The other point was that my captor served me wine through a straw! Bound as I was, it was quite a practical solution; I could bend over and sip it when I wanted to.The other point was that my captor served me wine through a straw! Bound as I was, it was quite a practical solution; I could bend over and sip it when I wanted to. But Roger never would do that; he was the sort of person who preferred to bring fine silverware on a picnic instead of, as he once put it, "useless, garish, tacky, plastic forks." I'd never known him to compromise his principles for convenience before. I knelt in my accustomed place and position while he cleaned up; then it was off to bed. We didn't do much besides cuddle a bit while he read and I thought some more. I was having lots of time to think about the contradictions inherent in bondage. I was utterly helpless, but I had a devoted slave who catered to my every whim, even wiping me on the toilet. I couldn't move much when we made love, but sex had rarely, if ever, been better. And, though I was completely in the power of a possibly-unknown man, I trusted him completely -- and I knew that if I asked, I'd be released. Curious as it may have seemed to an outsider, I was not being "had" against my will. The next morning, I decided to try to take control, but within the game. I knew what I planned to do, but I never got the chance to try it. It was almost as if he sensed my mood, knew my limits, and blocked me. Rather than slowly and delicately arous- ing me, he was much more direct and almost forceful. The day before, our love-making was, if you'll pardon the strained analo- gy, like the slow, inexorable advance of a glacier. This was more like a volcano, sudden and explosive. Neither is resistible -- not that I wanted to resist! -- but they were quite differ- ent. It ended with me bending forward over the back of the armchair, gasping, with my legs tied to its legs while he entered me. |