Her footsteps echo down the hallway. She's wearing a bra top and a floaty skirt and she has a backpack slung over one shoulder.
I am wearing a tshirt and a pair of boxer shorts, and I'm lounging in my computer chair. It's the weekend, and we have one of those rare days when we both have no commitments. Two days, in fact. And when such moments occur, we like to take it in turns to treat each other.
So last time out, she spent most of the time chained to the kitchen sink. Also to the handrail on the stairs, the grab rail on the bath, the... well, you get the picture, while she scrubbed and cleaned and vacuumed and dusted dressed in a tastefully slutty maid outfit.
Her poor buttocks were raw and tender for days because bad maids that forget to dust the tops of the picture frames deserve all they get.
"It's time for your treat, little drummer boy." she says, smiling at me as she walks over to my chair, then straddles me, leaning forward for a kiss.
"Mmmmm." I say.
I have an instant hardon, which she rubs herself against. I look at her pretty smiling face, then I just close my eyes and enjoy the sensation. I put my arms around her waist and start kneading her buttocks. The bag slips off her shoulder and drops to the floor as she puts her arms around my neck, and the bump makes me open my eyes.
"Mmmmmm."
She never takes her lips from mine as she fastens a collar around my neck. She fastens the buckle, and after a few more moments, secures the buckle with a padlock.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm....?"
Now how did I miss seeing the collar? Because my eyes were closed as I was kissing. Now she leans back and I say
"Was that...?" but she puts a finger to my lips before I can ask the rest of my question.
"If you say a word, it's over. Do you understand? End of treat and I go and watch TV instead, OK?"
I nod mutely.
"Good." She said, "Now sit up straight in your chair."
She unzips the bag. I'm watching her with a bemused smile on my face, as she rummages around and pulls out a leash. She walks behind me and loops the leash around the top of my chair, in the narrow bit between that back and the head rest, passes it through itself before clipping it to the buckle of the collar.
Now she's holding a broad leather belt, which she buckles behind my back.
"Give me your hand." she commands, and I give her the hand that isn't gently keeping my erection erect. I feel a wide soft cuff wrap around my wrist and I now have my one hand attached to the belt. A moment later, my other hand is restrained in the same way, and she steps back to admire her handywork.
Now she's taking her time. She has a slightly lopsided smile that is knowing and smug. I'm watching her face very closely, wondering, both tremendously excited by, and daunted by the situation. She seems to notice my scrutiny because she looks right at me, her smile broadening before she turns her attention to another couple of padlocks, which she weighs in her hands before her lips firm a little, and a tiny frown appears over one arched eyebrow.
"Pointless," She says quietly, "and what if there's a fire?"
She hefts the pack back on to her shoulder, and unloops the leash.
"Stand up." She tells me, and pulls upward on the leash. "Now follow."
Like I have a choice?
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I really am a drummer. Nope you've never heard of me, unless you're the kind of music geek that looks at the names of all the backing musicians on the album cover. I get enough session work to pay the bills, and I meet some interesting people. It's the reason her pet name for me is "Little Drummer Boy".
She likes very much how I can lay down a steady rhythm. I like very much that she enjoys the feel of my tongue in her slit. She loves to feel my firm hands upon her body. I love how intelligent and inventive and creative she is. And how good it feels to have my firm hands on her lovely curvy body.
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Not that my hands can go anywhere right now. I am being led by the neck, at a slow walk and she's laughing again. She looks over her shoulder at me, then laughs even harder. I find myself wondering if she's been smoking something.
"Forward!" she cried, as she renewed her pull on the leash. Then she starts to sing
"I know what is coming and there's nothing you can do about it,
Yes I know what is coming and there's nothing you can do about it,
I know what is coming and there's nothing you can do about it,
Lalalala lalalala la!" to the tune of that "One eyed one horned flying purple people eater" song.
"Twelve Eight beat." I think to myself as her laughter continues and she hauls me into the bedroom. She's been busy in here, while I was slobbing out in front of the pc. She's rigged up some fairylights and tea lights. There's even a lava lamp dripping and morphing in the corner. There are petals strewn on the shelves, and scented candles give the room a feminine, soft lit ambience. Somewhere a girl can feel good in comfort. There is a small mountain of pillows, cushions and bolsters at the head of the bed. The TV remote lies on the bed. She puts the pack down on the bed, and picks up the remote.
