cado

"I want to touch you," Your wrists are lightly bound behind your back, rendering your hands utterly useless. "Babe please."

"Shhhhh." A finger presses to your lips, and you lean into the touch with a sigh. "Patience."

His touch is gone then, and you sigh, rolling your neck as you listen to the rustling of fabric, and the pad of socked feet on hardwood floor.

A smooth, plastic object with a button is pressed into your hand.

"click that once for me, luv,"

You do as you're told, and the dog-training clicker makes a loud resonating sound through the room.

"You click that if you need to stop or slow down, or to get my attention, okay?" A weight settles on your lap. "I'm going to put the headphones on now."

You nod eagerly, smiling as Kyle slips on his expensive, noise-canceling headphones over your ears. Instrumental music is already playing, not enough to distract you from the scene with Kyle, but enough that you can't fucking hear him.

You start a little when his warm hand rests on your shoulder, while his free hand fits a gag into place in your mouth. You can feel goose bumps rising on your skin.

Bound, gagged, blinded and deafened, you're at Kyle's mercy. Your naked body trembles where you sit in the chair.

Two hands push your knees apart, then grab the back of your calves to pull your hips forward. You're sure you let out a squeak of some sort, but you can't hear yourself.

Kyle's hand keeps you grounded as it rests on the back of your leg, his lips trailing kisses up and down your thighs. He skips the throbbing pussy in front of his face, though, choosing to tease you with kisses, licks, and love bites all over your body.

The music floods your brain, disorienting you since you can't tell where Kyle is moving to, or where his next move will be. You try to lift your hips to get his mouth on your clit, but strong hands hold you to the chair, a hot puff of breath against your mons the only evidence you have of his amused laughter at your impatience.

And then he's gone. The touches, the grounding, the heat. While unsettling, you're sure that he is still in the room, as his final touch was lingering and purposeful. No indication of something amiss. You close your eyes, open through most of this despite its uselessness, and breathe deeply. The music lulls you into a calmer state, despite the arousal burning through your body.

And then, out of nowhere, a hot, wet tongue is plunging inside your pussy. You're sure you yelp again, but you can't help it, as Kyle begins feasting on you, a finger lubed with your juices even teasing your asshole a little.

He doesn't stop you from grinding into his face now, letting you ride him to your oblivion. You pant and gasp against the gag in your mouth, and tears of pleasure wet the blindfold as you finally careen into your orgasm, the sensation like being thrown head-first off of a cliff into the vastness of empty space.

It's a minute before you come to. It's been long enough for Kyle to untie your wrists and remove the blindfold and gag. When you open your eyes, he is kneeling in front of you, you hands in his as he rubs the vague ligature marks showing there.

"Did I do okay?" Kyle's eyes watch your face. "You were out longer than usual."

"It was perfect," you asure him with a smile. "When can we do it again?"

Tick.

"...Brenda made a good point about my thighs, I'm getting cellulite or some shit and look gross..."

Tick.

"...now I'm just convinced that I'm not going to go anywhere in my career. I'm a failure."

Tick.

You cut your rambling off with a weary sigh, but you feel better than you have in a while. Johnny pulls you over to his side with an arm around your shoulders.

"mmmm you smell good," you murmur, nuzzling Johnny with your nose a little. "What are you-- woah!"

Mid-sentence, you're pulled from leaning against Johnny's shoulder, to leaning over his lap, ass in the air.

"Johnny? What the fuck?" You try to sit up, but a form hand between your shoulder lades stops you.

"Ye've been bad-mouthing my best friend for quite some time, now," Johnny opens his sketchbook, and points to the list of eleven talley-marks. "In the past hour, ye said eleven self deprecating comments. So, ye get eleven spanks to this pretty ass."

You're silent, eyes wide as you contemplate the turn in events.

"and ye are going to count them, out loud." His breath skims the shell of your ear. "And thank me for each one."

Before you can catch your breath to even respond, a sharp, stinging slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp, brain scrambling before you remember your instructions.

Johnny chuckles as you squeak out a "one, thank you!" You buttcheek already smarts, and Johnny is not using a light hand.

Another solid smack, and you jump in his hold. "Two... Thank you!"

Spanks three and four aren't too bad. But five causes tears to actually well into your eyes. Johnny notices the hitch in your throat, and rubs his hand over your stinging flesh.

