Home life · Sex life

Meeting his match

A week ago it had just been an innuendo in a conversation about something on the radio. Not so much a suggestion, more of a thought that came out loud. All I’d said to him as he was driving me home after our weekly tennis match was “have you ever thought about detouring somewhere secluded & ravaging me?” He’d replied that he didn’t know anywhere secluded round here, so I’d have to drive him! I joked that even if I did drive him somewhere he’d only fight me off or jump out of the car and run away. “You could always tie me to a handle or something” he’d said sniggering away to himself.

Three days ago, after losing 2 sets to 0 as usual, he said “got the handcuffs then?” while offering his wrists and grinning like an imbecile. “No”, I said, feeling somewhat annoyed at the expression on his face, “but we can use this” as I untied the multi-coloured hair band from the top of my head.

He was still laughing as I pushed him onto the back seat and tied his wrists to an armrest. “Nothing for the ankles?” he said. “I don’t think you’ve thought this out”. I hadn’t thought about it all, never mind planned it. It was just a spur of the moment intention to tie him up, and then undo him after I’d driven his precious car to my house.

But now he’d got me annoyed. Now he’d challenged me. So I got the lead from his satnav and tied both ankles to the armrest on opposite door.

At that point, I’d got no plans, no intentions, nothing. All I was going to do was drive around for a bit with him laid across the back seat wondering what was going to happen next. Which at that moment was going to be nothing more than getting driven around for a bit while trying to look out of window to see where we were. I’d got no intention of doing anything to him or with him, and even if I had, I didn’t know of anywhere secluded to go on a Sunday afternoon.

I set off driving aimlessly away from the town mainly because I didn’t want anybody to see him through one of the windows, but as my annoyance faded, the thought of him lying helpless behind me began to change the way I felt. It started to feel exciting.

I drove round for what seemed like hours, singing along to soft rock on the radio, and getting more and more excited, more and more courageous, as I looked at the stunned expression on his face through the rear view mirror. Now, just taking him home wasn’t an option. I had to do something to him, with him. Just to make it all worthwhile. Not doing anything wouldn’t feel right. It would be a waste. Of opportunity if nothing else. But mainly a waste of an anticipation that was stronger than any sort of foreplay. A waste of feelings I’d never had before.

I couldn’t find anywhere secluded. Couldn’t find anywhere at all. I just pulled into the side of the road and climbed over the seat as I pulled his tennis shorts down to his knees with one hand.

Whether he was hard with excitement, surprise, or fear, I couldn’t tell and didn’t care. It didn’t matter. With that much lubrication getting him inside me was easy, even though the angle of our bodies and my failure to remove any of my clothing should have meant that we’d need to cooperate.

It took less than a minute. The best explosion of my life. He followed almost instantly.

I climbed off and untied his arms while a bus went past; our anonymity preserved by the steaming of the windows.

We drove back in silence. Not out of embarrassment or anything like that. More that I couldn’t think of anything to say, and he looked to be in a state of shock. Probably still is. It might even give me enough of an advantage to finally beat him this Sunday..

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s