Part 8
The only light in my room came from the streetlights’ glow. Before it went black, my cell phone screen read 11:42 p.m.
But the hour seemed meaningless. With all the activity and my varying states of captivity throughout the evening, time itself seemed spastic. Each predicament Tracey created gave me more new sensations and feelings to process and adapt to.
This last predicament seemed to be the most diabolical one. I was bound to my desk chair at four points: my feet, thighs, torso and hands. Moreover, Tracey had pulled all the slack from the sash binding my ankles to the chair’s bottom rungs; my feet were lifted up under the chair, and only the toes of my slippers touched the floor.
The bindings both restrained my body and embraced it. I felt Tracey’s craft in all the bonds, and they made me miss her already, even though she was just in the next room.
And she’d touched me a lot during the session, in ways that were rough, perfunctory and tender. Her unyielding bonds made me crave more of her touch, but those very same ligatures, paradoxically, imprisoned me within my own physical and emotional longings.
Worse yet, all the movement — her manhandling of me, along with my hopping — had twisted my thong into a stout rope. Cinched firmly against my clitoris and between the lips of my vagina, this binding in my most intimate parts added to the chorus of cords that were teasing and tormenting me.
But I could barely move my hips, which made it impossible to get myself off by thrusting against the thong. That was lucky for me; I was so aroused by the session that I’d end up having a howling loud orgasm. That sound would bring Tracey and her study partner running into my room, and embarrass me to no end.
It was bad enough that I heard myself moaning softly whenever I happened to shift in the chair. So I distracted myself by pondering the practical and emotional aspects of the session, my relationship with Tracey, and our play. Thankfully, this focus banked the fires of my lust into a comforting background glow.
And it was a lot to think about. First off, I felt like I was getting a crash course in my own sexuality; I would’ve never predicated, for example, that I’d want a spanking — much less from a woman, while tied up.
A woman…then there was that. An entire world had been opened up for me. I loved being Tracey’s captive, but when she bent me over the desk and pressed up against me, I realized that I’d definitely love it if she…well, took me in that way — all the way.
Maybe not exactly in that way, I thought, even though it had felt good to have her pressing her hips into my helpless form. Besides, did she even own “toys” other than handcuffs? Had she ever been with a woman before? Did Tracey know what to do, or had her imagination and spontaneity unwittingly led us to that mock doggie-style position?
That was another intriguing, and downright charming, possibility. Despite her expert control and captivity of me, perhaps Tracey might be as ignorant as I was. She knew how to tie me, but did she know how to pleasure me, and us? Maybe we were both struggling with the same questions about our sexuality.
Of course, we weren’t exactly virgins. As friends, Tracey and I had shared boyfriend and dating stories. I’d officially lost my virginity to George, one of my fellow geeks in the high school science club. George and I were young and inexperienced, so our brief session of lovemaking — if you could call it that — was unremarkable.
Since then, I’d experienced nothing more than a few alcohol-fueled make-out sessions with some college boys, and I’m sure the same was true for Tracey. But up until now, neither of us had shown any desire to be with a woman.
For me, it wasn’t a general desire; my want — emotionally and physically — was focused wholly on Tracey, and only Tracey.
Which led me back to the same old question, the one I’d asked myself at every stage of my captivity during the session, the one that always cranked my being into intoxicating suspense and desire: what would Tracey do to me next? She’d been upping the game throughout our play…would it end with me becoming her lover, along with her prisoner?
I hoped so, and it certainly beat the other possibilities (or fantasies?) that were rocking my imagination…such as Tracey’s study partner, a virtual stranger to me. Sitting there, bound helpless in the shadows of my room, I couldn’t help hearing their muted voices next door, and that made me anxious.
Was Tracey’s study partner gay or bisexual, and part of Tracey’s plans for me? Or was Tracey going to show me off to her, just for fun? Would the two of them double-team me, spank me, humiliate me, tickle me, torture me, or worse?
I moved slightly as I wrestled with these thoughts, and by sheer coincidence, my right slipper came free from my heel, exposing the bottom of my very vulnerable and ticklish foot.
Then again, the two of them could easily lift the chair, carry me into the living room, and keep me there, a prisoner, while they watched TV or partied. Or they could sit me in front of the living room window, on display for the cars and passersby to stare and gawk at.
After a time I noticed they’d gone quiet, and that made me even more nervous…they could be over there, scheming against me, I thought. I impulsively struggled against my bindings for an instant, then stopped for fear of arousing myself further.
I wanted Tracey, I decided, but I’d feel betrayed if she exposed me as her prisoner — even if that scenario made me hot. On the strength of my resolve, I willed myself to breathe deep and relax.
A few moments later my cell phone screen lit up, temporarily blinding me. I squinted against the harsh light until my eyes adjusted, then read the following text message — from Tracey, right next door!
“how u doin?
”
I felt a sudden pang in my heart, which then grew into waves of longing that rolled to every corner of tautly-bound body, including my thong-constricted loins. I loved it when she acted casual, as if I wasn’t her prisoner, just one room over. “Mmmm…” I moaned quietly, then shut my eyelids tightly until my cell phone screen went black again.
A few minutes passed, then her next text lit up the room like a silent supernova.
“hold on tight, we almost done!
"
Then after the screen had been dark for a few minutes:
“’tight’, ha-ha!
"
I suddenly realized that Tracey knew or had guessed my cell phone settings, and she was timing her texts to arrive when my eyes had adjusted to the darkness again. God, I was having a hard enough keeping my cool without her teasing me that way! Thanks to our wifi connection and cell phone towers, she was still asserting her control.
I shut my eyes and averted my face — as much my bonds allowed — from my cell phone. Impossibly taut bindings, I marveled, and perfectly-timed texts! And to think I was the one, not Tracey, who was studying engineering!
Her next text message made me break out into a cold sweat:
“don’t freak out, i’m coming over
”
My heart sank as I heard her bedroom door open, followed by footsteps. I flushed with embarrassment, and braced for the feelings of hurt I knew would follow.
Then the bathroom door slammed. “What now?” I thought.
Suddenly a sliver of light pierced the gloom. My eyes, adjusted to the light from the last text, caught sight of Tracey’s tall profile stealthily moving through my doorway. Then all was black again, and I heard her creeping up behind me.
Of course…she’d texted “I’m coming over,” meaning only her. Relief flooded my being as I felt her head on my shoulder, her warm arms gently enfolding me, and her mouth at my ear.
“Don’t worry, this is still our little secret,” she whispered. “But I just couldn’t resist coming to see you.”
Then she hugged me fiercely, joining her strong embrace to the press of her bonds. She kissed my cheek lightly and whispered again.
“Theresa’s almost done. I’m going to check her work and get her on her way.”
With that, she slipped out of the room. Soon I heard the toilet flush and her footsteps returning to her room. Her feint was complete, and as if to confirm her ruse had worked, she texted again:
“Still Our Little Secret = S.O.L.S.!!!!
"
Then a few minutes later, more reassurance:
“SOLS!
SOLS!
SOLS!
”
Now came a series of heart pangs, followed by a single, grateful tear rolling down my cheek. The droplet traveled over the still-moist spot where Tracey had kissed me, then down my face, to be absorbed by the fabric of the gag.
Sometimes the universe seemed complete, and perfect.