Three (2)

When she arrived, T. explained in no uncertain terms that she was not to be marked in any way. This sounds straightforward enough, but her skin is delicate, and in the past I have given her swollen red marks with my hands, flogger and paddle. Indelicate treatment, yes, and not only did it start out throbbing and red, but it darkened later on to become tenacious purpe-tinged reminders. T. bruises with such ease that ropes were out of the question. On her, the indentations around wrists, ankles and torso turn into incriminating marks that last for days. 

But this day she nevertheless wanted to be tied up, to feel the releasing rush of submission just enough to relax before Jessica would come along, eager to be introduced to someone new at whose feet she could kneel.

In place of rope I brought bondage tape, the remedy of the easily bruised. Flat, stretchy, strong and shiny, it has a sensuous pleasure all its own, a slickness against the sweating skin underneath. 

First, I blindfolded her with it.

Then, taking my time, I wrapped it in a long, continuous spiral down T.'s slender, muscular torso. She sank into the sensation gradually as the vinyl covered more and more of her skin, and her arms were pinned ever more securely against her sides. 

When the roll ran out I laid T. on her back on the bed, sliding my hand up her thigh from knee to cleft. She was wet from mid thigh on up. Cupping my hand over her pubis, resisting the urge to push a couple of fingers inside, I felt her throb against my palm. Thinking we had all the time in the world, we had arrived at this point in the game at a leisurely pace. 

When Jessica rang my mobile, my cock was buried in T's cunt. She had just come, her long legs wrapped around me in a tight grip that she only loosened reluctantly when it became clear that I had to interrupt our fucking in order to answer the phone.

I put the handset down. "OK, stay still. I'm going to cut the tape off." 

Had I been a responsible pervert I'd have brought those funky curved scissors paramedics use to cut the clothes off injured people. Instead, I sliced the tape with my penknife, the dull back of the blade leaving a cold trail along the sweating warmth of her skin. 

Then I removed the blindfold.

T. looked down at the wrap, spread open on either side of her, and for a moment she seemed almost resentful that I'd removed it. She stood up, skin glistening with sweat, and stretched.

"I think I might need a shower…"