"Yhat's yer color, Bonnie?"

Your "green" is a little squeakier than intended, but Johnny trusts your word, and the next several smacks are in quick succession, alternated between cheeks.

Fuck, what number was that again? You try to count in your head, but you can't remember.

"I'm waiting." Johnny's tone is husky and dark. "You remember the rule of you forget?"

Your mouth dry, you nod.

"then let's start again. We still have those comments you made to talk about. Count out loud, starting from one..."

It's going to hurt to sit tomorrow, but the slick running between your thighs will soon coat Johnny's fingers, and you will have no complaints then

You're sure that if you stood up, a lewd schlick would be audible from the arousal pooling between your legs. All the same, you shift your position in your seat, stifling a groan as the toys inside you shift along with your movements, pressing into new places.

"You feeling okay, sugarplum?" Your eyes jump from your plate to the face of your grandfather, who is the host for the dinner that you and John are attending. "You're looking a little flushed."

"Y-yeah, I'm alright." You get to your feet, biting your lip to hide your grimace. "It's a bit warm, I'm going to get some fresh air, I'll be right back."

Waving to your grandparents, you duck out of the dining room and walk down the hall to the back porch. Out in the breeze, you lean on the railing to collect yourself.

A small gasp escapes you as the butt plug suddenly starts vibrating, pairing with the vibrator already plugged in your pussy, which means that John--

"Fresh air, hm?" The heat of his body is behind you, pinning your trembling frame against the railing. "You do seem a bit red in the face, love."

"John..." You whine, pouting up at your lover. "Please... I'm sorry for being a brat..." Pleasure trembles down your legs. "Please turn them off, I'll be good, I promise!"

"oh love," John's voice is a pleasing rumble to your ears, even as his words spell your demise. "I think you've still got some attitude yet." His calloused fingers grasp your chin, tilting your gaze up to meet his. His smirk sends shivers down your spine.

"John please..." You feel tears well up in your eyes. "Please I need you."

"horny little brats don't get to chose when they get fucked," John raises his eyebrows at you, them leans forward to whisper in your ear "Their captains however..." You shudder when he emphasises his rank. "They get to choose when the little brats get to cum."

John leaves you on shaky legs, with just a patt to your bottom, and a wish for you to "come inside soon, love." As the door slides closed behind him, you feel the toys lurch in intensity, and his chuckle rings through your grandparents's home at your yelp of shock

Well, I procrastinated this lol

You yourself don't tend to wear it a whole lot. But Simon? You think Simon would live in leather for the rest of his life if he could.

Some of his leather is functional, like his protective motorcycle gear. His boots and jacket always carry the musk of leather polish and metal.

Other leather items are more... aesthetic. Leather pants that suffocate his thighs and ass. A cuff bracelet that can be turned into leather cuffs for bondage, a "spicy friendship bracelet" as he jokingly called it once.

Regardless of the item, if its leather, you love it.

The house is quiet, and remains so as you soft-foot your way to the bedroom. Warm lamplight fills the room when you flick a switch, revealing a magnificent German Shepherd drooling all over your favorite pillow in his sleep.

"Radar! Get down!" The dog startles at your voice, and is off the bed before he seems fully awake. He then snuffles you affectionately with a yawn. "Hello to you too, Mr. Trouble." You glance at Simon's bedside table, seeing it bare of his personal effects. "I guess its just you and I for a bit."

Radar, thankfully, does not reply back to you in English, but simply nudges your hand before leaving the room. Moments later you hear the sound of his dog bed rustling, and then his earth-shaking sigh. You promptly switch out both pillow and pillowcase for spares in the linen closet. You may love the dog, but you dont exactly love his slobber.

You slip into your nightly routine fairly easily, warming up leftovers for yourself and getting ready for the following day. While organizing the office the two of you share, you come across an unfamiliar jacket lying on Simon's desk. As you approach, you're hit with a very strong smell of leather. The musk startles you, breath hitching in your throat as a warmth burns in your cheeks.

Bemused with your own intense reaction, you settle in Simon's chair and gather the coat to your face. It still has a tag on it, though you don't see a price listed.

