Hécuba

I filled my lungs and let the air out slowly through my nose. Better not get my hopes up, better rein in my imagination before it flew too high and too fast, carrying me into dreams too sweet to be true. It wasn’t good that I could already feel the pressure of ropes on my wrists, not when I didn’t even know what this was all about.

That’s why I had restrained my desire to wait for him not sitting but kneeling, hands behind my back, in an offering I was dying to make.

“Stick to the facts, Hécuba,” I told myself, trying to push through my own emotional battle built from illusions and expectations. “Focus on the music, for example.”

Before I could, the vibrations of a sequence of footsteps reached me through the floor and, without meaning to, I tensed up, stretching like a meerkat.

Nothing. I sensed nothing more.

Or no. Wait. Was that pastry I just smelled? Yes, yes, I’m sure of it. Is he making me breakfast?

I felt the corners of my lips tighten and the flaring of my nostrils as I tried to extract more information.

More vibrations on the floor. Steps. Then a chair scraping, and finally, the wonderful aroma of coffee.

“I love you!” I said aloud, surely louder than usual since I couldn’t hear my own voice.

He took my hand and helped me up, his other hand on my hip. Afraid of hitting my shins against the little table, I shuffled in small steps, letting myself be guided to our small dining table.

But he didn’t seat me. Instead, he stood behind me, sliding his hands from my waist up to my shoulders, and I began to melt. He removed my headphones and the warmth of his breath touched my ears.

“And I love you, babe.”

He kissed me from behind, between my neck and shoulder, one hand slipping inside my blouse to close around one breast while the other squeezed my ass from the curve at the top of my thigh.

I sighed and reached behind me, rubbing his cock through his pajama pants with my palm, but he gently took my wrist, stopping me from fully tending to his growing erection.

“Today, you are the protagonist,” I heard whispered directly into my ear.

He made me feel more than special. Unique. And I blinked rapidly under the blindfold, holding back the tears of happiness and excitement that threatened to escape my eyelids.

A subtle but unmistakable touch on my shoulder sent a shiver through my entire body. The feel of a rope bundle. I froze. I fractured. I broke apart. Too long without them. Please, please, let it not be a cruel joke… I wouldn’t answer for myself if he were only doing this to tease me…

All that tension melted away when he guided my hands behind my back, and I trembled like jelly.

I was so stunned, so dazed, that I wasn’t even aware he was tying me. First my wrists, then my ankles.

“Thank you…” I begged more than I thanked. Finally. Finally my bondage detox was over…

“Don’t thank me, really. You’ve behaved like a true champion. You have every reason to be proud, you haven’t complained once this whole time.”

I felt him sit down, and, pulling on my bonds, he asked me to join him. My ass barely fit between his legs, but I loved being like that, sharing the chair together.

His arms came around me and I heard the clinking of cutlery.

“Open your mouth.”

I obeyed reflexively and the warm, crunchy texture of a croissant filled my palate. Again, like a fool, I felt the urge to cry. He made me feel like a little girl, and I loved it.

I chewed slowly, savoring it, while he kindly played with one of my nipples. He rested his head on my shoulder and wiped my lips with a napkin.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he said, cheeks full of his own bite.

I nodded with a smile flooding my face while, between bites, he alternated spicy and tender caresses on my breasts and my sex.

“I’m sure it didn’t turn out as good as when you make it, but still, I hope you like it.”

Sliding a finger into my mouth, he tugged at my lower lip and then placed the circular rim of a cup against it. The aroma of coffee hit my nose and, with great care, he tilted it little by little. It was delicious, though I was rationally aware that, in my current state, anything would taste like pure glory.

His hand slipped inside my panties and I jolted, threatening to spill the cup’s contents. I waited for him to withdraw so I could breathe and gasp, but instead he went deeper, his fingertip gently pressing my clit.

“Shall we skip to dessert?” he whispered in my ear before kissing my neck, tracing small circles inside my underwear.

The scratch of his beard tickled and I squirmed with laughter I couldn’t tell if born of nerves or pleasure, but with his free hand he gripped my waist and with his legs trapped mine. His finger sped up and my lips sealed, holding back a moan.

