Good Vibrations Magazine

He sat on the side of the bed and looked up at her, put his arms around her waist and drew her to him. She stared back down into his face with that focused, intense, hungry expression -— the one that told him she was ready to drive him to exhaustion.

“Do you trust me?” she murmured.

She was limned in the soft light of a single lamp burning in a corner of the room. He raised a hand to stroke her hair, watched the strands glint dark mahogany as they slipped through his fingers.

“With my love and my life. Is that sufficient?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“Really,” the eyebrows lifted higher. “What more can I say?”

“There’s something I want you to do for me,” she responded. He waited expectantly. “I want you to submit to me.”

The look on his face turned quizzical. “What would that entail, exactly?” he wanted to know.

Shaking her head, she said, “You don’t get to ask. Do it, or not. It’s up to you.”

She regarded him in silence, awaiting an answer, while his curiosity warred with his resistant internal voice. Finally, quelling agitation, he nodded his acquiescence.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

She stepped away from his embrace and sat in a chair by the bed to watch him.

“Get up. Take off your clothes. Slowly.”

He stood up, drew a deep breath and, thoroughly unsettled by her scrutiny, began to unbutton his tailored shirt, torn between the desire to do as she told him and the need to hurry in response to his sudden feeling of vulnerability. He finished undoing the buttons and slipped the shirt off, then removed his belt and unzipped his fly, conscious of her eyes on him to a degree that was almost painful. He hesitated in the act of sliding off the trousers.

“Keep going,” she said in an undertone. He looked at her and wobbled on the edge of changing his mind. After a moment, he stepped out of his trousers, peeled off his underwear, and stood naked in front of her with his arms held away from his body, palms forward.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Sit down on the side of the bed.”

He sat, watching her closely. She got up, walked over to her dresser and removed a dark oblong scarf from the top drawer. She returned to the bedside and began to wrap the scarf around his head.

“You’re blindfolding me,” he said, reached up, and gripped her left wrist.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “Let go of my wrist and be still.”

He released her and folded his hands together in his lap, aware that the gesture telegraphed uneasy anticipation, but unable to control the restless motion of his hands otherwise.

She finished blindfolding him, knotted the scarf on the right side of his head, and said with her lips close to his ear, “I want you to be silent. Don’t say anything. Don’t make a sound until your body won’t let you be silent anymore. Now lie down on your back and stretch your arms over your head.”

He did as she told him, focusing his attention on the sound of a drawer opening, the random noise as its contents were shuffled; the slide of the rollers as it closed. She circled his left wrist with something; he felt the soft surface rub against his skin as she buckled the lined leather cuff. He lay very still, feeling uneasiness give way to the first stirrings of excitement. She cuffed his right wrist, attached the cuffs together, and clipped them to the headboard.

Without the benefit of his sight, he found himself listening hard to track her movements, but she was silent. He started as she grasped one ankle. She cuffed it to the footboard at one side of the bed. He experienced a sense of slipping his psychic moorings when she briefly withdrew her touch; an odd disconnect, his analytical mind mused, considering that three of his limbs were firmly fastened to the bed.

Her hands closed around his other ankle and tightened the last cuff around it. She secured it to the opposite side of the footboard, and he found himself completely restrained, wrists together, legs spread wide apart, body stretched taut. He had a flash of panic that sent a shiver through him, and fought it down, determined for once in his life to trust someone enough to relinquish control.

He sensed her moving away from the bed, heard the sough of silk on her skin as she undressed. Her naked thigh rested against his when she knelt beside him. She ran her fingers lightly, slowly, up and down his body from shoulder to ankle. His pulse accelerated to a rapidly skipping beat in his head. She straddled him, leaned close, and inserted plugs into his ears. The sound of his pounding pulse intensified; blindfolded and hearing impaired, he found himself entirely dependent on smell and touch for sensory input.

She grazed her lips over his neck. He sucked an involuntary breath as an electric sensation raced through his body.