Each inhale of the jacket's scent seems to go to your head, a dizzying sensation that has you leaning back in the chair. You close your eyes, focusing on the scent. Imagining the jacket on Simon is not hard to do. A man of his stature would appear the size of a mountain, broad-shouldered and towering over everyone. The dark clothing only serves to make him appear even larger than usual.

The leather is cool under your touch as you press the sleeve against your cheek, biting your lip as you breathe deeply.

Now you're imagining the bar where you and Simon met, one of the sketchy bathrooms with a lock that seems dubious. Simon stands behind you, wearing Kevlar riding gear and the leather jacket, motorcycle helmet still in place. You cant see his expression behind the tinted visor, but the way his hands ghost over your body betray his desire, rough palms gripping your hips and pulling you back into his undoubtedly throbbing erection.

Fuck. Now you're horny, and Simon isn't back yet. You drop the jacket into your lap, trying to get a breath of fresh air. You can feel the burn of a blush creeping down your neck to your chest, a sure sign of your arousal.

"Dammit, pull it together," You grumble to yourself. All the same, when you get up and exit the office, you bring the jacket with you. There in your bedroom, you succumb to your desire, stripping out of your clothes so you can lie on the bed with nothing between you and the jacket you now hold.

Eyes closed, you hold the collar of the jacket to your nose, the scent flooding your brain. The sleeve of the jacket you grasp in your dominant hand, and begin to drag the leather against your heated and sensitive skin.

"H-oh..." The whimper comes unbidden, a breathy sound escaping your parted lips as your skin seems to tingle under the touch of the leather. You press a little harder into the leather's touch, wishing it were Simon's hands on you. His riding gloves have this roughness to them that would make his grip on your heated skin even more exquisite.

You whimper, the noise shrill in the quiet bedroom as you begin to rub the jacket sleeve against your swollen clit, pleasure radiating up your spine and through your limbs.

In your gaze of pleasure, you don't notice the front door opening and closing; you don't hear Radar's woof of greeting, or the heavy thud of boots on the hardwood.

"Well what do we have here?" You tense in shock as a weight presses down on your chest, and your eyes fly open as you shriek. Simon, still in full riding gear, peers down at you through his visor, gaze fixed where his gloved hand is planted on your sternum-right between your breasts.

"Honey!" Your voice sounds unnaturally high and shrill. "I didn't know when you were coming home--"

"Don't. Move."

You freeze, having been previously trying to scooch out from under Simon's hand. Being unable to see his expression, but being on full view to him... It's almost like being blindfolded. You can read his body language sort of, but not his face. The skull printed on his helmet stares down at you.

"Having fun without me, Birdie?" Simon pulls a yelp from you as he tugs on your erect nipple. The abrasiveness of his glove makes you whimper again.

"Only a little..." Simon's hand suddenly skims your body, his gloved thumb pressing into your clit harshly. You can't help the helpless roll of your hips as you seek out pleasure. "Simon, please." You pout adorably up at him, hands reaching for the visor of his helmet.

"Needy," Simon scolds, shaking his head and stepping away from you and out of reach. "Needy little wife."

You pout again, folding your arms over your breasts, squeezing them together on purpose.

"Price gave me that jacket, n'know?" Simon's voice is a rumbling growl. "Kind of you to break it in for me." His loved hand is in your hair then, and you're being pulled from the bed and made to kneel, right on top of Simon's riding boot.

"you're gonna rub that pretty little pussy on my boots, and you're going to polish that leather until it shines, won't you?"

The material is already abrasive against your sensitive clit, but with Simon still holding you on your knees, there's little left to do than obey. With a wanton moan, you succumb to the list, rolling your clit over and over the shoe, the scent of the jacket strong in your nose.

"Open."

The taste of leather and grime on your tongue makes you grimace as Simon sticks his middle and ingex finger into your mouth. But you suck obediently as the musk quickly joins the intoxicating scent

"good little whore, eh?" Simon chuckles deeply, watching you rut on his show and suckle on his fingers. "Are you going to cum for me?"

You whine, nodding your head as your hips pick up speed. Simon smirks at you, letting you chase your high and indulge. Your climax begins to approach in a rush, and you whimper and moan around the gloved fingers in your mouth. Simon tilts his toe up and pulls back on your hair, a moaning shriek escaping you as your climax washes over you, and you're suddenly no longer gagged.

Your cry echoes through the house as you say against Simon's thigh, his hand now patting your head as you recover shakily.

