Child's Play

By Patricia Payne

Signature Logo My arms began aching about five minutes ago. It's one of those slow, dull aches that creeps up on you, then settles in for a good long time. The rope is making sharp "SNAPS" on the polished hardwood, and its sound is getting increasingly hypnotic with each passing moment.

Sweat is running down me, the thermostat in the room is set to at least 85°. I work to keep my breathing even, not to let the countless beats show any outward effect on my composure. Other than the rope, the only other sound is the occasional click of her stiletto heels on the floor, followed by a quick snap of the crop if my pace breaks off or I became too distracted in that space of rhythm, pain, and eroticism.

"One more minute, my pet," as she urges me on, standing in front of me, the smile on her face genuine, her eyes warm and twinkling. My eyes drift down the length of her body, taking in her red and white gingham shirt--half unbuttoned and tied just beneath her breasts and a short, white, a-line skirt which is taking a backseat to the bronze of her skin, and the hot pink of her perfectly polished, perfect toes, which assert themselves at the end of open toed pumps. I know she is wearing those shoes because they're my favorites, although neither of us would ever openly admit that is so.

"Twenty five seconds," she calls out. I hear the urgency in her voice, she has her own reasons for wanting this to end as much as me.

"SNAP"
"SNAP"
"SNAP"

The rope hits the floor with a sound of finality.

"Time," her voice low.

"SNAP"
"SNAP"
"SNAP"

Pause.

"SNAP"

Her look was worth it--mad, bewildered, amused and her eyes telegraphed every thought -- eyes that made me swoon.

It was her eyes that first attracted me. They danced under the broad brim of her hat while they scanned the gallery catalogue. They showed her laughter--her laughter at the earnest and wildly gesticulating artist in the front of the room.

My artist.
My client.
I loved her instantly.

I knew I would never see her again.

Never came about three weeks later.

The weather had gotten very cold, very quickly. I was in line at the bank machine. At least I considered myself in line as I sat in my heated car admiring the blue-jeaned ass belonging to a brown-haired beauty who was ahead of me in que..

I noticed him immediately - I thought he was planning to steal my rightful place in line. Actually, he was planning to steal her purse.

As he made his move, she countered him with an indignant unbelievable fury and to my amazement and certainly his, carried it off.

She grabbed back at her bag, immediately throwing him off balance with the ferocity of her grip.

"You've misjudged things," she said, her voice so steely it made me nervous. "Get out of here before you discover just how badly you've fucked up." She yanked on the bag again...he held on. My blood was rushing as I tried to decide if I should intervene.

Then I realized it was her. I stepped forward.

She pulled on the bag again ... harder this time.

"Now," she hissed evenly, steadily.

I was behind her now, but I could have sworn he was already releasing the bag before fleeing.

"What an asshole," she muttered under breath, seemingly not noticing me there.

"You OK?," I asked nervously. God, she was beautiful. "I rushed over as soon as I realized what was going on."

"Yeah..I'm fine..thanks."

She moved to step around me. I couldn't let that happen.

"My name is Tom," I said quickly. "I own the gallery where Theo's show is. I saw you at his opening."

Her eyes widened just a minute as she tried to place me.

"Ah, yes..Theo. What an unusual show," she said with 99.8% sincerity, the missing .2% nearly killing me. Her eyes briefly got the same look they had had at the show. "Thanks for helping..nice to meeting you again...I'll see you later."

"Are you sure your OK? Do you want me to go to the police station with you or anything?," I asked, wondering if she could hear the plea in my voice.

"No, thanks. I live right around the corner. I'll be fine."

"At least let me give you my card, in case you need me as witness, or to make a statement or whatever," I said, fishing one out of my wallet.

She glanced at it quickly. "Nice to meet you, Tom. My name is Natalie. Thanks for the card. Bye."

The first of them arrived at the gallery exactly a month to the day later. A small, plain, brown wrapped box, my name and address neatly penned on it.

Inside the box was another smaller box, decorated with a thin black satin ribbon, broken only by a strict, yet elegant bow. Nestled in the black velvet lining of the box was single silver hoop earring, about the size of a dime. A thick hoop. A hoop a man would wear. My fingers involuntarily raced up to touch my smooth ear lobes, while out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a small envelope with an even smaller card inside.

"The Addison. Room 2214, 10 PM, Tuesday, the Fourth Natalie."

My heart pounded. I went to put the earring back in its box but found that I couldn't. It was deceptively heavy and its glow mesmerized me. I fingered the hoop as my mind began calculating the possibilities.

When she greeted me at the hotel room, she was wearing a butterscotch colored, cashmere suit.We had a drink, and then she produced tickets to a small jazz club. I tried to protest, offering to pay for the tickets, but she shrugged me off.

"It's the least I can do after you were so helpful," she said, with a faint smile.