His arm slid under my breasts, lifting them. His lips never ceased on my neck, and I stretched my throat and my whole body, as if wanting to slide off the chair. I spread my knees as far as my ankle ties allowed, offering myself to him.

I began to tremble with small spasms as he electrified my whole being with each caress on my pleasure button. Now his other hand attacked my breast with passion, squeezing, kneading, pressing.

Then, as if it were a punishment, he stopped abruptly and lifted me from the chair.

I protested with a whimper, but quickly realized my mistake and lowered my head in apology.

He untied my ankles and, after that, pulled at the elastic of my panties, dragging them down. I lifted one foot, then the other, to make it easier for him.

Without a word, he pushed me back onto the chair, opened my mouth, stuffed the panties inside, and spread my legs.

“Don’t you dare spit them out.”

I obeyed, opening my jaw wider, clamping them tighter between my teeth so not a single bit stuck out, so I could close my lips completely.

With his arms he wrapped my thighs, placing his head between them. He blew slowly, steadily over my sex, and I thought I would die.

He was kneeling. He had knelt for me.

A finger slid between my lower lips and disappeared inside. Then it pulled out, twisting, and went back in with a rhythmic motion that drove me insane.

And then his tongue arrived. With one long, deliberate lick from bottom to top, he paused, drew it back into his mouth, and sucked my clit between his lips.

The intensity of pleasure was so great I struggled to breathe through my nose alone. My heart was racing so fast that when he began to circle with his fingertip at my entrance while his tongue worked my clit, I squeezed my legs, trying to push him away.

He clawed at my thighs, forcing me into place, and I tried to relax but it was impossible. A long, high-pitched, endless moan escaped from my self-gagged mouth, I didn’t know whether from desperation, pleasure, or both together.

I couldn’t. I couldn’t take any more.

I needed a break, I needed him to stop for a few seconds so my pulse could drop and my chest wouldn’t feel like it would burst. I pushed my ass back into the chair and shook my head violently, panties half-spilling from my mouth. I move my tied hands in front of me and I tugged at his hair, his ear, anything I could reach.

“Stop. Stop, please,” I begged, unsure if he understood.

But he didn’t let go. His arms as tight as my thighs forced me completely open for him. His tongue pressed hard against my button, moving side to side, and his finger pistoned in and out of my sex like a locomotive.

“Cum.”

What? Wait, did I hear right? My clouded mind couldn’t grasp it. From the pleasure, from the fact that orgasm had been denied to me for over 300 days.

“Cum,” he commanded again, between licks.

I needed no more. My belly and chest convulsed with violent spasms, my wrists twisted as far as the ropes allowed, my fingers arched in a silent grimace of bliss, and I collapsed, motionless. Defeated.

His tongue stopped and he kissed the insides of my thighs before gently removing the gag and the blindfold.

I hadn’t realized my eyes had been closed the whole time.

“I love you, babe.”

And holding my cheeks, we kissed satisfied. Tender. Without lust.

I smiled at him, once again holding back tears.

I won’t lie—I've had some bad days where I’ve longed for him to tie me up, but overall, I think I’ve handled it fairly well. However, what I haven’t stopped doing is thinking about how to end this ridiculous imposed detox as soon as possible. My owner is incredibly patient, and I know he can stretch this game far beyond what I can imagine. But I refuse to resign myself. I accept his decision, of course—he owns my body—but not my mind or my thoughts. So after discarding many clever but ineffective ideas, I made the decision that evening to try to make him change his mind.

First, a bit of background for the reader: one of my owner’s favorite punishments is tying me to a chair next to him while he plays on his computer, which bores me to death. So the plan was as follows: he’d arrive home from work in the evening, and I—dressed in casual home clothes—booted up his computer, launched his game, prepare a cold beer, a glass and placed it on his desk along with some snacks. My idea was to voluntarily submit myself to his favorite punishment. Bondage was forbidden, but I decided to play the symbolism card. I tied only one ankle to the leg of the chair and gagged myself with a simple cleave gag. I could easily free myself from both since my hands were left untied, but the symbolism was obvious: I would remain seated and silent until he decided otherwise. I also chose not to dress provocatively, to make it clear I wasn’t trying to seduce him with my feminine charms.