"I'll tell the cap'n that the missus likes the new jacket."

Author's Note:

If you made it this far thank you, lol. This will be my first attempt at several things, including posting my own naughty shit instead of reblogging other's naughty shit, and beginning my first writing challenge. My goal is to try and post once a day for each day in october. Will it happen? Fuck if i know, but I'm gonna try

"Help yourself," You lean back in your seat, silently cursing the 8-hour dilemma you've put yourself in by flying economy. "But I'll warn you, I snore." The sky outside your open windowshade is darkening in the hues of sunset, and you're sure a cramped nap is in your near future.

The man only grins at you, his eyes flashing with mischief as he settles into the aisle seat, leaving a no-mans-land open between you. "Ah, dennae worry about that, lass. I've lived with chainsaws."

You help yourself to his exotic accent, your body buzzing with an unfamiliar tension as you take the man in. "Are you native to Glasgow?" You gesture to the destination indicated on the screen in front of you.

"Close enough," The man holds out his hand to you, calluses and striking scars catching your eye. "The name's John. But close friends and bonnie lasses such as yourself can call me Johnny."

You shake his hand out of politeness, and feel a shiver run down your spine as his hand easily dominates your own without even trying. Giving your name, you retract your hand to avoid the mortification of the Scott feeling the growing clamminess in your palms.

"What's bringin' a Bonnie lass like yourself to good ol Glasgow? I, myself, am visitin' me Ma and sisters. Spent Christmas with a friend here in the States."

You grin, your eyes lighting up. "I'm going to the Hogmany event in Edinburgh."

"Are ye now?" Johnny's eyebrows raise, a grin spreading on his face. "It's been a minute since I've seen those celebrations." He glances away from your face, turning to face the flight attendant who is asking him to buckle his lap belt. With an easy smile, he obliges, twisting his torso to face the front.

Fingers drumming on the armrest, you absently pay attention to the safety demonstration, making your final preparations in settling down for the long flight.

The plane jolts as it begins taxiing backwards and towards the appropriate runway. You're conscious of every bump and sway of the craft, popping a piece of gum into your mouth to chew away the bubbling anxiety.

"Ever been on a plane before?" Johnny's eyes scan your face, noting the beads of sweat that are forming along your hairline.

"Mhm." As the plane turns onto the main runway, your jaw tightens. Your nervous tapping has turned into a death-grip on the armrest. The plane pauses it's movement for a breath, long enough for whatever communication is needed between the pilots and the tower, and then you're picking up speed, back pressing into your seat.

Fuck I hate this part. You squeeze your eyes shut. Fuck.. fuck.. fuck...

A warm hand covers yours, a grounding force. His thumb strokes circles along your wrist, the gentle but firm pressure distracting from the swooping feeling in your stomach as the wheels leave the ground.

"Focus on yer breathin'," Johnny has lent over, his voice right near your ear. "In through the nose, and out through the mouth,"

Your stomach tightens into a painful knot, and you force a deep breath in, hold it, and then exhale slowly, Johnny's hand tightening on yours in encouragement.

It goes on like this for several minutes, the low-voiced stranger coaching your breathing, guiding you through the anxiety. The plane levels out, forcing your stomach into one final roll, and you let out a weary sigh.

"Do you need one of them paper bags?" Johnny is peering at your clammy face. "Yer lookin' a bit green 'round the gills."

You roll your shoulders, releasing the tension there as much as you can, before stooping to grab your water bottle that you'd filled post-TSA. You then take a sip from the insulated thermos, rinsing the chalky tang from your mouth.

"I think I'm fine," you manage, braving a peek out the window, at the ground far, far below. The shade is closed with little preamble. "Just a travel enthusiast who has a fear of flying and heights."

Johnny chuckles at the resignation in your tone. "The gods can be cruel. Do you fly often?"

"Not if I have other means available, such as ground travel. But sometimes you've got to go by air, if not by boat." You stroke the edge of a sticker applied to your thermos. "I've flown enough to be able to cope with the bad bits and push through."

"The risk is worth the reward, aye?"

"Always."

The conversation lulls, and a sense of heaviness settles over you as the initial adrenaline rush begins to ebb away. The sound of the filtered air, the darkness of the cabin, a few reading lights on here or there. Soft, lulled conversation soothes the frayed nerves.

