“But all I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.”
bite
Hey guys,
I’m taking a trip away for the weekend and sojourning over to another Ivy that houses Penthouse.
Don’t worry, I’m also there on legit business.
But I figure I can also have fun, right?
I’ve got a queue stocked and I’ll catch you all on Monday.
“Perhaps one did not want to be loved so much as to be understood.” – George Orwell, 1984.
Trapped, Part 4
After securing my arms to the headboard, Switch pulled my legs apart. On the sides of his bed, he had already set up belts that he looped around my ankles and pulled taut. Spread and bound, I squirmed around on the bed and tested the strength of the belts. I had about an inch of give either way, I could barely move.
Switch ran his hand up the back of my thigh and chuckled, “can’t fight me now, can you?” He slapped my ass and laughed so more when I gasped and lurched in my bonds. “No, I think I’ve got you to myself now.” He sneered and grabbed my ass, shaking it slightly, “and we’re going to have so much fun.”
I continued to pull against the bonds and shake my head. “Come on, let me go.” I didn’t want to give in too easily. Switch reached up and grabbed my hair, holding my head still and trying to push his fingers into my mouth. I bite down, not too hard, to voice my protest.
Switch pulled his fingers back, dropped my head and said nothing. He walked over to the other end of the bedroom and I heard him putting his sneakers on and grabbing his keys. I pulled hard on the belts. He’d left me tied this way to his bed before (I’ll fill you in on that story at another time, I promise), leaving the knot at my wrist within reach so I could let myself out if I needed.
“Please, don’t go,” I begged with sudden enthusiasm. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll be a good girl, I promise.”
All I heard next was the door close behind him.
“Sometimes I have the feeling that we’re in one room with two opposite doors and each of us holds the handle of one door, one of us flicks an eyelash and the other is already behind his door, and now the first one has but to utter a word and immediately the second one has closed his door behind him and can no longer be seen. He’s sure to open the door again, for it’s a room which perhaps one cannot leave. If only the first one were not precisely like the second, if he were calm, if he would only pretend not to look at the other, if he would slowly set the room in order as though it was a room like any other; but instead he does exactly the same as the other at his door, sometimes even both are behind the doors and the beautiful room is empty.” – Franz Kafka, in a letter to Milena Jesenska.
That guy from my frat and I have a sort of banter going on, explains my friend. We’re interesting to watch, sometimes in a funny way and sometimes in a slightly painful way. We don’t always go easy on each other.
Today, he sat down with some friends of mine and I and we proceeded to go at it with each other. There’s something about someone who comes so close to being able to outwit me that incredibly turns me on. Intelligence is terribly, terribly sexy. So is confidence.
When he left, one of my friends threw his hands up in the air and cried out in frustration, “would you two just fuck already?”
Guess what I’m stuck thinking about now.
Biting my jawbone is an instant melt for me. Just a nibble goes a long way.
Sorry, we haven’t trained her not to bite yet.
See that little rip down near her rear? I’m just going to pretend I bit that into existence.
I was never much of a biter. But I dated a girl who definitely was. She used to love to grab my hand, my fingers, my neck and bite down. She used to love the marks it left. She loved to be able to run her fingers over it and see the marks of her teeth that were left some prominently for a few minutes.
And after a while? I started to bite back.