “then climb the stairs to the top. DO NOT say a word”. He pulled the note from the door, as he held it, he realised he was shaking, and he didn’t know if it was the excitement of the unknown that made his nerves dance.
He pushed through the door and began to undress, shedding his clothes on the slabbed floor, he looked for somewhere to hang the white tee shirt, finding none, he rolled it in his jeans.
He placed his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, and then he noticed the first sign of human life he’d seen for miles. The unmistakable teardrop shape of the sole of a stiletto shoe, on each of the steps of the ladder. Another squirt of adrenaline mixed with male hormones, fired nerves around his body. He began to climb.
As he neared the top of the ladder, the upper floor was secured by a trap door, he tried to look through the gaps in the boards but could see nothing. Both his hands gripped the ladder so he pressed the trap door with his head to lift it. As the door lifted, his eyes reached the floor level of the upper room. His jaw dropped as he saw a pair of blood red high heels at exactly the same level as his eyes, he lifted his gaze and saw the unmistakable outline of her calves and the roundness of her thighs, all covered in, what was that, LATEX!?
He followed the lines of her body upwards, he’d forgotten how shapely she was, and now moulded and encapsulated in the shiny black material, he could see every luscious contour. The sight took his breath away as he simply stared, slack jawed; at the vision before him. He continued to climb without thinking. The high collar of the catsuit extenuated he slender torso, the zip divided her ample, firm breasts, her crossed arms supporting them, and there, in her right hand, a riding crop.
“Oh my God” he mouthed. The crop sang as it struck his thigh, his leg collapsed as if he’d been shot. Quickly as he knelt on the floor she was behind him, She took a fistful of his hair and leant into his ear “Don’t fucking move” he felt the slap of the dog collar around him and the tug as she fastened the buckle. Her latex gloved hands twisted his wrists painfully, pulling them downwards and behind him, and then he felt the cool harsh grip of the handcuffs behind his back, he was at her mercy. He was naked, he couldn’t climb back down the ladder, he couldn’t run away, no-one would hear him scream. She controlled him totally.
She stood behind him and pulled his head helplessly backwards and whispered “You’ll do what I say, when I say it, you’ll enjoy this because I will enjoy this, you are mine to do with as I please. We are not equals any more, my pleasure is your pleasure whether you like it or not. You will speak when I say you can. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes” The crop sang through the air again.
“Did I say you could fucking speak?”