Sunday Afternoon
by Sasha

She lies on the bed, the afternoon sunshine pooling around her and making the first beads of perspiration appear on her naked skin.

The ropes that bind her hold her tight. The cinched loops at wrist, elbow, ankle and thigh form wide cuffs of rope. Her legs are bent up behind her and connected to her wrists. When she struggles, not much movement can be seen beyond the tensing of her fingers and the roll of her head.

She wishes she could see, but a cream coloured elastic bandage has been wound round her head, covering her eyes and most of the top half of her face. She’s hot, in more ways than one, and moans softly for him to come back. It’s been more than an hour now.

From outside the window, the noise of the hedge trimmer stops and – eventually – footsteps mount the stairs. She turns her head to the door and waits expectantly.

The mattress sinks to one side as he sits beside her, silently. His fingers stroke her damp forehead and she shivers. Then, with a flash of fire-ice, something cold drops onto the back of her neck and starts to slide around. An ice cube. He runs it slowly down her body till it’s almost gone, and then reaches underneath her to push the remaining sliver of ice inside her.

Forgetting her promise to stay quiet and avoid a gag, she gives a soft yelp.

The wad of cotton bandage is soon pushed between her lips, even as they mouth apologies. More bandage winds round and round her head, sealing it in, covering her face entirely apart from a small strip to breathe through.

Anonymous, helpless, she’s left alone once more. This time, though, the vibrating egg balanced against her clitoris is some company at least.

Outside, the lawnmower starts up, a low drone in the hazy afternoon air. The rhythms of the noise somehow match the rhythms of the egg as it turns on, off, on, off. Some kind of remote control sensor in the garden, she thinks. Holding herself still, desperately trying not to knock the egg away, she tenses herself for orgasm but it’s no good, it’s not quite enough though she really, really needs to come now…

Another half hour passes.

A noise downstairs. She freezes, and turns her sightless, voiceless head to the open door with a jerk. The lawnmower hasn’t stopped. It’s not him coming up the stairs.

A voice, now: “You there? Just thought I’d pop round for that recipe.” Their next door neighbour, having let herself in, coming ever nearer.

The lawnmower stops now, but in a position that tells the sensors to go, go, go. The egg turns itself up to its highest notch and she tries to press herself against it, to muffle the noise. Bound as she is, there’s nothing she can do to stop her neighbour walking straight in and seeing her, helpless, her identity obscured beneath swathes of bandages…

“Hey, Judy,” he calls from downstairs, a nervous edge to his voice. “Come down, I’m down here.”

Just moments before, she’d been wracked with a powerful, melting orgasm, crying out silently into her gag, every muscle tense against the ropes.

Sarah turns and heads downstairs, not having reached the bedroom.


She lies loose in her bonds, exhausted, the adrenaline high fading. After a few minutes, he comes back to the bedroom, and sits beside her again. He strokes her obscured face, caresses her strained limbs. Release me, she pleads silently, but she knows he won’t. He rolls her carefully onto her back, and straddles her, taking care not to crush her too hard into the mattress to protect her limbs. Loosening the ropes around her thighs, he creates enough space to squeeze inside her, pressing his erection into her. Both arms and legs trapped behind her, she cannot resist in any way. He feels hot inside her.

She dimly feels his hand stroking her wrapped face, tracing the lines of her eyes and mouth beneath the bandages. Then, slowly, his erection still inside her, he starts to wrap again. More bandages progress from her mouth, pulled thick and tight around her, up her face… and over her nose towards her already blindfolded eyes.

She gasps beneath him, but can’t take in much air. He continues to roll the bandage round and round her head, now moving down from her eyes to her mouth, again covering her nose. She draws as much air in as she can, holding it as the bandages now pass over her nostrils again and again and again, sealing her in.

They don’t have much time. Entirely helpless, trying to save her energy, she writhes slightly beneath him as he speeds up, driving her with him. They come together, jerkily, desperately, lovingly. Safety scissors cut her a breathing hole in a few seconds and she’s on her front again, breathing hard, still gagged, still blindfolded, still bound.

He kisses her forehead, and heads back downstairs to finish the lawn.

She lies waiting, her mind spinning, her body his captive still.