Breaking and Entering, Part 2

Part 1

~~~

“Good. I’m counting on your assistance and your reliability as a witness.” I raise myself on tiptoes and kiss him very lightly on the lips. I am struck for a moment by how soft his lips are. I might need to come back for more of that. But later. Right now we have work to do. I look up at him and smile conspiratorially. “Now, be a dear and flip that switch over there. I think we need some music.”

He does this, and the first strains of Nekked’s “A Boy Can Dream” fill the room.

Now you might like to know that typically in BDSM scenes I much more often bottom than top, but there is nothing that brings out the top in me more than a cocky young man who is beautiful and knows it. I issue my first real commend to Jay. “Undress me. Slowly.”

He stands before me and looks into my eyes and then he leans to kiss me, and while this does not quite follow my instruction, I allow it because his lips are so soft and warm and his kiss is so firm, and because it is only a small kiss. But it reminds me that he is a man who knows what he wants and who is used to getting it. I will need to be careful with him.

His hands pull my shirt from my jeans and glide up my sides. Had I been planning this meeting I would have worn something with buttons and zippers, and I am impressed as he carefully, gracefully, pulls my turtleneck over my head exposing the black leather corset. I love this corset, and the matte leather shows that it has been well worn but well cared for. Jay steps back a moment to look, and I imagine what he sees: long dark auburn hair spilling over pale shoulders, small, pert breasts pushed up by framing of the corset, which disappears into the waistline of my jeans.

I try to size him up a bit. He is being very methodical, and not at all hesitant. If he is waging some internal struggle between his desire to pull me in to him and take control on the one hand, and his desire to find out exactly what I can give him if he cooperates, he is not showing it yet. His fingers slide along the inside of the waistband of my jeans until the reach the button which he grasps and opens without breaking eye contact. For a brief moment I am the one who struggles. I struggle with a sudden urge to give myself over to the force of his masterful, self-composed strength. A deep breath and that moment passes and I watch as his eyes drop and he lowers himself to his knees and slides my jeans off my hips.

He pulls the wide legs over my knee-high leather boots as gracefully as he removed my turtleneck, and I step easily out of them. I can see has some skill at undressing women. His face is just inches from my exposed cunt, framed by corset and garters and stockings, and now, for the first time, he begins to give in to his own lust. He lets himself lean forward and takes a deep breath and comes dangerously close to brushing his lips against my body when I grab his hair and pull his head back so that he is suddenly looking up at me.

“No.”

Fingers still grasping his hair, which is almost too short and gelled to get a good grip on, I lower myself to his level, sitting on my heels. “No, Jay. I told you only to undress me. It is very important that you follow instructions exactly.” I am talking to him almost as if he is a child, a soft-yet-scolding tone. “If you don’t, we will have to stop. Do you understand?”

His eyes drop a moment. Now he is struggling. He seems to be embarrassed at being told no, and feeling the first strains of real discomfort with not being in charge. A blush creeps up his neck and darkens his face and it takes him a moment to answer.

But he does answer, meeting my eyes again and with a clear, strong voice he says, “Yes, Molly. I understand.”

“All right then,” I say quietly as I stand. A tug on his hair signals him to stand as well. I begin to unbutton his dress shirt. “David, please hand me those cuffs there, will you?” I point to a set of leather cuffs draped over the bench. He does this with a look of solemnity that would have made me laugh if it weren’t so sweet. He is clearly taking his friend’s experience very seriously.

“Jay,” I begin as I continue slowly unbuttoning his shirt, “I’m going to cuff you to that bar there so I can start warming you up. Have you ever been restrained before?” I say these words in the tone one might use to speak to a patient in a doctor’s office, soothing, encouraging, informing. But I also want to hear him explicitly offer his consent before proceeding, partly because I can tell this will difficult for him to do. “Jay, I will only move forward if you tell me you want me to. Do you want me to cuff you to that bar there?”

He knows his friend is listening, watching, just off to the side, and so looking straight at me, as if with blinders, he swallows and says in a still-firm voice, “Yes, Molly, please.” I slide his shirt from his shoulders, take a moment to admire the taut muscles under the t-shirt that I will leave him in, for now, and bind his wrists in front of him. I lead him a few steps away and clip the chain that links the cuffs together to a ring on a bar about a foot above his head.

He can turn and he can flex, but he cannot move from the spot. I step back to admire his lean body, his arrogantly attractive face, and to make some choices. This gives him the opportunity to take a long look at me, as well. There is an electricity in the air between us, and it fairly crackles when I make my decision, reach into my bag, and pull out a blindfold and my butterfly knife: beautiful black handles inlaid with silver infinity symbols. I flick the catch and with three swift movements I open it. I lay the knife across my open hands and step forward so he can look at it closely. There is fear in his eyes, uncertainty really, but also a certain kind of admiration, and wry humor in his voice as he reads out loud the words engraved on the blade:

“Pity the timid”

“Trust, discipline and concentration: those are the things we will work on first,” I tell him, as I tie the blindfold behind his head. I have tucked the knife in his front pants pocket, blade open, pointed up, and told him not to move. He is very still as I remove his sight.

I reach into his pocket and let my hand linger against his thigh for a moment before withdrawing the knife. I let the flat edge of the blade slide against the thin fabric of his pocket and I hear his breath get shallower the first time the tip catches on the cotton.

Knife in hand I step away from him for a moment. “Listen carefully Jay. The knife is open. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” he says in a voice that is slow and serious all of a sudden. I close it with a single motion. Snap.