The club was crowded and smoky, with softly spoken sophisticates creating an atmosphere of casual comfort. I could barely hear her from across the table and after a while, I pretty much stopped listing, content to just look at her mouth and those wicked eyes. Every once in a while, I would lean forward, my leg brushing against hers for a moment, which sent my heart racing.

We walked back to the hotel, holding hands, talking and laughing like lovers. She was giggling and fumbling with the room keys. I wanted to rub my face on the cashmere over her breasts.

The door opened and she stood facing me, blocking the doorway.

Her face changed. The eyes narrowed, looking almost angry for an instant but settling on a look that was a deadly mixture of lust and composure.

"Come here, Tom."

I leaned over, feeling more than a little nervous.

Her right hand, still wrapped in a soft black leather glove, brushed against my left cheek, pushing the hair that covered the small silver hoop in my left ear out of the way.

"Look what you've done for me," she said so sweetly that I would have added ten more holes if I thought it would keep her speaking to me like that. Her fingers pulled lightly on the hoop, the feeling more intense from the newness of the piercing. Her lips crushed on mine, as I kissed her back feverishly, my hands tight on her back, fingers luxuriating on the cashmere.

She moved her head away and she gave me that look, the same one as right before the kiss.

"Good night. You will get another package next month."

The door shut.

So that's how it began. True to her word, a package arrived for me each month, although never exactly on the same day. There was always a small gift/clue and the name of some hotel or other location. Her imagination had no limits and there were no limits to what I would do for her.

This package came on Wednesday, right as I was about to lock up. I told Henry I would meet him at the bar in a few minutes and went into my office, closing the door behind me.

The letter opener ripped through the thin adhesive tape with no problem. Under a thin layer of tissue paper was a package of long red licorice strings, and a tag that simply said "wrists" attached to it. The usual card was also included, the name of a rather stark, modern downtown hotel, our date set four days from now.

The night before our engagement, I opened the package of licorice, experimenting with different kinds of candy cuffs. She was too particular to accept merely a hastily tied string with a granny knot.

I finally settled on a band of four strings; creating a simple woven pattern, but also being careful to include a smaller two strand ring attached to each bracelet...just in case. Then I went through my shirts, looking for one that had cuffs loose enough to fit over my licorice bonds and long enough to cover them when I was walking outside in public. The shirt needed to be ironed desperately; I was glad I found out now.

I knocked on the hotel door with three short raps and she greeted me immediately, all legs and breasts and tan. The drapes of the room were opened, revealing an incredible view of the city. The heat was on so high it was almost hot...no, it was hot.

The rooms furniture had been pushed around so there was a cleared area in the middle where a rather sizable children's wading pool sat, filled with water, toys floating on the surface. There was a large poster on one wall, a spread I had seen in some high-gloss European skin magazine a few months before; two very flexible young women tied together in a most intriguing way.

"I just want a simple, carefree day," she said casually. "I don't want to be dressed up or discuss politics. All I want is some old-fashioned fun. Are you ready?"

"I can't wait," I replied.

"Then, a drink to celebrate the start of our day. I'll be right back. Oh, and take off your shirt."

I watched her walk into the suites small kitchen, each step full of purpose, with just a hint of arrogance. I took off my shirt, checking the cuffs to make sure they were holding up OK.

She caught me making a small adjustment to the cuff on my right hand as she entered the room. "Oh, let me see," delight ringing through her voice as she grabbed a wrist.

"How wonderful..I knew you would come up with something elegant yet functional. And I love the rings. You know me too well." She kissed me lightly on the lips and then handed me a small jello shot mixed with a healthy dose of Absolut.

"Cheers," and casually drank hers back, while I did the same.

"And another..."

No problem, I can drink her under the table.

"Let's make this more interesting. 21," she said, pulling out a deck of cards.. "Loser does the next shot."

A few minutes later, I was glad it was cherry jello, my favorite. Two games later, I was all the more glad it was cherry.

"I want to play a new game now. Come stand over here."

I got up immediately and joined her, standing still as I felt the now familiar blindfold slide over my eyes. I was been surprised she had kept it off this long. Her fingers ran over my torso, giving me goose bumps and making my cock spring to life.

"Still lifting, I see."

"Yes, I enjoy doing it."

"You look marvelous. Keep it up," and she kissed me again.

I put my arms around her, pressing her closely against me.

"Yes, Mistress, if it pleases you," I mumbled into her ear, kissing it, then tickling it for a moment with my tongue.

"I saw you looking at that poster when you came in. It's part of our next game. Do you remember how to play 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey'? This is the same principle. But you only get one chance. The chance is to decide what part of you will yield to my little whip. Do you understand?"

I nodded, desperately trying to remember how the women were posed. What a picture she had chosen! A mishmash of limbs and skin. And then the part of the game I had forgotten--she begun to spin me around, the jello shots racing to my head. I felt her put the tag in my hand.

