hands
2:16 p.m.<>2001-05-11

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my hands are not my own.

'how dare you touch me?' she hisses, batting my groping fingers away from her thigh. we are on the bed, awash in late afternoon sunlight. i am lying on my back, naked. she is wearing her pale yellow sundress with nothing underneath it. she is straddling me, her knees on either side of my hips. her pretty features are set in an angry glare. 'touch me again without my permission, and you will have to be restrained,' she says coldly.

it has gone on for an hour like this. i have been made to kiss her neck, to undress for her. i have been commanded to touch myself until i am quivering, then told to stop and feel the desire pulse through my body. now i move my hand again, in bold defiance of her order. i reach for the bodice of her dress. i do it out of longing, to catch a glimpse of her breasts. i do it so that she will punish me.

she does. my hands are not my own. she ties them to the headboard with the same silk scarves that normally look so jaunty around her neck. for good measure, she ties my feet to the bedposts. i am now spreadeagled before her, naked. hard. slowly, she walks around the bed, her eyes scanning my body. she toys idly with the buttons at the front of her dress.

'look at me,' she snaps abruptly. my eyes are not my own. motes of dust float across a beam of sunlight between us. they catch the light. gazing directly into my eyes, she begins unbuttoning her dress. i can see the outline of her nipples through the thin material.

'do you want this,' she murmurs. the front of her dress is now hanging loose, exposing the tantalizing expanse of flesh between her breasts. yes, i murmur. her fingers slip inside the dress. i see them moving, caressing under the fabric. i notice my own fingers, lashed to the headboard, unconscioulsy mimicking her movements. my hands are not my own.

she moves to the side of the bed, her body inches away from me. my mouth is dry as she slowly lifts the hem of her dress. 'look at me,' she says again. she begins to touch herself. i feel beads of sweat on my forehead, my upper lip. she withdraws her fingers, places them against my lips. i inhale her musk. 'taste me,' she says. my mouth is not my own. i obey.

it goes on for hours. before the time she noisily brings herself off, straddling my torso once again, she will touch and kiss and teasd almost every part of my body. she will grab me, smack me, run her fingernails along the tenderest parts of me. she will make me buck and squirm with yearning, then punish me for moving. she will command me to utter panting stillness as she rubs herself against me like a cat.

she will mount me and ride me and lay breathing against me for a long time before she unties me, before i am able to massage feeling back into my fingers. she claims me, makes me hers. my hands are not my own.

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