Rewards Ch 02

It had been two weeks and it was time for her second reward.

We left the office but as we did I realised I'd forgotten what I needed so went back, held us up by about sixty seconds. Pocket full and we strode quickly.

She knew what it was about now and didn't intend to waste any time.

While walking I discussed the previous time against the wall, her collapsing onto me. I told her again that these rewards will always demand that for this hour she does exactly as bidden. "Teaching me a thing or two about patience," she flashed. Yes. Yes, I am. "Last time you had a lot of my hands," I said, "this time you'll get a lot of my mouth."

When we were about four hundred metres from her flat I told her what I wanted her to do. I wanted her to anticipate it while we walked. "Walk into your bedroom, take all your clothes off and wait for me to call you into your living area."

"All my clothes?"

Wrong-footed, nervous. Not like her. "You have a problem with that?" Poise regained. She doesn't. Of course she doesn't.

She's in the bedroom, I empty the contents of my pockets. Ties. I place them around my neck, single Windsor knot on two of them. I wasn't at all sure how she'd take being bound. I knew she trusted me, both in spirit, and, having read her reflections on our first reward, in ability. But still, she was one of life's natural binders. She tied you down, not the other way. It was present in her voice, her bearing, her stature.

She shouts. She's ready. She's naked. She wants to come in.

I calm myself. Run through it once more in my mind. Placed the now looped ties back in my pocket. I call her in.

Statuesque. Challenging. Urgent.

Walk up to her, stroke her sides, her stomach. Her eyes close, her mouth bends but she doesn't try and move her hands. Takes it, savours it. The pleasure of all this is in how she savours the touch. "Stand there. Now kneel down." I lean behind her. Stroke her back, her neck, her shoulders through her hair. "Hands behind your back." She obeys. Puts them together and obeys.

I take her right hand away from the left and place it through the knotted tie loop. I tighten. She laughs, nervous, aroused, entertained. I pull the trailing ends of the tie around her right ankle and knot it there. Same with the left hand. I stroke again and then face her, sit in front of her, angled like an obscene rocking horse; tits, tummy, thighs.

"Those binds aren't there to force you. Just to guide you. If they fail try and keep your hands there. I just don't want involuntary movements."

She's a grabber, a scratcher, a stroker, a puller. She wants to be involved. An overriding memory of our previous time together is her playing with my nipples sending jabs of pleasure out across my body; feeling raw the day after as though she still had her fingers on them every time my shirt moved against them. I want to see what happens when those options are taken from her.

I ease her hair back to present her neck and begin to kiss. To lick. To kiss. My hand stroking the space between her abdomen and her hip, my mouth reaches her ear lobe and she tugs at her restraints, bears her teeth, exhales. Like last time I'm here to be tender, like last time the essence of this is reward but like last time it is on my terms. She presents her long naked body and offers it up to me and I'll kneel in front of her kneeling in front of me, make her skin crackle with the sensation of my mouth, make maps out of every throb and wince, every strained sinew. I stroke this hip and this part of her neck and kiss this ear and she makes this sound, this tiny grunt. She's a steel drum you kiss and stroke; any variation in touch makes a different sound, gets a different response.

I want to learn all the variations.

On my terms. She's here because I've made it so. She's tied because I've made it so, she's sweating because I've made it so; I've made the defiant look disappear, removed the comfort zone and now I have my mouth just to the right of her left nipple and I'm licking the outside of it and she's whimpering and groaning and rearing up and down on her knees and I hold her hip down to keep her still. She looks so turned on and my cock could explode.

I take the nipple into my mouth. Run my tongue around it, place my teeth over it and run them along the hard, red rubbery pellet. A high pitched noise escapes her mouth. I move my teeth back and forth, grazing as she shudders. Meanwhile I stroke the underside of her breasts. I know it is so very sensitive. Worth dwelling upon. Firm and smooth. I move across from one breast to the other with gentle kisses.

I take the other nipple, stroke her back, stroke her thighs, and then stroke the other wet breast. Her voice trembles. "No one...has ever..."

"I know." Authoritative. Because I did know.

I knew last night when I held my rock hard cock putting the finishing touches to this in my mind. I knew no one had tied her up. She isn't a woman you tie, she ties you. This reality was present in her voice, her bearing, her stature. I knew this was unmarked territory, I knew she couldn't have guessed how she would react.

So I'd tied her. And she was pulling against her bonds not because she needed to escape but because the pleasure was so great as I stroked and kissed, allowed my hands to run over the firm breasts and soft stomach, around her large thighs while kissing her neck again, feeling her desire to return the kiss. "Come here." She said. I smiled, shook my head and placed my hand upon her cunt and stared at her face; the sudden sensation gave her face a shocked, anguished impression. "Women who come get kisses". I bit her ear. I said it again. "Women who come get kisses."

