Fade To Black - Part 2
She led me out into the cool night air, and we started walking. I had no idea what was going on, or for that matter, where we were going, but frankly I didn’t care. She slid her arm round me and half leaned on me as we walked. That lasted for all of ten seconds until she started tickling my rib cage gently, I wasn’t expecting it at all, and, despite the shirt and coat I was wearing, gasped and shuddered under her touch. She probed faster and harder with those slender fingers, and despite my desire to stay next to her, I had to pull away. At least I tried, but she’d got a good grip on my arm, and I wasn’t going anywhere. After maybe a minute she stopped and nestled her head on my shoulder, lips inches from my ear, and started to let me know exactly what she had in mind for the evenings entertainment.
“I’ll make a deal with you, I want to play a game and I love to play for high stakes. Win or lose, by the end of the night I guarantee that you’ll enjoy yourself.” God the stress she put on “enjoy” left no doubt what she had in mind, and that one word shot straight through me. “Here’s the deal, we’ll go back to my place and I get one hour to do anything I want to make you submit. Submit and you lose, hold on and you win, that simple.”
“So what’s in it for the winner?” I asked.
“It’s not so much what’s in it for the winner, but for the looser. You see, I’ve got something that I’ve been dying to try out, I ordered it when I was going out with someone last year, but it took weeks to get it delivered and by the time it arrived I’d split up with the guy. I’ve never found anyone I trust enough to try it out on me, or that I’d want to subject to it.”
“So that leaves two questions. One, how worried should I be by the word “subject” and two, why me?”
“Well, without giving too much away” and I swear I could feel the grin she gave me when she said that, “it will be an intense experience for whoever tries it, exciting, but intense. And as for why you, well, as strange as it sounds, it feels like I’ve known you for years, plus I know where you work so I can always hunt you down if I need to”. I burst out laughing at the last bit, and, after a moment of ‘though’ in an attempt to hide the fact that there was no way I wasn’t doing this, said “Okay, count me in”.
We walked in silence after that, it only took another ten minutes to get to her place anyway, and I think we were both caught up in our own thoughts about what was going to happen. I had to admit I was a little worried, I knew she was going to try and break me through tickling, and I’ve always had a strange reaction to it. I’m ticklish as hell, all over, but for some odd reason I can also take a lot before I get to the point where I’ll break. Now, while this sounds like a good thing, especially in this sort of situation, I’ve been tickled by, let’s say determined, ticklers before, and it does tend to frustrate them which makes them even more determined to see you crack which makes them tickle harder, which, well you get the idea.
I was so lost in thought I almost missed when we arrived at her place, as it was I turned to look at the house she was going up to and stopped dead. It wasn’t a palace by any means, but detached houses in London don’t come cheap, and certainly can’t be rented on a temp’s pay. “This is where you live?” I stammered. “Yep, my parents own their own place outright so decided to buy a second house here, let me live in it while I’m at Uni then sell it on as an investment. Means I don’t pay rent, and can set the place up how I like it, provided I can hide anything I don’t want them seeing when they come to visit”.
We went in, and she gave me the tour. It was a nice place, her parents had certainly made a good choice, and they’d make a fair bit of cash when they sold it on. The ground floor was open plan, with the kitchen having its own foldable partition wall if you didn’t want to smoke out your guests. Upstairs were two large bedrooms and a bathroom that was just unreal, with one of those large spa baths in the corner, and a big power shower opposite it. Then finally, she showed me to the attic.
It had been converted, and whoever had done the job had done it very well indeed. The floor was covered in a thick light blue carpet, the walls painted the same colour at the bottom fading imperceptibly to white where they met the ceiling. Lighting was provided by freestanding ‘up lighters’ which added a slightly menacing air to the place, hinting at a medieval dungeon with flames flickering up the walls. In the middle of the room was a double bed, dressed in black sheets, and standing on a four legged, wooden frame. Attached to the frame at either end where two boards about a foot long, each of which had two padded cuffs attached to end by dull black chains. It was a set-up designed to cause fear in the, I suppose victim is the right word, and I decided there was no way I was going to show that fear. This was, after all a game of wills and showing any weakness now would put me at a disadvantage.
Suddenly Laura slid her arms around me from behind and started unbuttoning my shirt. Figuring I might as well enjoy this while I could I dropped my arms down, and lent back into her as she stripped me. She showed not the slightest sign of indecision now, as she slid my shirt off, quickly followed by my shoes, socks and jeans. She guided me over to the bed, and I laid down, hands above my head as she secured my wrists to the top board. She trailed her fingers down me as she walked towards the foot of the bed, pausing only to hook my underwear as she went. She slid my boxers down as she went, and by the time she secured my ankles I was completely naked before her, and rather visibly turned on by the attention.
