Chapter Twelve
Restraint
Nell insisted upon the necessary ablutions before they'd move on to their plans, a quick shower and more to freshen breath and body before she took something out of her dresser drawer, hid it behind her back and made him precede her out of the bedroom and into the living room. There's a single straight backed wooden chair in a corner, she lifts it into the middle of the room and sets it to face the bedroom. "Sit down."
He's surprised by her tone; it wasn't a loving invitation but a firm command. "Is this a version of 'Mistress and Slave'?"
"Oh, Mister Beale, you have no idea what's going to happen to you. Now sit."
He follows direction with great alacrity, until he feels how cold the bare wood is under his bare butt. She opens her clenched hand, he'd only seen cloth but now finds she's carrying two bras and two pair of panties.
She drops the panties and extra bra and he sees that it, like the one in her hand, is a soft sports bra, not one with the hard under wire. She takes his right hand and forces it down to the rear chair leg, wraps the bra time and again about his wrist and ties it very firmly about the chair leg, not tightly enough to inhibit circulation but he cannot move. "Comfy?"
"Splendid." He tugs at the restraint. "Can you let me loose now?"
"Oh, not a chance of that." She goes around to the front, picks up the other bra and goes to his left, pulls his arm back and down. "They say a woman's bra is for putting her breasts in bondage. I trust you appreciate the symbolism?" She binds his left wrist about and about, pulls the straps snug.
"I'm not sure I'm having fun."
She holds up one of the pairs of panties. "You've been trying to get into my panties for years, Mr. Beale."
"Nell, let's talk about this." He so utterly does not want to be dressed in that garment.
"Pity I have nothing to gag you with but it'd spoil my fun." She kneels down, catches his left ankle and presses it to the outer side of the front chair leg, quickly wraps the sheer material around it. It doesn't go around as much as either bra had around his wrists but when she knots the tie it's as firm.
He doesn't say anything as she grabs and ties his right ankle, not much point in protest but in seconds he's truly secured.
She kisses her fingertip, touches that to his nose. "Bye, now."
She gives her buns a little extra sway as she crosses the room to the bedroom and very firmly seals the door.
x
The seat has warmed up under him but he's still vastly uncomfortable, not to mention mystified as the seconds drag. He gives it about half a minute of silence. "Nell?" Nothing. "Rockstar?" Still nothing. "Ununoctium?" Not fair. "Nell?" Long silence. "Intelligence Analyst Nell Jones?" Very long silence. After too long he succumbs to the ridiculous. "Nell? Are you there?"
He's not answered unless his answer is soft violin music which increases slightly as the door slowly opens and when he sees beyond it trepidation gives way to appreciative wonder. Nell stands framed in the portal clad in red, not just red but a fine scarlet dress that extends midway down her thighs and hugs her body like he wants to, would if she hadn't tied him so thoroughly.
Her tapered legs are accented in with equally scarlet fishnet hose and she stands upon matching high heeled slippers, altogether a vision to be seared into his brain.
She slowly walks toward him to the music of the violins, her hips swaying slightly to give eloquence to the dress and scarlet fishnets. "Hello, Mister Beale," she practically hums in tones reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe, except to him they're far better. If her apartment came with sprinklers, her voice would set them off. "I've prepared a show for you." She stops a few feet away where he can still take in the whole image. "I hope you'll enjoy it."
"Do I have to be tied up?" 'Okay, silly question. The card said 'Restraint'.'
"House Rules," she burns. "Patrons are not allowed to touch."
x
She sways slowly to the music, approaches him and runs her hand down his chest, his stomach, to his – she pulls away inches from his firm member, then reaches down to him again with both hands and trails her fingertips up his length, barely enough for him to feel, then she backs away. She turns, slowly shifts her hips, her bottom before his face, a slow rhythm to the chords of the violin. She reaches up high over her head, her entire body from hands to ankles swaying in snakelike motion, then turns to continue the display. Then she lowers her hands to his shoulders, holds him pressed to the chair back, bends over, her lips kissably close, then steps back.
