It started out as a joke, a passing fancy, a half-serious dare. It quickly became an addiction.
When you come into the room, I have to choke down the instinct to smile, to kiss you, to hold you close. Instead, I adopt a stern frown.
“Strip naked,” I command. You comply.
“You can stop this at any time,” I say, “Just say one word. Bananarama. That’s the word. Got it?
“Bananarama” you repeat meekly.
“Very good,” I say condescendingly, patting you on the head like a kindergartner. “But if you use that word,” I go on sternly, “You don’t get to come. Do you understand?”
You nod silently.
“Good,” I say. I pull out two pairs of thumb cuffs (14.95 on Amazon!), and twirl them casually on one finger. “Down on the floor,” I say. You obey.
I lock your thumbs together behind your back, fasten your two big toes together. Leave the keys on the night stand. “You look nice like that,” I say. “Vulnerable. I’m going to go take a shower.”
I leave you there on the floor, and treat myself to a long, hot, sudsy shower. I take my time, though I am aching to be back in the room with you. I masturbate a little, but then I catch myself getting over-excited, and have to douse my bits with cold water.
When I come back into the room, wrapped up in a fluffy purple towel, you are up on the bed. I smile. “Simon didn’t say,” I say in a sing-song voice. “Bottoms up, dear!”
Your ass is beautiful, pale and flawless. I beat it without mercy, smacking first one cheek and then the other, leaving red hand prints to mark my territory. I spank you until my hands smart and sting from it, and then I switch to my hairbrush. You grunt and groan, but not a word of complaint passes through your lips. I dare you, double-dare you to use your safe word as I pummel your bright red bottom with my leather belt, but you hold your piece even as salty tears stream down your face.
Finally, when my arm is tired, and I get the sense that I might be on the edge of pushing you too far, I stop. I run one finger lazily up and down your sex. Clearly I am not the only one who is enjoying this game.
Up on your knees. I want to get a dog collar for you to wear, all the time, even when you’re at work, so the whole world will know that you are mine, all mine.
Out come the sterile needles I stole from the hospital clean room. You wince but stay silent every time I puncture your flesh. The alcohol makes it sting. The blood blossoms like red roses on your perfect chest. You look so gorgeous kneeling there it almost stops my heart.
I am about to kiss you, but then I change my mind. Smack! Smack! Smack! Open palm, right across the face.
“I’m setting a timer,” I say, pulling out my smartphone and making a big show of setting up the stopwatch. “You’ve got 15 minutes. If you haven’t given me an orgasm before that alarm goes off, you are going to be very, very sorry.”
I put the phone on the side table next to the cuff keys, and lie down on my back. The clock is ticking. You feverishly go to work, doing your best in your hobbled state, hands pinned behind your back, feet attached at the toes. I had thought of gagging you, but now I’m glad I didn’t. You work furiously, desperately, using mouth and tongue. You do your work almost too well; I have to roll over onto my front to keep you from getting me off. I lift my ass in the air, spreading my cheeks, and you dive in, sticking your tongue into my asshole, licking my most private parts in an optimistic attempt to appease me. It doesn’t work, but it feels delicious.
Finally the alarm goes off. “Time’s up!” I say cheerfully, rolling off the bed. “Nice try, but not good enough. Now you’re really in trouble!”
You look worried. Rightly so.
I take a freshly peeled root of ginger out of the ziplock bag I had stashed in the drawer. Up your butt it goes, neat as a cork in last night’s wine bottle. I lay back on the bed, parting my knees invitingly. “The sooner I get off, the sooner it comes out!”
You go to it with a vengeance, and this time I don’t hold back at all. The things your mouth do to me are exquisite, and I catch myself moaning your name out loud and humping back against your eager tongue. I am coming in seconds, coming hard and not stopping. My body shakes and shivers with the intensity of the orgasm. I hold your head in place and keep it there as the aftershocks rack through me, curling my toes.
Meanwhile, the ginger root is doing it’s job inside your tender little anus. You are weeping now, shaking, and you stutter the words out: “Banana– Bananarama.”
I decouple myself from your tongue, swiftly removing the stinging piece of ginger and unfastening your restraints.
I kiss you top to bottom, licking tenderly, salving your wounds and your swollen needy parts. Finally I hold you close, kissing you sweetly on the lips.
“I lied,” I say, “About the safeword. You earned an orgasm.”
My fingers find your sex, and I hug you close to me, kissing you as my hand bring you exquisite pleasure, taking joy in your gasps and cries of pleasure as you come in my arms.
We lie together on the bed, naked, wet and sticky, for a long long time before either one of us says anything else.
“I love you.”