She smiled down at me, and walked over to a small shelf at one end of the room. She fiddled with a small, silver box for a second or two, and then huge red letters appeared, projected on the ceiling above me. 1:01:00 hung there, projected from the clock she’d been messing with. She pressed a button and the clock started counting down. She turned and walked as slowly as she could back towards me, a bag clutched in her right hand. “When that clock gets to one hour to go” she purred, “you’re mine”. She set the bag down under the bed and knelt down on my right in line with my waist. She turned her head up to watch the numbers count down the last few seconds, 1:00:03. 1:00:02, 1:00:01 1:00:00…
Part 3
She led me out into the cool night air, and we started walking. I had no idea what was going on, or for that matter, where we were going, but frankly I didn’t care. She slid her arm round me and half leaned on me as we walked. That lasted for all of ten seconds until she started tickling my rib cage gently, I wasn’t expecting it at all, and, despite the shirt and coat I was wearing, gasped and shuddered under her touch. She probed faster and harder with those slender fingers, and despite my desire to stay next to her, I had to pull away. At least I tried, but she’d got a good grip on my arm, and I wasn’t going anywhere. After maybe a minute she stopped and nestled her head on my shoulder, lips inches from my ear, and started to let me know exactly what she had in mind for the evenings entertainment.
“I’ll make a deal with you, I want to play a game and I love to play for high stakes. Win or lose, by the end of the night I guarantee that you’ll enjoy yourself.” God the stress she put on “enjoy” left no doubt what she had in mind, and that one word shot straight through me. “Here’s the deal, we’ll go back to my place and I get one hour to do anything I want to make you submit. Submit and you lose, hold on and you win, that simple.”
“So what’s in it for the winner?” I asked.
“It’s not so much what’s in it for the winner, but for the looser. You see, I’ve got something that I’ve been dying to try out, I ordered it when I was going out with someone last year, but it took weeks to get it delivered and by the time it arrived I’d split up with the guy. I’ve never found anyone I trust enough to try it out on me, or that I’d want to subject to it.”
“So that leaves two questions. One, how worried should I be by the word “subject” and two, why me?”
“Well, without giving too much away” and I swear I could feel the grin she gave me when she said that, “it will be an intense experience for whoever tries it, exciting, but intense. And as for why you, well, as strange as it sounds, it feels like I’ve known you for years, plus I know where you work so I can always hunt you down if I need to”. I burst out laughing at the last bit, and, after a moment of ‘though’ in an attempt to hide the fact that there was no way I wasn’t doing this, said “Okay, count me in”.
We walked in silence after that, it only took another ten minutes to get to her place anyway, and I think we were both caught up in our own thoughts about what was going to happen. I had to admit I was a little worried, I knew she was going to try and break me through tickling, and I’ve always had a strange reaction to it. I’m ticklish as hell, all over, but for some odd reason I can also take a lot before I get to the point where I’ll break. Now, while this sounds like a good thing, especially in this sort of situation, I’ve been tickled by, let’s say determined, ticklers before, and it does tend to frustrate them which makes them even more determined to see you crack which makes them tickle harder, which, well you get the idea.
I was so lost in thought I almost missed when we arrived at her place, as it was I turned to look at the house she was going up to and stopped dead. It wasn’t a palace by any means, but detached houses in London don’t come cheap, and certainly can’t be rented on a temp’s pay. “This is where you live?” I stammered. “Yep, my parents own their own place outright so decided to buy a second house here, let me live in it while I’m at Uni then sell it on as an investment. Means I don’t pay rent, and can set the place up how I like it, provided I can hide anything I don’t want them seeing when they come to visit”.
We went in, and she gave me the tour. It was a nice place, her parents had certainly made a good choice, and they’d make a fair bit of cash when they sold it on. The ground floor was open plan, with the kitchen having its own foldable partition wall if you didn’t want to smoke out your guests. Upstairs were two large bedrooms and a bathroom that was just unreal, with one of those large spa baths in the corner, and a big power shower opposite it. Then finally, she showed me to the attic.
It had been converted, and whoever had done the job had done it very well indeed. The floor was covered in a thick light blue carpet, the walls painted the same colour at the bottom fading imperceptibly to white where they met the ceiling. Lighting was provided by freestanding ‘up lighters’ which added a slightly menacing air to the place, hinting at a medieval dungeon with flames flickering up the walls. In the middle of the room was a double bed, dressed in black sheets, and standing on a four legged, wooden frame. Attached to the frame at either end where two boards about a foot long, each of which had two padded cuffs attached to end by dull black chains. It was a set-up designed to cause fear in the, I suppose victim is the right word, and I decided there was no way I was going to show that fear. This was, after all a game of wills and showing any weakness now would put me at a disadvantage.
Suddenly Laura slid her arms around me from behind and started unbuttoning my shirt. Figuring I might as well enjoy this while I could I dropped my arms down, and lent back into her as she stripped me. She showed not the slightest sign of indecision now, as she slid my shirt off, quickly followed by my shoes, socks and jeans. She guided me over to the bed, and I laid down, hands above my head as she secured my wrists to the top board. She trailed her fingers down me as she walked towards the foot of the bed, pausing only to hook my underwear as she went. She slid my boxers down as she went, and by the time she secured my ankles I was completely naked before her, and rather visibly turned on by the attention.
She smiled down at me, and walked over to a small shelf at one end of the room. She fiddled with a small, silver box for a second or two, and then huge red letters appeared, projected on the ceiling above me. 1:01:00 hung there, projected from the clock she’d been messing with. She pressed a button and the clock started counting down. She turned and walked as slowly as she could back towards me, a bag clutched in her right hand. “When that clock gets to one hour to go” she purred, “you’re mine”. She set the bag down under the bed and knelt down on my right in line with my waist. She turned her head up to watch the numbers count down the last few seconds, 1:00:03. 1:00:02, 1:00:01 1:00:00…
Part 3
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