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Missing Cuffs

He had my shirt over my head, but I could hear him digging through our “red box” by the bed. I knew he was looking for the wrist cuffs, I knew they wouldn’t be there.

“Missing a few pieces are we?”

I didn’t answer, an answer meant a fight, silence meant…

“No matter.” He left me on the bed just for a moment. I had no idea where he went, instantly regretting I had put down a rug the week before.

Returning I felt something silky slide across my erect nipples, a scarf, he was resourceful, and fast, I was tied up in what felt like a second.

I was already on my stomach so he pulled my ass up to his hips, running his fingers over the now white skin (I knew would be red soon enough).

“You know you shouldn’t have lost those cuffs.”

I felt the leather tassels of the whip hit my ass before I even heard anything. The warmth spreading up my back to my tits, giving them goose bumps. The whip came down again, and again, until I felt both his warmth and pressure inside of me.

I knew better than to fight it, he collapsed on me as we both moaned and cried, both riveting from the explosion.

He removed my shirt and kissed my mascara-smeared face.

I always knew those Boy Scout life lessons in knot making would come in handy someday, maybe the cuffs will just never turn up.