Digging into your backpack, you pull out a thin travel blanket to cover yourself, fishing out headphones before pulling the hood of your jacket up to cover your eyes and the majority of your face.

"Do ye want to be woken when they bring the trolley 'round?"Johnny appears to be settling back into his own chair, a large, leather-bound sketchbook in his lap, a pencil already gripped in his fingers.

"Please," You agree sleepily, before leaning sideways to rest your temple against the plane wall.

Your playlist thrums through your headphones, taking up the space in your brain usually occupied with anxiety while in the air. Floating on the music, you drift off.

A hand on your shoulder rouses you. "...?" You blink your eyes open, massaging a crick out of your neck.

"The lass with the cart is here, do ye want anything?" Johnny's hand is warm in your shoulder, even through your jacket.

You end up only asking for a cold ginger ale to settle your stomach and to quench the sweet tooth you're feeling, gratefully taking the drink and bringing it to your lips.

"Never liked ginger ale," Johnny makes a face.

"Well then it's clear you have shit taste then," you make a show of taking a sip and sighing in pleasure.

Johnny's eyes linger on your lips, where some residual drops of your drink shine. When your tongue flicks out to lick it away, his eyes darken noticeably.

"Maybe when we can land, I can show you a proper good time, decent drinks included."

"Do you insult all your target's drinks, just to offer them a better one?" There's a teasing list to your tone.

"Och! Yer hardly a target, lass." Johnny feigns being wounded, leaning back with his hand on his chest. "Simply a Bonnie wee Hen who might enjoy a personal tour guide."

"That's serial killer material right there." Splaying your hands, you do a fake-newscaster voice "Today at six! A young woman is fucking stupid and gets herself killed by A sexy scottish slasher!"

Johnny rubs a hand over his face, wearing a thoughtful expression as he gives you an exaggerated once-over.

"Dennae ken... I think you are too Bonnie of a specimen to kill." There's a smirk curling his lips. "Maybe the slasher kidnaps ye and keeps ye as a sweet little pet in a cellar somewhere?"

Your throat goes a little dry, tongue a heavy weight even as it seems to stick to the roof of your mouth. A sip of your ginger ale helps, the fizz reviving you a little from the sudden fluster. Johnny chuckles victoriously, and you let him have this one.

You pull out a crossword puzzle book you'd bought years ago, having been pulled out from under a pile of magazines under your bed. "I didn't abandon you," you rebuke the cover of the book, getting a side-eye from Johnny.

"Is the book sentient?" He raises an eyebrow. "Do I need to humor my grandma, and do some hail-Mary's?"

"Lets not poke the sacrilegious bear while in flight, hm?" You think of the miles stretching below you, stomach clenching. "If you get struck with lightning, we all go down with you."

That gets an undignified cackle out of Johnny, and a scathing look from a group of grandmas wearing headscarves. Oops.

Johnny only mutters something in a language you don't recognize. Curse or Prayer, it sparks something in your brain, catching the tinder that is your single-ness. Your eyes fixate on your phone screen to avoid making eye contact with Johnny and revealing your guilt. Even with his kind offer and his flirtations, you feel a little weird about wanting to jump his bones already.

"I'll take you up on that tour guide offer, if it's still open," The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Johnny only grins at you, and you take it as a 'yes', before returning your attention to your cell phone.

"I know we said something about sight seeing, but I think I might need a nap," You confess this to Johnny as you wait for your luggage to come down the baggage claim.

"Spendin' hours on a plane will do that to ye." Johnny agrees, keeping a careful eye on the baggage carousel. "And yer not quite done yet, lass. We've got the train left."

You groan, head lolling back on the wall. Your least favorite part about traveling the world: the traveling part.

"Cheer up," Johnny's hand shakes your shoulder. "The train is less than an hour, and I see our luggage now. Lemme get 'em."

Before you can protest, the man is shouldering his way through the crowd, snagging up your suitcase. It's flaunting your favorite color, underneath a steadily growing collection of stickers from places you have traveled. Johnny slings an olive-green duffel bag over his shoulder, and then grins at you, your case in hand.

"There's a station on Queen Street where I'll be meeting a friend of mine..." Johnny frowns. "Damn I've over-committed."

"What do you mean?"