Archive-name: Bondage/retnhome.txt
Archive-author: Vermillion
Archive-title: Returning Home


She turned the key in the door, walked in and turned to close the door. 
WHUMP, something hit her hard between the shoulder blades, knocking her
against the door, knocking the breath out of her.  She was pinned against the
door, her cheek against cold glass.  Her hands were grabbed and trussed
behind her back, as her pulse skyrocketed.  Gasping for air, she tried to
find her breath, she tried to scream.  "Alice" a voice hard and quiet said
"be quiet, or you won't be able to make a sound at all".  Her head was
painfully pulled back by the hair at the nape of her neck, and a blindfold
tied tight around her eyes.  Every nerve in her body was on fire, and she
thought her heart would knock a hole in her chest.   
 
Her lover, she thought, her goddamned lover planned a surprise.  She was
angry.  She didn't know if she wanted to play.  It was late, she was tired,
tomorrow was going to be another long day.  But just the knowledge that he
wanted to play -- no, not even that, just the idea of playing, of thinking of
being submissive -- made it hard for her to protest.  Her body temperature
rose as she thought about what might come.  I am changing, she thought.  The
role is growing on me.  I don't know if I will need a safeword.  I could
almost let him do anything now.  Is this what trust is made of?  Anger was
dissolving into another feeling she couldn't quite identify.    

She heard a rustle of movement, and strained to make it out.  Someone else? 
What is going on?  But warm hands quickly tied a silk scarf like an antique
bandage for a tooth ache over her head and under her chin.  I can tell his
touch, she thought.  He's been practicing, that's not something he knows how
to do.  Or knew, she corrected herself.  The scarf didn't take away all the
sound, she could tell that he had turned on music, Mahler it seemed: grand,
majestic and powerful.  But she couldn't make out voices, only that they were
there and there seemed to be more than one.  

Hands grabbed her shoulders and spun her around.  Her pulse was still
pounding, and anxious from the initial surprise, and this was going to make
her puke.  It stopped and she lurched a bit, dizzy.  Hands, how many she
couldn't tell, grabbed her and marched her out the door.  Spun again and
dragged down the sidewalk, roughly pulled by her blouse.  She stumbled as hands
from behind push in the desired direction.  Totally disoriented.  Where am I? 
What the fuck is going on?  She was shoved into a car, on a front seat,
wedged between two bodies.  One probably her lover, but the other was still
unknown, and not very knowable.  The car took off, driving fast, and she
realized that she didn't even know what direction the car was pointing to
start with.  

Sitting very still, she felt hands unbuttoning her shirt, and scissors cold
between her breasts, cutting open her bra.  Wait, she nearly said, I like
this one, don't ruin it.  But she found that she lacked the will to talk. 
Everything was happening too fast.  It was too confusing.  She wasn't sure
about anything anymore.  But her body was beginning to respond to being
exposed.  Somewhere under the confusion was a kernel inside of her that said
"you like this, you like this". 

She tried to pay attention to clues about where they were going, who was
there, listening for signals.  But she was quickly distracted by hands on her
breasts pulling them out of her shirt and the remains of her bra.  She felt
fingers pulling her nipples, and the familiar feel of the clamps tightening
on them.  Something familiar she thought, something to hold onto.  She didn't
even know if it was her lover driving or touching her or really, even if he
was in the car at all. 

The car drove fast, turning corners with a squeal, clearly running lights to
judge from the muffled honks of other cars.  Hands kept pinching her breasts,
and pulling on the chain between the clamps.  It was awkward, hands tied
behind her back, constricted and confined by the now silent bulk on either
side of her.  She tried not to respond to the insistent hands on her body,
tried to find the anger she felt earlier.  But she had moved from simple
acquiescence to active desire.  She wanted to be touched.  Finally the car
pulled up with a screech.  She was jerked out of the open car door.  

A voice spoke near her ear, it must have been loud.  "We'd twirl you around
again.."  The we was not lost on her.  "... but its unlikely you have a clue
to where you are.  That's important".  Laughter in the background, as her
shirt was yanked down off of her shoulders.  In all the tussles the scarf had
come off her ears, and was pulled away.  "Lift her skirt up", she heard her
lover say, as hands along her legs tuck her skirt into its waistband, in the
front and in the back.  A breeze across her thighs and ass made her feel more
exposed.  She wondered where they are, who could be watching. 

"Come with us, Alice".  Her lover was doing all the talking.  Up some stairs,
she tried to figure out where she was, but couldn't.  The path seemed vaguely
familiar, but it wasn't his place, nor Jon's house.  She couldn't imagine who
else he would play with.  She strained for sounds or clues, but strong hands
on her shoulders propelled her quickly forward, as someone tugged on the
chain between her nipples from the front. 