Turning, continuing that same sensuous dance, she turns away, locking his eyes on her swaying bottom. She reaches high, then lowers her hands behind her neck, takes hold of the small hook below her hairline and releases it, even more slowly pushes the zipper down.
When it's far enough to reach, still moving her buns in a long sway, she reaches around and up, pulls the zipper far enough so he can see the line of her scarlet bra. After a few moments she continues further to where the zipper ends at the small of her back.
She dances in this way for many moments, back to him, the gap increasing behind her until she turns, reaches up and her fingertips press the dress to her shoulders to keep it in place. His heart is pounding and he has to fight himself from testing the strength of the bra restraints about his wrists. Very slowly she lowers the left side, more and more of her shoulder strap coming visible until she stops just above the swell of her breast. Holding that material in place, she lowers the right side and his heart slams even faster, the blood thumping in his ears.
Holding the dress above each breast she slowly lowers it along the frill lined cups and he's not sure his heart can pound any faster without giving out. The material lowers further, exposing her bra, comes down over her stomach and down only as far as her hips, a tantalizing sliver of equally red panties showing as she pulls her hands free.
She lowers the dress further, the first thing unveiled is a red garter belt that reaches down to the momentarily obscured red fishnet hose. Then she drops the dress, it snakes down her legs to puddle about the red high heeled slippers. Her bikini panties, the same shade, shine in the light and highlights change with every movement.
She turns around, back to him giving a long wavering view of that side of her and his eyes are locked on her swaying buns.
She looks back over her shoulder, her low voice enough to sear the paint off the surrounding walls. "Do you like them?"
He can only answer with silence, his mouth hanging open. He hopes it's eloquent enough.
x
She turns again to him and his eyes follow her hands up to her breasts, to the scarlet bra and her fingertips take the left cup, both sides and slowly pull outward. The cup splits down the middle; it's in two halves slightly overlapped in the vertical slit and her nipple pokes through. It's erect and she releases the cup at this limit, her pink nub showing with slivers of the lighter circle above and below.
With her fingertip she teases the nub up and down to greater hardness and length, and when fully erect she comes closer, leans down to him, her chest near his mouth. "Would you like to kiss it?"
He decides the 'no touch' rule is abandoned. "Oh yes." He leans forward but she holds herself an inch out of reach. He looks up to her teasing smile.
"Would you like to lick it?" She leans a quarter inch closer.
"Yes." But she's still out of reach though he strains to reach her.
She leans closer until she's a half inch too far. "Would you like to suck it?"
"Oh Yes!"
She comes close until her tip just brushes his lips. "Would you like to bite it?"
Did she just say that?
He looks up into her eyes. "Huh, what?"
Her voice is still filled with sensuous offer. "Would you like to sink your teeth into it while I scream in agony?"
"What? NO! No, never!"
She puts her finger to his forehead, pushes to tilt him back until he's staring full in her face and her breathy whisper fills his soul. "Right answer, Mr. Beale."
x
For a moment ice water had flooded him at the thought of ever hurting her, but she eases that by releasing his forehead, coming up until her breast is again level with his lips. "You may kiss it."
He comes forward, gets his lips around her nipple for a gentle lick and suck and she pulls back sharply. "I said you may kiss it. For that, you may not kiss it."
But as she resumes her swaying to the violin chords she takes hold with her fingertips of the inner and outer sides of her right cup and gradually pulls the sides until they part in a vertical sliver, her right nipple poking through the thin slice. She teases that half hard nub to full erection and leans forward.
"You may kiss this one."
Very cautiously - he doesn't want to get shut out again - he kisses the very tip. She moans and a tiny shudder chases through her body. She doesn't pull away or get closer and he maintains the closed lips kiss.
"Keep the kiss, but you may lick the tip."
