close friends

It is dark.

You are on your knees.

And I am standing in front of you.

My warm hand brushes your cheek and before finding a grip in your hair at the nape of your neck, holding you in place while my free hand draws a delicate line down the length of your bared throat.

You are pulled to your feet. Settled into a strong chair, and tied in place.

Your hands are bound along the back side of the chair. And I have placed…her, on a chair at your back, facing away. She is close enough that you can feel her hair brush the back of your neck as she breathes.

I lower the lights even further until it’s too dark to see exactly what I am doing – just a dark silhouette moving.

You don’t struggle. Much.

My hands slide along the back of your bared legs. Your thighs part. Your leg rests on my shoulder and you feel my breath against your skin.

Can you hear me do the same to her? The sharp intake of breath when my lips leave a trail of small kisses along the inside of her thigh until they reach the center?

Does it make you shiver to know she’s so close? To know what is being done to her? So close you can feel her shudder, feel the growing heat of her skin?

Is it hard to sit still, tied as you are, and hear the steady rustle of clothing, the surprised gasp?

She presses back into the chair behind you as if trying to escape. Her hands are tied, the same as yours; her fingers find your own, entangling themselves in a grip too strong to break. A creak of the chair. A soft mewling of desperation. Fingers clench yours.

You feel her need like your own. Neither of you can hide from the growing darkness within the room. You do understand, don’t you? I am using her to get to you.

And I am using you, to make her mine.

Does this make it worse? Knowing what is in store for you? When you hear the long shuddering breath – when you feel it, do you connect this with the fact my face is now nestled intimately between her thighs? Reminding her that there is more than one gateway to heaven?

It does. It does make it worse. No need to say it aloud. Not yet. Just sit still and feel it.

You can feel the pulses of desire through the grip she has on you. It is tearing you apart to know just how fucking close I am.

Would it help if I told you she needs it? Don’t believe me? Listen to her ragged breathing.

Need, I say, softly, right next to your ear. I can taste it on her.

An evil thought – how hauntingly decadent you would look draped over her thighs, bent and exposed – your face pressed firmly to her breasts while I stood behind you both and brought to the surface the imperfect imaginings of a perfect lust.

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