She began to kiss him. The feel of her tongue sliding against his, the taste of wine, the smell of her sandalwood perfume, intensified his clamoring need to consume and be consumed, to lose himself in her warm wet embrace. He tracked her progress as she worked her way down his body with her mouth. Freed from the distractions of sight and sound, he found himself focusing completely on what she was doing, and on his body’s response.

“Oh God,” he sighed when she took his cock into her mouth. She stopped, shifted up to the head of the bed and pulled out one of the earplugs.

“I told you to be still,” she whispered in his ear. “If you can’t be quiet, I’ll have to stop.” She took his chin in her hand and turned his head toward hers, gave him a lingering kiss.

“Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head.

“Will you be still?”

He nodded.

“That’s good,” she purred. She replaced the earplug and moved back down, letting her hair trail along his chest. He bit back a soft groan when she began to suck him once more.

The sensation of her warm mouth, her probing tongue, drove him rapidly toward the point of orgasm. But when his body began to thrust rhythmically, she sat up, reached out and laid a hand on his chest, effectively diverting his attention. She climbed on top of him, slid him inside her, and sat without moving for a time.

She arranged herself so that he was as far inside her as she could take him, then began to rock, very gently, as she played with herself. Every time his excitement was about to reach a threshold, she ceased moving. He knew she was holding him there, stoking his fire, biding her time before she allowed him release. She remained still, moving only enough to massage her clit with her deft fingers, until she came with a series of rippling contractions that he could feel along the length of his cock.

Then she raised herself off him and held her cunt next to his mouth. Wildly aroused by her taste and smell, he buried his tongue inside her, lapping up her juice, straining against his cuffs with the need to hold her down and drive deep into her.

But she shifted away again and surprised him by unclipping the cuff on his right ankle from the footboard. Leaving the rest of his restraints in place, she rolled him onto his side and pushed the back of his leg so that his thigh moved toward his chest, bending at the knee and exposing his ass. Her small movements translated through the mattress, but he couldn’t tell what she was doing. She poured some lube on his asshole and began to massage it with a finger. He clenched at her touch. She kept massaging, applying gentle pressure, coaxing his muscles to loosen as she slid her finger in a little deeper each time she entered him. Finally he relaxed into her touch, wondered what she would choose to do next.

She began to insert a string of small round beads up his ass, easing them in, taking her time. He found himself counting the beads as she worked them one by one inside him. Then he felt her moving again as the mattress shifted under him; he wasn’t altogether sure whether he was feeling anticipation or apprehension, but no matter how hard he tried to exert control by naming the feeling, it was growing stronger.

She rolled him on his back and clipped his cuffed ankle to the footboard again.

She knelt between his thighs and began to caress him with her fingers from his collarbone to his cock, one hand lifting as the other stroked, imparting the sensation of touch traveling down his body in gentle ebbs and flows. Moving to his side, she began to use her mouth on his cock again, sucking and licking playfully, teasing him, moving him leisurely toward an explosive orgasm.

He bit his lip to keep from begging her as his arousal built, but he couldn’t stop his body from moving insistently in her mouth. She stopped teasing then; she knew exactly how to drive him over the edge with her tongue. He felt himself start to come. She began to pull the beads out of his ass one by one as his orgasm surged. He lost count after the third bead, and could not be silent any longer.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed; he heard himself running through a litany of deities, then calling out her name, then making groaning animal noises, floating in a space where he was totally overwhelmed by sensation. He came in waves that seemed to go on and on, until he finally subsided into quivering exhaustion.

She sat beside him with her hand resting on his heart. When his heartbeat dropped from its stratospheric rate, she rose and freed him from his ankle restraints, unplugged his ears, and took off the blindfold. She laid a palm on the side of his face and smiled at the look in his eyes.

“Did I justify your trust in me?” she asked.

“Unbuckle these,” he tugged at his restrained wrists, “and I’ll tell you.”

She reached up and unclipped the cuffs from the headboard, then took them off. He pulled her into his arms and rolled her onto her back, gave her a gentle kiss.

“Every time I think that our lovemaking can’t get any more sensational — in both senses of the word — you find a way to push the envelope. I’d say my trust in you is justified. My question,” he grinned, reaching for the cuffs, “is whether it’s reciprocal.”