Bringing his tongue through kissing lips is not easy but he manages to slip through and lick the sensitive tip. She grasps his shoulders to steady herself, groans and gives a gasping moan as the touch continues.
"Do you want to suck it?"
"Mmmm Hmmmm!"
She backs away, straightens and then pulls at the scarlet material of her left cup, spreads it enough to uncover the full circle of her light pink areola, then does the other one, both sensuous circles on display in the slits. She leans forward, her breasts on either side of his head and he chooses the right side. "Later," she breathes, backs away.
x
She steps right, comes around to his left side, runs her fingertips down along his arm and the touch raises goosebumps along the bare length. But then she straightens. He looks left to her but her fingertips on his cheek press him back to a forward look and he's learned the lesson of disobedience. Facing forward, he cannot see her clearly but she's very close, gets even closer – and he feels her firm nipple touch the ridge of his ear.
A tingling blast chases down and up his body as she slowly strokes the hard nub around one ridge, then another as he fights the maddening impulse to move for fear of losing this incredible sensation. She runs along the outer lobe, back in again and along the ridges, then when the lusty point slips into his ear he fights a yell.
She moves away, steps behind him, and now he feels her bra cups on either side of his neck and he clenches all his muscles to keep still. Her breasts slip up his neck to his ears, gently rub up and down each side. "You're giving me oomox with your breasts?"
She bends down, her lips to his right ear and her whisper nearly burns him. "I thought you'd like it."
"I –" comes out an octave too high and he must try again. "I do." This almost sounds normal - in some universe. She continues stroking down and up, from ears to neck and back again and while it's her bra that doesn't matter so much. He must fight the temptation to lean back, or to turn to either of her breasts.
She continues around to his right and again torments his ear with her nipple, teases the tip along the outer lobe before moving on to the ridges, traces each in turn before working her way into the depths and, blasts of electricity flaring through his body, he tries to contain his responses with clenched teeth.
She stops just instants before he'd have to call for a straight jacket and steps in front of him again. He looks up, not an easy thing to do, and sees she's as flushed as he feels he must be. His attention is immediately called back by her hands before her right breast, her fingertips grasping each side of the vertical slit. "Would you like to see the unveiling?"
"Yes, please."
She hesitates for a few seconds, evidently lost in thought, then lowers her hands. "You do it."
x
"Excuse me?" He tugs at the bras that secure his wrists. "Hands?"
"You don't need hands."
"Then what do I –?"
"You wanted your mouth on my breasts. Well, do it." He leans forward, she's almost in reach. "But don't slobber all over them.
She at least comes close enough that he need not strain to reach them, tries to use his lips to get on the inside and outside of the left cup but while it assures very many touches he can't grasp the material without using his teeth to catch and pull aside the outer side, then when it's as far as it will go he moves to the inner side, tugs that to the middle of her chest.
The sensation is so incredible he feels he's going to lose whatever resources he's built up since their last orgasms. He literally has his face rubbing her breast and it feels so –
He switches to her right breast, takes the inner side this time and cautiously captures the material between his teeth. He's sure one little nip will doom him, or at least cut his chances for more fun, but he presses the material to her sternum and she shifts to allow him to grasp the final veil.
When he's done, having gone as far as he can on either side, she draws back, straightens and inspects his 'handiwork'. "Not bad." There's just the tiniest spots of moisture on either one. "Now stay still. You may not kiss. You may not lick. You may not suck. You may not bite."
"No."
x
She leans in again and rubs her breast on his left cheek. The last part of her restrictions is easy, the first three are not. She uses both breasts, nipples, sides, tops and bottoms over his face; lips, eyes, even his hair, everywhere. Her breath comes as hard as his and he's not sure which of them is hotter.
It goes on for a long time; he has no idea how many seconds, he's just grateful for every one. Finally, after a long and very pleasant time, she backs away from him, straightens and then bends to again put them level with his face. They look so spectacular framed by the edges of her bra. "Which one?"
