“Hey.” I look up and see the belt of my comfy cotton bathrobe tying me securely in place. I jerk against it, but the material holds. Then he’s manacling my other arm with my sexy silk bathrobe belt to the other post. Flopping back, my head on the pillows, struggling against the bindings, I gape up at him.
His gaze is on my breasts. “What is up with you and the multiple bathrobes?” Without waiting for an answer, he ducks down and wraps another belt around my left ankle, this one a starchy white, then ties it to another post.
I can’t believe this is happening. The man has gone through my closet? “For different moods. Comfy, sexy, sick, chilly, and luxurious.” Are we really having this discussion?
He secures my other ankle with the belt of the extravagant purple robe. “It’s a handy habit.”
I’m spread-eagled on the bed, tied tight. Fear wanders through me along with a furious lust I try to hide. This should not turn me on. Not at all. In fact, I suck in as much air as I can to scream.
He’s instantly on me, shoving his tie into my mouth. Tears spring to my eyes and I try to push the silky material out with my tongue, but he lodged it well. “I’d rather not have witnesses. At least not yet.” His grin is wicked. “Now, I’d like to talk. If you promise to be a good girl and not scream, I’ll take out the tie. If you lie to me, in the mood I’m in, I promise you’ll never do it again. Understand?”
I hate having something in my mouth, so I nod, a tear sliding down my cheek.
He removes the tie and leans over to lick up the tear.
Deviant that I am, I feel his tongue throughout my entire body, sliding right down to my pounding clit. There’s something wrong with me. I had to have been dropped on my head multiple times as a baby. That’s the only explanation.
He slides one finger beneath my panties, finding me swollen and wet. “Aren’t you perfect?”
I close my eyes in mortification.
He slips that finger inside me, almost too easily, and I moan. Delicious flames lick through me, and I press against his hand.
“Fucking perfect.” He moves and snaps the sides of my panties, yanking them off and tossing them across the room. “Now. Let’s chat.”
“I don’t like this,” I breathe.
His hand descends, right on my clit, hitting it center mass.
I cry out and buck, lashes streaking to my nipples. He has me bound too perfectly, and there’s nowhere to go.
“Did you just lie to me?” he asks, peril lurking beneath his calm gaze.
My mouth opens and closes as my brain decides to take a vacation. So I start to babble. “Intellectually, I don’t like this. That’s fair. You can understand that.”
He tweaks one nipple. Hard.
I moan and more wetness spills from me.
“How about your body?” he asks.
I gasp. “It’s crazy. Every molecule has been infected with mad cow disease. Or a new gene they’re about to discover that leads to insanity.”
His smile is quick but amused. Then he leans over and blows warm air on my pussy.
My abdomen rolls. It’s a gift he has, being able to draw my focus to just him. Right now, there’s nothing in the entire world that matters except the proximity of his mouth to where I need him. “Please,” I beg.
He looks up. “You want to feel good?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll want to feel bad.” He stands and tosses his jacket on the light green chair by the door before rolling up his sleeves. Then he returns to the other side of the bed and lifts up my good wooden salad bowl, several towels from my bathroom, and what looks like a sharp-edged razor that I have thankfully never seen before.
I pull against the restraints, panicking.
He ignores me and returns to place the bowl next to my thigh. “Stop moving. If you spill my water, I’ll shave you without it.”
I freeze. He spreads shaving cream all over my pussy, and I try but fail to keep another moan from escaping. Then he picks up the razor and I hold my breath.
“So. What are you being punished for?” he asks, his voice a dark rumble as he uses the razor.
I can’t think. Don’t want to breathe. That thing looks sharp.
The smack to my clit with the back of his hand has me jumping and then babbling again. “There were a few things, right? I mean, let me think.” Don’t move. God, don’t move. “Um, ignoring your texts?”
“Yes.” He returns to using the razor, his movements economical and smooth. But he’s so close to where I don’t want to be cut. Ever. “What is the punishment for that?”
I try to think. What was it? “Um, withholding orgasm?”
“Good. I believe I owe you four of those.” His approving voice has my body relaxing from solid rock to slightly mushy concrete. “What other infraction have you repeatedly committed?”
He has to be about done. I mean, I shave regularly to go to the gym and swim. “Um. Emoting videos about you?”
“Yep.” He wipes the razor off on one of the towels and then goes to town, hitting all of my very tender parts. I mean, everywhere down there. “Punishment?”
I think back. Didn’t he issue some sort of threat in the bar bathroom? My memory clicks in and I gasp. “Spanking my bare pussy to orgasm?” No way. It isn’t possible.
“After making you beg for it.” He finishes, wipes me off, and stands to look down at his handiwork. His eyes flash, and pure lust fills them.
