Driftwood Deeds(23)

“I...”

“It’s a simple question, puppy.”

“No...” There was a deep sense of failure in my voice and if he hadn’t told me to keep my eyes on his, I would have looked away. “Um, no, Sir.”

Paul didn’t share my sentiment, though. At least, if he did, he didn’t show it. He just shook his head at my expression and leaned down to kiss my forehead.

“I just wanted to know. It’s something I wouldn’t want to take from you this way, now.”

I swallowed. Again I didn’t have the slightest clue how to phrase my thoughts. Did I want to keep whatever shred of virginity I had left for some sexist idea of a future boyfriend, a future dominant? I didn’t know—and it didn’t help that the very idea both thrilled and petrified me.

“Okay,” I finally whispered but when he nodded, I vividly remembered his fingers there, pushing against the ring of muscle, losing its tension. I had loved that feeling of discomfort and a hint of pain mixed with that intensely tender feeling of being caressed somewhere forbidden, somewhere dirty. I didn’t want to wait for some phantom man.

I wanted Paul. But I’d leave the next day, go back home to my apartment scouring the Internet for porn that might help me recreate these moments and never could. I wanted Paul.

The sudden rush of tears caught me by surprise and I was lucky that Paul had just turned away. It gave me a moment to recover, to put on a smile before he turned back to me. I think he saw it anyway, but neither of us was brave enough to bring it up.

“There’s a beautiful puppy,” he whispered instead, rubbing my cheek. I was still touching myself but I could hardly feel it against the onslaught of other emotions and so I was vaguely surprised when he took my hands and pulled them from between my legs. Bringing them to his face, he smelled my fingertips, kissed them—and then brought them high over my head. The texture of rope brushed over my wrist and before I could even wonder if I wanted to protest, my right hand was tied firmly to the bedpost. Tugging at it once yielded no result and the shock of desire this sent through my system was distracting enough to push the sudden sadness back into its secret box at the edge of my consciousness.

He took my other hand and brought it to the corresponding bedpost—I couldn’t breathe while he made more knots. However much I wanted him to do what he was doing, my first instinct was to check for a way out. I tugged at the bonds again but they didn’t give—not an inch. I caught Paul looking down at me, concern washed over his face but it didn’t linger.

“Stay,” he whispered in a teasing allusion to that puppy.

“Yes, Sir,” I breathed. He flashed me a smile, then walked around the bed. With his knee on the mattress, he grabbed my knees and pushed my thighs apart, gaping wide. There couldn’t possibly be a breeze in the room but I felt the air cool against my moist folds.

“Wider, as wide you can... good puppy. Don’t move.”

He got up from the bed and walked out. I watched him until he left my field of vision. It is hard to explain how sudden the sense of loss was that came over me. I found myself panting slightly, my cunt contracting against the cool air and I strained my ears to hear where he was. Nothing. I pulled at the bonds, but all I managed was to make the bed squeak slightly and then bump back against the wall with an all too audible sound. My cheeks flushed crimson and I vowed to keep still from now on.

Just don’t move.

Eventually, I heard water running somewhere in the house. It couldn’t be long now. He was still there. But the seconds stretched even longer. I wriggled against the sheet, trying to calm myself, to stop thinking about his fingers in my ass and the stinging heat that still clung to its cheeks, about his beautiful mushroom-headed cock that had felt so soft against my lips and then so hard and relentless against my throat. Paul. Where was he? Why was it all taking so long?

“Please, Sir...” I found myself whispering to no one in particular.

After a while, the sound of running water was back—longer this time and just when I had tried to settle into accepting another long wait, he stood in the doorway. His jaw-length hair was wet and dripping and he had smoothed it messily over the top of his head. Still, there were drops of water on his naked chest and his face looked freshly scrubbed.

“You moved,” he said quietly and just like that he took any remaining molecule of air out of my lungs. I croaked but he shook his head. “You made the bed move, you wriggled so hard. What did I tell you, puppy?”

“N... not to move, Sir.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m...”