I stayed like that for a while—partially tied and gagged—until I heard the door open. He greeted me from the entrance and I didn’t respond. Curious, he noticed the light in his study was on and came in. The surprised smile on his face was very sweet, and I returned it with a wink. With my hands completely free and without uttering a word, I gestured toward the computer and everything I had prepared for him. He gave me a warm kiss on the cheek, thanked me, and went to change. He’s truly a sweetheart... when he’s not going out of his way to drive me crazy. But who am I kidding? I like that he drives me crazy...

During the whole time he spent playing on his computer, I actively avoided looking at the clock so time wouldn’t pass even more slowly. Watching him kill monsters on screen is mind-numbingly boring... I endured it, and every time he paused and looked back at me, I smiled in return.

What I didn’t expect was that when he finished the game, he simply left the room, turned off the light, and left me alone in the dark. I could untie myself whenever I wanted—that was completely within my power—but I knew I shouldn’t. So I swallowed my anger, my pride, and a few insults, and waited in the dark for him to want to see me again. During that whole time, as rage coursed through my veins, I focused on the thought that I was better off in the dark than watching him play that damn game...

"Oh, you're still here?" he asked after a long while from the doorway.

His voice was mocking, and he didn’t even try to hide the mischievous grin he always gets when he’s trying to mess with me. I squinted and clenched my teeth as if his question had offended me, then shrugged coquettishly, dropping the act.

"Untie yourself and make dinner, please."

He didn’t even have the decency to untie me himself. Unbelievable.

That’s where my plan ended. I hadn’t thought beyond that point. I figured it would be enough to melt him a little and maybe lead him to bring up the whole detox topic—but clearly, it wasn’t. So now what? I had no choice but to keep playing the same card: showing him how much I love being his submissive.

Once free, I went to the living room, where he was already sitting on the couch, flipping through channels. I took a cushion, placed it at his feet, knelt on it, rested my chin on his knee, and reached my hands up to the waistband of his pants, hooking my fingers under the elastic.

“Would you prefer my mouth now as an appetizer, or perhaps later as dessert?"

I smiled sweetly, awaiting his answer—and he didn’t disappoint. I saw delight and gratitude in his eyes before he cupped my chin and gave me a warm, gentle kiss.

“Appetizer, please.”

I pulled his pants down and pleased him with more tenderness than lust.

Afterward, I prepared some finger food for dinner—quick but filling—and we ate together on the couch while watching a show of his choice, as always.

By then, I was completely relaxed and simply enjoying the evening. After dinner, I lay down on the couch and rested my head on his lap, savoring the warm and intimate feeling of his fingers combing gently through my hair.

The show was good—not my kind, but I liked the soundtrack and loved the dynamic between the main characters. I had already accepted defeat and concluded that my actions weren’t going to prompt any reaction from him... when one finally came.

“So, what would you prefer—continue the bondage detox or switch to chastity?”

I turned on his lap to look him in the eyes. I was about to blurt out an instinctive answer but stopped myself in time, placing a finger on my lips. My owner loves dichotomies—he loves offering me a choice between two evils so I’ll pick the lesser one. What he didn’t know is that I’ve played this game so many times that I’ve cracked the code. I knew exactly what to say. The trick is to analyze the pros and cons of each option thinking more about him than about me, and with that, let him decide for me.

“If I chose chastity, I’d be punishing you too, since I’d only have my hands and mouth to please you. But the detox affects me more than it affects you—I'm the one who enjoys being tied much more than you enjoy tying me. My body is always at your disposal, with or without ropes…”

I turned my head again and rubbed my cheek against his thigh, returning my gaze to the TV.

“You know better than I do what’s truly best for me.”

The seed was planted and watered—now all that was left was to watch it grow. Where would it take me? That was no longer in my hands. The only things under my control were my thoughts, my words, and my actions—and I couldn't have used them any better that evening.