“And now it’s closed. Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Good. It’s very important that you are always aware of whether the knife is open or closed.” I open it. A swooshing sound as the handle and then the blade swing through their arcs, and a snapping sound as the handles click together. “Now?” I ask. “Open,” he says. I close it again and move around him. I open the knife and close it, moving closer and farther, from one side to the other, letting him hear the differences, letting his hearing become the center of his perception for a few minutes. Jay catches on quickly and his concentration is as sharp as the knife. I step close behind him. “Open or closed?” He straightens and tenses. “Open,” he says, with intense and quiet certainty as I lay the flat edge of the blade across the back of his neck. I trace a line, lightly, down his spine. His t-shirt is a tight-fitting muscle shirt and it won’t take much pressure for the sharp knife to cut the thin fabric.

I make my first cut in an arc that starts to the left of his spine and moves along the edge of his shoulder blade, down and around to his side. He breathes in sharply. “Trust is very important in this project, Jay. It is important that you trust me to cut the shirt and not your skin. I will not do anything that will mark your body without your consent. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitating.

“Discipline is very important as well,” I tell him. “You mustn’t move. Stay perfectly still.” I step around beside him, tracing the knife under his arm. The second cut begins just below his collarbone and traces the arc of his pectoral. I see his nipples harden under the cotton. I use the knife to lift the flap of fabric I’ve created and I let my tongue flick at the hard bit of flesh. I sense the effort he is using to avoid movement. I enjoy myself immensely as I cut his t-shirt until it hangs in shreds. I make one last cut at the neckline and it falls away.

I use the blade of the knife to unbuckle his belt and then to pull it free of the loops. It falls to the floor by his feet. I slide my free hand up and down his chest a moment, letting it rest over his heart. I can feel it the rhythm of his pulse and the heat of his body. I smell the salty rich scent of his sweat and excitement. I unbutton his dress pants and let them fall, then instruct him to step out of them. He seems relieved that they are not destined for the same fate as his t-shirt.

But his relief lasts only a moment before I slide the knife inside the slit front of his boxers and lay the flat of it against his straining cock. I turn the blade so that the tip pierces the fabric and slice toward myself, cutting a second slit in his shorts. He tries very hard to swallow a gasp. I place the blade flat between his waistband and his flesh and draw it around his body to the back. He does not move as I cut again, slicing his shorts along a path that traces the crack of his ass. His breathing is shallow, but he does not move. I kneel behind him and praise him with a kiss on the small of his back, gathering the saltiness onto my tongue. “You are delicious,” I tell him.

I slide the elastic band over his hips, and he steps out of what is now nothing more than a rag on the floor. He stands there naked, hands bound above his head, rags at his feet, and I take a moment to circle him, admiring his body. He is tanned, with smooth skin stretched over taut lean muscle. His nipples are small and hard, like little metal studs. His cock is hard, as long as my hand, and thick. And, I note, it is intact. An extra delight!

As I walk around him I open and close the knife, mostly because I like the motion, but I note that he is still concentrating on the sound. “Open or closed?” I quiz him when I come to a stop right in front of him. I step close and inhale his scent and then let my lips brush his very slowly and very softly. “Open,” he says. And he is correct. And I reach around to slide the blade under the blindfold just behind his ear and slowly pull the cloth free.

There is something new in his eyes when I remove the blindfold. Where before there was a kind of cocky, smirking confidence underlined by a trace of the fear of the unknown, now there is a humbler, curious and open look. I am pleased by the transition.

I lean in to kiss him, and when I do, it is a deep, demanding sort of kiss and his yielding is more fluid than it was before. There is now a sort of pleading or seeking to it. I wonder if David is noting any of the same changes I am seeing in his friend.

I break our kiss and look into these new-seeing eyes, and note the gold flecks in their green depths for the first time. He is a more complex person than my initial assessment of him indicated. “Jay,” I begin slowly, “I’m going to take you down from there now.” I unfasten the clip from the bar but do not unbind his hands. I hold the chain of the cuffs in my hand. He rolls his shoulders to stretch his stiffened muscles and I allow him a moment to do this before tugging the chain to remind him that he is still under my control. He looks at me quietly, questioning.

“You’ve done very well so far,” I praise him and he smiles. “You’ve shown me that you can trust me, that you have the discipline to do what I tell you, and that you can retain your concentration and not slip away on me.” I stop a moment for him to take in the praise, and so that I can enjoy the small smile that finds its way across his lips. “That is very important because of what comes next. I need you to be fully present, and fully trusting. I think you are ready for that. Do you agree?”

“Yes, I think so,” he tells me.

I give a sharp yank on the cuff chain to throw him off balance while I slap his ass with the flat of my hand. “There is no room for uncertainty, Jay. Either you are ready or you are not.” He stumbles forward.

“Yes, yes, I am ready,” he says quickly. He looks like he is trying not to appear wounded. He had clearly enjoyed the praise I gave him and now seems upset that he’s lost it. So be it. He will have to earn it back. He will be glad for it when he does.

~(coming soon: Part 3Part 4)~

~ by Molly Montrevoir on June 30, 2008.

3 Responses to “Breaking and Entering, Part 2”

  1. […] soon:~ Part 2 – Part 3 – Part […]

  2. […] and Entering, Part 4 (the end, for now) Part 1 – Part 2 – Part […]

  3. […] Breaking and Entering, Part 3 Part 1 – Part 2 […]

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