It was all going pretty well. I was tied up across the width of my bed, arms and legs spread wide like an elongated “X.” My naked body marked the spot.
A pillow under my head, a blindfold on my eyes, its interior fur pressing against my eyes and its black leather smell against my nose, I was comfortably restrained, beginning to relax into the position’s imposed immobility and delightful anxiety. Earlier, Donny had asked me to get out all of my toys and put them on my desk, but then he had named a specific few: my buttplugs of four sizes and two materials, my two vibrators, and the Big Dildo. I had arranged them on a vintage tablecloth spread over my desk, an impromptu pervert’s picnic. And now I lay back, listening for clues about what he would do to me next, half hoping I’d guess it right and half hoping that I would guess it wrong.
“Where are your nipple clamps?” Donny asked.
On the right far corner of my desk, I said. I heard rummaging, the rustling of plastic or paper, a clink of ceramic, and then Donny say, “Fuck it.”
“I thought I told you to take out all your toys,” he said.
I told him he hadn’t been clear. That he had begun by saying “all,” but had then switched to enumerating certain ones. And anyway, I said, my clamps were on my desk; it wasn’t my fault if he couldn’t find them.
“You’ve been very sassy,” I heard him say, accompanied by aurally detected movement. “Why…are…you…so…sassy?” he asked.
Something hard and round against my mouth. The ballgag. Donny swiftly smashed the big red leather-covered ball against my upper lip against my teeth, mashing the lip down forcefully against my teeth as I yowled around it.
Ow. Ow. Ow, I said, unable to enunciate “poodle,” my safe word, and flapped my hands in their tethers to indicate the pain.
Donny removed the gag, sensing my discomfort.
Fuck! I said and licked the inside of my upper lip. I tasted the copper of blood and felt a small marble beginning to form just left of the cupid bow’s center. I told Donny to use his tongue and feel the lump; he did, and to my surprise it felt quite nice.
I told him that now I would look like a one-quarter Angelina Jolie, and he said it wasn’t that bad.
Donny, trying to recapture his capital D status after the great ballgag gaffe, told me to open my mouth wide. I did, and he popped an end of the steel plug in my mouth. He told me to warm it, which I did, sort of. And then after telling me to open wide so he could remove it, he shoved it in my ass, not uncomfortably nor ungently.
He positioned himself between my parted and trussed thighs, and set about bringing me close to orgasm over and over with fingers, mouth, and toys, until finally he let me beg him to let me come and I did, helpless, bound, vulnerable, blindered and happy beneath his scrutinizing gaze.
Removing the steel wand, but not the plug, Donny clambered on top of me, sliding his cock into my still-ululating pussy, wedging himself inside my snug aperture made tighter by the unyielding presence of the steel buttplug in my rectum. He groaned loudly, said something vaguely incoherent about now using my pussy, and commenced sinking his rigid cock into me.
I have to pee, I said.
I’m sorry, I said.
I’ve been drinking a lot of water, I said.
“It’s ok, baby,” Donny said and started untying one of my hands, I used it to untie the other, and he meanwhile freed the leg tethers from the bedstead. I began pulling them off my legs, and he told me I didn’t have to do that and I could just go to the bathroom but to remember that I had a buttplug in me.
I scurried off to the bathroom, trailing about thirty feet of rope behind me, to my cat’s active delight. In the bathroom, I quickly popped the buttplug out of my ass, squatted, peed, wiped, flushed, trailed the rope and the cat back to the bedroom, fetched the lube, trailed the rope and the cat back to the bathroom, re-inserted the plug, washed my hands, trailed the rope and the cat back to the bedroom, got stuck dragging the cat across the floor, yanked the rope with the cat into the bedroom, and got back into bed.
“You didn’t have to leave the rope on,” Donny said.
Oh, I said.
“You look like Marley’s ghost,” he said.
What? I asked, the ghost of fuckings past?
“Yes,” he said, and laughed.
As I lay on my back, Donny positioned himself over my face, his previously turgid cock gone all baby-bird flaccid in the past few moments. I opened my mouth and took the head of his cock in, gently cupping his balls with my left hand.
“Yow!” Donny bellowed, jumping about eight vertical inches. “Cold!” he yelped.
I giggled. I washed my hands, I said.
“I guess you didn’t use hot water,” he said. “That’ll make things go in the wrong direction,” he said, and took the head of his cock in his hand, guiding it to my mouth. I sucked the tip of his cock, running my tongue in clockwise circles, pressing my swollen lips against it, deep-throating him with savage delicacy until his cock grew hard again. Once more, Donny positioned himself between my thighs, once more he began fucking my slightly obstructed pussy, the plug rubbing against the thin wall separating my pussy and my rectum.
Once more, he sighed, once more he picked up tempo, once more he muttered something sweet dirty nothing about my pussy and his fucking. Getting his groovy groove on in my tight tightened little post-orgasmic pussy.
And then plop! The buttplug popped out and rolled under my hip.
We looked at each other and laughed and kissed. And then he lubed his dick and fucked me in the ass because when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.
Or some such anal equivalent.