She walked hesitantly, blind and afraid of bumping into something.  As she
ducked once, totally without reason, someone laughed at her from behind,
someone not her lover.  A hot blush traveled through her cheeks, and she had
no idea if anyone even noticed.  "Stop".  She did, immediately, afraid.  She
felt cold metal sliding up the inside of her thigh, and then heard the
distinctive swish-click of scissors.  Snip, through the crotch of her
underpants, followed by long fingers, her lovers, judging from their warmth,
twisted in her pubic hair.  "Oh, she's wet alright".  She wanted to blush,
but the scissors were still too close to her cunt, and she was scared.  Would
he cut her?  How far would he go?  Snip, "Here's a lock of hair for you", she
heard her lover say.     
 
A door opened and she was pushed through, stumbling and falling onto her
knees.  Hands pulled her skirt off, popping the button on the waistband.  Her
underpants were fluttering at her waist, and she too could feel the moisture
between her legs.  "Stand up, Alice", as a collar snicked into place around
an ankle and was pulled tight.  "Spread your legs" as the other ankle was
bound.  "Put the clamps on her labia, Jon".  So it was Jon, but labia clamps? 
What?  The confusion returns.  "Oh dear, we are going to have to finish
cutting off those pants."  With what seemed a careless swipe of the scissors,
they were gone.  Her arms, behind her back are pulled tight and up, leaving
her bent over, a little.  She imagined another rope holding her arms up
behind her and her ass stuck out, exposed.  
 
As hands tied two soft ropes around the plumpest part of her thighs, her mind
relaxed a notch.  Maybe, she thought, it won't hurt too much.  A sharp sting
on first her left, and then right labia, brings her back to the present. 
"Nice, very nice" as someone draws the clamps apart, pulling her open.  Two
more clicks and the clamps were attached to the ropes on her thighs, holding
her cunt as open as her legs.  The sensations were strong, somewhere between
pain and pleasure, but they demand all of her attention.  A finger ran down
from her nipple and stopped just short of her clit.  She moved her hips,
straining forward and then backwards.  "Oh she wants it, doesn't she".  There
was pure delight in her lover's voice.  Two hands brushed across her nipples,
this time cool hands.  The nipples burned from the clamps.  One more caress, a
hand on her buttocks and then nothing.  Footsteps fell away from her and she
was left standing, still awkwardly bent over.  The pull on her labia and
nipples was intense.  Music softly from another room fills the air.  Philip
Glass, minimalist, and she imagined an empty room, no carpet, no furniture
and only shades on the few windows.   
 
At first, she felt empty and hungry for touches.  They'll be back soon, she
thought.  Then an itch crawled up, under her shirt, across her shoulder
blades.  Wiggling did nothing to help, except to pull on the labia clamps and
make the heavy chain between her nipples swing back and forth.  Where are
they?  Why am I left here?  She couldn't even rub her thighs together, and
her own wetness began to seep down her thighs.  Time passed and the sway of
the chain between her nipples felt better, and she moved her hips again, to
make it swing harder.  But neither that nor the pinch of labia clamps was
satisfying at all.  How much time has passed?.  She was sure it was at least
an hour, but with a grimace thought that that probably means 10 minutes.  Her
shoulderblades began itch again.    

The itches came and went and she was left standing, dripping and wanting more
touches, contact, anything.  Her mind wandered with the music.  Suddenly, a
hand grabbed her and a cock was thrust between her legs, from the back,
invading her.  The sudden movement pulled on her labia, stretching them
between the clamps.  A moment of tight pain translated into a sudden yank on
her clit.  Her body could only respond to the overwhelming sensation.  Waves
of pleasure rolled over and over, in tugs on her clit, her labia.  She felt
his hands on her waist, pulling himself into her deeply.  As her body moved
in response to his, the chain between her nipples swung wider and wider,
pulling her nipples down from her bent over body.  She was so deeply involved
in the pain and pleasure that she barely noticed his orgasm, only his fingers
digging deeply into her arms for a moment and a muffled cry on her shoulder. 
Then nothing, silence and an absence of touch.  It was her lover and now he
is gone.
 
Again, left hanging, her body started to cramp.  She tried to flex different
muscles to stretch, but can't.  What now, she wondered.  His semen ran down
her leg, and her body throbbed in response to the pleasure it felt.  The
clamps still attached, made her nipples and labia pulse, a little.  She would
smile with the memory, but she felt too tired for even that.  But she found
that she had the energy to sigh, as careful hands finally came and touched
her gently.  Still blindfolded, she was let down, unhooked, unclamped and
folded into a soft, warm robe.  Strong arms half carried her stiff body out
to a car and helped her in.  She dozed on the ride back, leaning on him, arm
around her shoulders.  

He helped her into the house, and placed her in bed.  As he removed the
blindfold and he handed her a box tied with a ribbon.  She looked at him to
ask a question and he said simply "for you, for everything, for making my
fantasies come true".  It contained silk and lace, underwear -- a bra and
pants, garters and stockings, in a carefully chosen color he knew that she
liked -- and a single rose of the same color.  

Vermillion