It sounded like a question, but the meaning eludes him. It was in English, but what does it mean in the context of a very delightful face rubbing, the memory of which he intends to cherish for a long time. "Huh? Which won?"
"Right or left?" she illustrates with a pointing finger. "Which one's your favorite?"
Which one? What an odd question. He looks to the right one, the left, the right, the left, the right, the left, the... "I don't know." He forces himself out of his lust filled stupor. "I can't decide that!"
She reaches for his shoulders, bends so her face is directly before his, almost nose to nose, and her hot whisper tells him "Then, Mr. Beale, you may not have either one."
x
"The Left! No, the Right! No, the Left! The Right! The –"
"Too late. You've had your chance." She straightens and backs away, looks down to examine both luscious mounds poking out the frame of the scarlet bra. The now ignored music cycles through to a new replaying. "Then again, maybe there's a way you can redeem yourself and your out of control male libido."
"Anything!"
She steps close enough, stands between his spread knees. "Take off my bra."
He tugs at the other bras. "Again, hands."
"You figured out the cups. I'm sure a man of your talent and ability, not to mention intelligence, can get a woman's bra off." She bends close. "I dare say you've done a few."
He stretches to her left shoulder and she closes enough for him to use his teeth to carefully lift the strap without biting her, to ease it down her arm and she obliges by pulling that arm out. He does the right shoulder in the same manner and when both arms are free, the straps hanging on her arms, he leans forward to the top of the left cup just above the slit.
"You hurt me by pulling it down – or up – and I'll spank you like you started with me. You'll do your work on Monday in Ops standing up."
"Then how –?"
"There's only one right way to undo a bra." She turns around and sits down upon his left knee. He examines the familiar closure now level with his mouth. The two straps are held together by a single tiny hook and eye.
x
He tries, can feel the closure in his lips, but the thing is supposed to be pushed together to open, an incredibly simple thing for fingers, even inexperienced ones, not so by the mouth.
He tries several angles, tries to use lips and teeth, tries to bite the straps together, tries to get his tongue under, press with his lips, the material just will not fold right or give in. The only thing he's certain of is that her back is getting quite wet.
After four very frustrating minutes – Why Can't The Blasted Thing Have A Front Closure? Then At Least He Could Have His Face Between Her Breasts! – he's ready to surrender when she starts the notes of a very familiar piece of music. "Doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo Doot doo doo doo doo doo..." The Jeopardy Countdown continues and is no part of his fun.
"I give up!" he growls in the middle of a doot, sits up and declares "I can't do it."
She looks back over her shoulder with a sensual smirk. "You mean you admit that there's something a woman can do that you can't?"
"Gladly. Absolutely. I never said anyone can't but if you want me to abase myself."
"No. I'm just going to give you an incentive." She reaches back, wraps her fingers around his shaft that had stayed hard even in his frustration (perhaps something about working so hard to get a woman's bra off?) and very gently strokes with her fingers up and down the long rod. "If you can get it off before I get you off, you can do absolutely anything you want to me, your dirtiest, filthiest, most vile fantasy." She strokes more firmly.
With a growl that makes her burst out in high laughter he attacks the closure with ferocious force and she redoubles her efforts up and down his straining shaft.
x
There's no plan, no strategy, no care to preserve the hook and eye or the material; just a wild, frenzied attack where he'll win or it will. At one point he considers biting clean through but she'll be mad about the set and she's (unfair!) working harder and faster at him until he's groaning into her back, growling in the heat and strain until, without even realizing it's happening until too late, the material flies apart seconds before he does.
She looks back over her shoulder as she gathers the garment from off her chest and whatever she was going to say is lost when she sees his eyes. She rushes off his knee, turns and drops to her knees to rescue him even as she would against a deadly danger, opens her mouth and takes him in deep.
Her warm wetness and gentle licking and sucking, her head bobbing over him with her lips so firmly wrapped take him over the edge and with a loud cry and every muscle in his body clenching he shoots into her mouth, pumps burst after burst and she hums down every swallow.