“I’ve decided you have too much independence most of the time and that’s interfering with your ability to submit. So I’m going to take that away.” She gently moved him into the position she wanted him to be in, admiring the lines of his bare back as she stood behind him.
The ratchet made a click every time they tightened. On his wrists, slim as they were, that meant cinching them in close, squeezing the metal, satisfyingly, until his hands were captured behind his back in two loops of shiny steel.
He had held his arms for her, obediently for once, while she locked them into place. Of course as soon as they were on and she let go he was testing against them, feeling the metal. She’d made him strip to the waist, and she could see the muscles shift under his skin as he figured out how much liberty he had.
“You’re going to spend the next four and a half hours with your arms like that,” she reminded. “From now until bedtime.”
He looked up at her from the floor, where she’d shoved him down to kneel, expectantly.
“No, this isn’t about me playing with you for kinky fun time.” She frowned, shaking her head.”This is about reminding you that you’re helpless.”
He looked confused, but she shrugged and moved the pillow to the small of her back, making herself comfortable on the couch, going back to looking at the television. Her legs crossed at the ankle, tight, soft black knit rubbing against black knit. “You can stay here with me if you want, or go do something else on your own. Up to you.”
He knee walked over, putting his head into her lap. Her fingers combed through his thick, soft hair, but her eyes stayed on the screen at the other side of the living room. He focused on the feeling of her nails on his scalp, on the warmth of her thigh and the velvet nap of the couch upholstery.
“Can we please take these off?”
“Are you safewording?” She looked at his face to gauge his level of discomfort, checking to see if he was genuinely in distress or simply irritated. “Think about this. Do you really need me let you go or are you just sulking because you want this to be about you?”
He seemed to consider it, weighing his tolerance to the consequences. “N…no.”
“Then tough it out.” There. That was the hard part, that little bit of guilt that not letting him have fun would have repercussions for her, the other half of the lesson she was teaching herself with at the same time she reminded him of his place. In the spirit of that, she pushed those thoughts aside, and the trailing resentment that went with them, focusing on the moment. “Submit.”
He looked ashamed and she smoothed out her skirt, reaching for her laptop and thumbing the lid open. He watched her click the keys, halfway between touch typing and two fingered button pushing.
“What shall we have for dinner? Hm, is it takeout night or am I going to cook something?”
“Uh…” He looked uncomfortable about being asked. He never liked to directly pick what they ate, always preferring that she made a suggestion. “Whatever you want is fine.”
“A big plate of spaghetti for you to bury your face in? So you get covered with sauce?” Her finger lightly caressed his cheek. “Smeary red?”
He hesitated again, thinking about the texture mashed into his skin and how it would smell. She watched his expression, still admiring his bare chest and the way he flexed his shoulders, still uncomfortable in the grip of the handcuffs. She smirked.
“How about pork fajitas? The pork needs to be used up.”
“Okay, but I want you to help me, you’re the one who knows how to make it better.”
“You could just uncuff me and I could make dinner…”
“No, I don’t think so. You can kneel on the kitchen floor and I’ll ask you if I have any questions.”
She kept him there while she put together dinner, crisped pork shreds wrapped in cornflour shells, garnished inside with confetti-fine shreds of lettuce and spicy, sweet salsa and green and garlic sharp guacamole. He’d felt fidgety and frustrated, watching the outline of her ass and the way the slight stretch in the fabric of her pencil skirt cradled it.
He thought about other things to go do, picking up his phone and poking at the screen or curling up with his computer, but both weren’t options.
“There, two for me, three for you, with a squirt of lime.” She turned, crouched and smiled. “Come on, we’ll eat on the rug.”
She sat mermaid style, and he knelt, trying to figure out how to eat the food she’d put in front of him. He leaned forward, trying to take a bite and succeeded in making the tortilla unroll, spreading the blended contents on his plate and getting guacamole on his nose.
She giggled and took a bite, savoring the crispness, and the mixed flavours. “Having trouble?”
He frowned and she reached out with a finger, scooping the green off his nose before popping it in her mouth and sucking. “Mmm…”
“I can’t eat like this.”
“Well, that does sound like a problem. You’re going to be hungry if you don’t think of a solution.”
“Can… can you help me eat this?”
There was a satisfied smirk, as if she was waiting to hear that, and she picked up the fajita, retucking it together and holding it in his reach. He took a big bite.