"Walk forward, dear. Good luck."

I stumbled a bit on my first two steps but quickly regained my legs, as I shook my head, trying to get a mental image of the picture.

Step

I was pretty certain that someone's butt was in the lower right hand corner. I reached out to find the poster.

"A little further to your left," Natalie said from behind me. My fingertips felt the thick, glossy paper and I quickly made my decision.

"You are sure?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Remove your blindfold."

I took it off to discover my memory was off by an inch. It would be the back of my thighs.

"What do you want to play next, Mistress? Jacks?"

"No, I think something more active is in order," and she handed me a jump rope.

"I can make it to five hundred in 8 minutes. Beat it."

And so my jumping began, after she had instructed me to take off my pants and boxers as well. She was judicious with the crop..she never once missed correcting my slowing pace nor did she ever veer off from her intended target. My thighs began to burn, both inside and out and I concentrated on my counting to keep my mind off of it.

But at least now it was over.

She stared at me, not trying to mask the desire in her eyes.

"All this jumping around has made me quite hot. You towel off while I cool off a bit."

She handed me a towel and then walked over to the pool, untying her shirt as she moved across the room. She peeled her clothes off, taking the heels off last, before she stepped into the water, lifted a small children's sand pail full of water, and poured it down her. Her golden skin instantly glistened and my cock began to throb.

She sat down in the pool, stretching her legs out, and casually splashing water across her breasts. The room felt hotter than it did when I was jump-roping.

She crooked her finger, indicating me to join her and I walked deliberately across the room, kneeling to the right behind her, on the floor.

"What can I do for you, Mistress?" I whispered into her ear, wanting so to kiss it, but restraining myself.

"I want you to keep me wet," she replied casually, making my cock jump, grazing her back for a second.

"As you wish," I said a little nervously, waiting for the reprimand that thankfully didn't come.

Then she spoke.

"Before we go on, please bring me another strand of licorice. You will find some on that table." I complied, bring it to her and resuming my position behind her. She did not turn around.

"Give me your wrists."

I put on wrist over each of her shoulders, her breasts just beneath me, taunting me with their impossible proximity. She fastened the single strand to each of the rings, so my wrists were not tightly bound together; I had about 12 inches of motion.

"If you break this string, we are done for the day. Begin."

I was in orbit.

I took the pail and filled it with water, gently pouring it over her shoulder and down across her breasts. I filled it quickly, repeating it over the other shoulder. Bucket after bucket, sometimes rubbing my hands through the stream of water coming down her, sliding them on the smooth softness of her skin. She gave a soft moan of delight.

My right hand moved down between her legs, gently parting them. "Keeping Mistress wet, as I was instructed to do" in another mumbled whisper.

I began to gently finger her, while I splashed water over her with my other hand. Her head feel back against my chest as her hips began to rock, her breathing getting heavier.

My fingers on her clit, feeling a shock run through it as I touched it..and then moved away, using entire length of my index finger to stroke her, as she began to come, her wet body shaking against me.

For a few blessed moments, I felt her relax completely against me. I stroked her hair, softly rubbed her shoulders.

"Come in here. Kneel in front of me," she said languidly.

I knelt down, she stood up, grabbing the pail with her. She began to pour buckets over me, water matting my hair to my head, cooling me down, as I watched the grace in her movements.

She knelt across from me, she hands running down my body, tracing her index finger down my breast bone to my cock, where her hand found a new place to be.

"I see I've been making you wet, too," she said as her fingers glided across the pre-cum.

"Yes, Ma'am," I whispered, helplessly.

"I wonder how long we could keep you wet without actually coming."

"I'm sure I wouldn't last too long if you're here," I said, almost without thinking.

She leaned over and plucked something out of the water...a small ball..attached to a gag. My mouth opened of it's own accord and closed down around the ball, as the strap...SNAP... was adjusted around my head.

"Since you are now relieved of the responsibility to make glib answers, perhaps you can better focus on your task," she purred as she kissed my lips around the ball, while continuing to finger my cock. I felt like I was melting like butter on a hot ear of corn. I wanted to touch her so badly.

I tried to think of Rush Limbaugh...lima beans..Kathie Lee Gifford...anything other than her right index finger that lightly teased the tip of my cock.

It wasn't working and I knew she knew. I wanted to tell her how much I wanted release, and how very badly I longed for that release to be in her. My breathing was coming in gasps now, harder than it ever had ever been, even when I was jumping rope.

She purred into my ear.

"You've been such a good sport today, Tom. I am going to let you tell me how you would like to come."

She gave me one last kiss around the gag and then removed it. I loosened my jaw and my tongue.

"I want to come in you," I replied, looking at her evenly.

She looked back at me intently, her breathing almost as ragged as mine. Her full lips unfurling into a slow smile...then she grabbed my wrists and with a sudden movement, bit through the licorice, and released my hands.

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