Page 34 of Sicken of the Calm
By the time he’s done, one of mywrists is stacked over the other, making an X, the shirt wound so that I canrub the wrists together, but there’s little give. He’s used the pillowcase totie the bonded wrists to one of the posts that make up my headboard. I tug whenhe tells me to, and shake my head when he asks if it hurts. My voice is lostsomewhere inside me. I don’t know where the fear that’s creeping up on me iscoming from, but the level of vulnerability I’m feeling has suddenly turnedunpleasant.
“Not the most classic of ties,but there’s not enough for more. I’ll have to bring rope next time,” he sayswith a smirk, but he pauses a little when he looks at my face. He moves betweenmy legs again, always keeping a hand on me. I open my mouth, but I don’t knowwhat to say. One of his hands cups the side of my neck, the other using a thumbto brush under my eye. My eyes flutter a moment but don’t close. I feel a littletoo vulnerable for that. The thumb of the hand on my neck brushes against myjaw as the other explores tenderly, painting the shape of my eyebrow, my cheek,my lips. It cards through my hair, the back of his nails scraping gentlyagainst my scalp. It feels almost overwhelming to be the focus of such intenseattention as he looks at me like that, as if the world could be ending outsidethe window and he wouldn’t even glance.
He leans down and kisses me. It’ssoft, but not gentle, and it’s the confidence in his movements that settles me.This is Ezra. It doesn’t matter if I’m split open, naked and tied up becauseit’s him.
I can feel the tension seep outof me. Ezra must too, but he keeps kissing me, deep and slow, until we’re bothbreathless.
“Colour?” he asks as he pullsback, still inches from me.
“Green,” I say. There’s a slightsmile on his face, but I get the impression it would be there regardless of thecolour I had said. I smile back.
“I can get you out of itquickly,” he says. I nod. He leans down and we kiss for longer this time,languid sweeps of tongue, hot breath mixing between us. It feels like a balm,to have Ezra so close and attentive, so in tune. When he pulls back, my armsjerk a little, automatically wanting to get him closer again, and they strainagainst the restraints. He watches me, but instead of scary, the sensation ofbeing bound flourishes into the familiar sense of frustrated denial, of thesweet scent of vulnerability in the hands of someone I trust. He smiles, buthis eyes sharpen.
“How about this. I want you tocount to 60. When you hit 60, you can come, but not before then,” he says. Iraise my eyebrows.
“You’re going to make me come in60 seconds,” I say sceptically. The grin that stretches his lips should be awarning.
“When you count, each numbershould be a second. If you break that pace, stop, stumble or make any soundapart from a number, you start over. Every time that happens, I stop whateverI’m doing until you start counting again. Ok?” His eyes are disproportionallypredatory for the simple-sounding task.
“Ok…” I say, feeling like I’mmissing something. I can predict that I won’t get it right straight away, but Idon’t quite see where he’s going with this. My faithlessness, however, onlyseems to amuse him. I watch him move away for a moment to get the lube from mybedside table before settling between my legs again without leaning over me.
“You can start whenever youwant,” he says, his eyes twinkling.
Feeling a little silly, I do.“One, two, thr- Jesus!” I jolt as Ezra swallows me down in one, throat movingaround me. At the interrupted counting, he pulls off, an irritatingly smug lookon his face. I glare at him.
“You just took me by surprise,” Igrumble.
“Mmm-hmm,” he smirks. I startcounting testily.
“One, two, th-three,” I stumble alittle as he licks the head of my cock, but it’s obviously not enough to countas a loss. I only get to five, however, when Ezra rubs the pad of his thumbagainst my rim. It’s such a slight sensation, but it cuts my concentration,making me choke on the numbers. Ezra pulls off.
“Fuck,” I say irritably, moreabout pride than sexual frustration at this point. Ezra just looks at me untilI start counting again, one, two, three. His hand wraps around my dick, holdingme as he presses the flat of his tongue against the underside. I manage tosurvive it, but when he slips his thumb inside me, hooking it slightly right atthe rim, I make a noise, small but just enough to interrupt the counting. Ezralets me go immediately, my cock falling back toward my stomach.
“Fuck,” I say again, but thistime it’s all about wanting Ezra back on me. I haven’t even counted as far asten, I realize with a sinking stomach.
The previous smug look on Ezra’sface is making a lot more sense now.
I start counting again. Ezraslips his thumb in again, but I’m expecting it now. His hand and mouth returnto my cock but, these too, are known elements, and I get as far as nine when heswallows me down, deep throating me. I get to ten through pure force of willbut then he swallows around me and uses his thumb to tug on my rim at the sametime, a thunderclap of pleasure and discomfort. I moan, and he’s off me. Myhands yank against the ties for a moment before I slump on the bed.
I close my eyes and take a deepbreath. When I open them, I find Ezra, as ever, watching me. He doesn’t looksmug anymore. His eyes are dark, and it sends a shiver through me.
Fuck. I’m fucked.
“One, two…” I stop to lick mylips. Why is this so hard? “One, two,” I start again. This time, Ezra justwraps his hands around me and starts jerking me off, watching me all the while.The look pins me to the bed even more than the shirt around my wrists. Thepleasure starts growing, growing, both from his hand and the look in his eyes.I get to fifteen. Twenty. Thirty, almost, almost, and then the pace turnsruthless. Grip tight, flying over my dick, squeezing the head, and I can’t helpit, I cry out. Ezra releases me and the sound turns protesting, hips thrustingup to nothing, chasing the friction.
“Please, please,” I’m saying, andhis hand rubs my thigh as he shushes me gently, although I know it’s a calminginstead of a silencing sound. I settle, just feeling the hand on my thighbefore that, too, disappears.
How many minutes has it been? Thepleasure inside me has a hard, desperate edge to it now, although it’s more inpremonition than in time spent in this state.
I take a deep breath and startcounting again, fail two more times. I close my eyes.
Shit.
The next time I start counting,his mouth is back on me, but he takes me in shallowly, sliding half-way down mydick before coming up to suck on the head. I’m trembling, sweating. I neverimagined this would be so difficult. I thought counting would be practicallyautomatic, but doing it in an even pace takes a lot more concentration than Irealized, and the pleasure Ezra is building hijacks my brain in a way thatinterrupts all other functioning.
I feel the pads of two wetfingers –when did he even apply the lube?– and I try desperately toconcentrate on the numbers, seventeen, eighteen, but then they push insuddenly, together, slamming into me and I crack.
“No, please,” I say as theydisappear, wanting them back, wanting to feel them pump inside me, the stretchand the pleasure and the pain. “Fuck,” I say, panting. I try to get mybearings. I can do this. I just need to concentrate.