She was wet. No, wet doesn't do it justice. Her inner thighs were wet. A part of the floor was wet. What she was was flooded. I took a fingerful and regarded it, the colour of clouds and the taste of miso, sweat and lust combined and I took her nipple in my mouth and I placed my fingers round her prominent clit and began to gently stroke and tug. I again marvelled at its size, again treated it like a small cock with my thumb on one side and two fingers on the other, again gave it a shuttling motion. Her chest crimson, cheeks like roses, her body arched and her cunt jutting out for me, desperate for me and for my fingers. The bonds were being stretched but they stayed firm.

I stopped shuttling and placed pressure on the top of her clit and sloped around the bottom of it, semi circles of alternating pressure. She looked at me, amazed, naked astonishment in her glance as her stomach started to contract in waves and then her eyes were gone, screwed closed, her cunt pulsating, her breathing exploded and a stuttered silent cry framed her lips with a bead of sweat running down the side of her face. Her breath came back, lungfuls and I pulled her into me, feeling the moisture on her back.

Again, again, she could have come again but our time was approaching being up. I told her she needed to get on with her other tasks. She laughed and was immediately demanding. "Come here."

This time she got kisses. The alarm sounded and she got the kisses she'd earned and she got untied and I turned before leaving and looked at her naked, red and still panting on the floor; her legs parted, her cunt trickling and I left her there to walk back to the office, still able to smell her cunt on my hand, my cock hard in my trousers. I licked my hand.

Later, when she trailed in 15 minutes later than me, she got the same request as last time - at least 500 words about the day. They are below:

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I have absolutely zero idea how you do this writing malarkey - it's torturous. A mere five hundred words is proving to be quite difficult. Is there anything more isolating and mocking than a blank, white page?

Not that I haven't spent pretty much all of my time post one o'clock today unabashedly going over every lick, every suck and every (very gentle) bite. I love that I can overindulge on the recollection, drown in it. It's a wonderful feeling to be able to give in to the memory completely. In fact in contemplating where to begin with this, I've done so twice over. Anyway, my point was that the recollection doesn't need to be coherent or to have a shape - corresponding nicely to how utterly devastated you left me (and I use this word it its proper sense, not the post-apocalyptic film sense) - it makes it all the more difficult to write it down. You're all about the challenge, aren't you?

I am very impressed by the innovative use of the ties - it's a use I think they were always intended for. I think I managed to string enough of a sentence together as you had your hand lightly stroking my left nipple and your tongue flicking at my right to intimate that you're the first and only person who has had me that powerless, who has been allowed to have me that powerless. If I'm honest it's something I've fantasised about in more general times, but more specifically being trussed up by you has featured more than once in my morning routine. It's that you don't ask, you just do but with the recognition that you've had to have earned the privilege. It's that you know that I'll try to bend the rules and so physically restraining me is the only way to go about it. Indeed I'd like to believe that you enjoy me attempting to disobey. Fighting against restraints was novel - I'd be pulling at them because I was so close to tipping point as your mouth grazed my ear and them having been physically stopped in my tracks, I'd be pushed that little bit closer to the edge. Definitely something which I feel should be explored further. I would also be interested to discover where you learned to tie such a functional knot.

So last night I had your hands, this time your mouth. Each splendid in their own right, but as discussed earlier today, probably to my detriment I'm greedy. I want you everywhere, all at once a la today's offering. Though if I had to choose, I'd opt for your mouth on my breasts for an extended period of time. It is ridiculous how sensitive they can be and also ridiculous how fully aware of this you are. I'd love to be able to describe the sensation but I haven't the words. There is a difference between having you stroke my nipple and my clit, of course there is but the former is deeper somehow. If I were writing about anything to do with the voice I'd use the word guttural. It's almost brutish and somehow always surprising. Anyway, excellent choice today.

This really doesn't have a shape but I'm sure you'll forgive me. I ought to wrap it up as I'm certain I've disobeyed the five hundred word limit, probably even the ten per cent over that. Rebellious to the last. Anyway, I shall end with what always knocks me sideways in our dealings: the look of sheer concentration and pure curiosity you have on your face as you stroke. It's deeply arousing; carnal, beastly, earthy. I'm pretty brazen in my pursuit of what feels good but your look challenges me to go that one step further, to be that little bit more open. The confrontational aspect is what I enjoy the most I think. I enjoy the fact that you lash the gauntlet down like that and that I have something to work towards. I enjoy the game.