Blind & Bound
The library smells of old mahogany and the lingering, sweet decay of tobacco leaves. The fire in the grate snaps, sending a shower of orange sparks up the chimney, casting long, dancing shadows against the spines of leather-bound books. I stand by the window, looking out at the darkened grounds where the hounds still bay in the distance, the echo of the hunt fading into the night. The dinner party is a dull roar down the hall, a clatter of crystal and shallow laughter, but here, the silence is heavy, expectant.
The door clicks shut. I don't turn immediately. I feel him before I see him, the heat of his body radiating across the room. Lord Percy. He is still in his black tie, the stark white collar framing his throat, but the jacket is unbuttoned, a reckless dishevelment for a man usually so composed.
I remember his hand under the tablecloth during dessert, his fingers tracing the lace of my stocking, the promise of what was to come. We abandoned the hunt for the brook earlier, a quick, hot tryst in the moss, but this... this is different. This is deliberate.
"You look like a queen awaiting seduction, Vivian," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates in my chest.
I turn, smoothing the silk of my gown over my hips. "And you are the seducer?"
He steps closer, the light catching the sharp angle of his jaw. He reaches into his waistcoat pocket and withdraws two long strips of black silk ribbon. They shimmer in the firelight. My breath hitches, a sharp intake of air that I can't suppress. He doesn't ask for permission. He doesn't need to.
Percy takes my wrists, gathering them behind my back. The ribbon is cool against my skin, smooth and slippery. He winds it around, knotting it with a practiced tug that pulls my shoulders back, thrusting my breasts forward against the tight bodice of my dress. I am helpless, bound, the pressure in my shoulders a dull ache that immediately sends a jolt of heat straight to my cunt.
"Close your eyes," he commands.
I obey. The darkness is immediate, absolute. I hear the rustle of fabric as he moves, and then the second ribbon slides over my face. He ties it snugly at the back of my head, blotting out the firelight, the room, the world. I am floating in blackness, my other senses sharpening to a razor's edge. I hear the strike of a match, the smell of sulfur and then the rich, aromatic scent of his pipe tobacco as he tamps it down.
"Stay still," he says.
I feel the cool air of the library hit my skin as he unzips my gown. It pools at my feet, leaving me in nothing but my silk stockings and the ribbons. I shiver, my nipples hardening into tight peaks. I am exposed, vulnerable, dripping wet already just from the anticipation.
He begins to read. His voice is a low, hypnotic cadence, reciting Swinburne.
"It is enough, by the mouth of a gate, / To watch the world pass by, and to take / Its wages, and wait."
His hand lands on my hip, gripping the bone hard. His thumb presses into the soft flesh, dragging a line down to my thigh. I gasp, my knees buckling slightly.
"But thou, O my beautiful pale mouth with the crimson of the rose, / I would that we were lying now in the shade where the sea-wind blows..."
His fingers trace the line of my lips, parting them. I taste the salt on his skin, the faint tang of whiskey. I dart my tongue out, wanting to suck him deeper, but he pulls away, a tease, a denial. His hand slides down my neck, over my collarbone, lingering in the hollow of my throat. My pulse races under his fingertips, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
"Yea, though we pass with the music of the sea, / Though the stars be above and the waters be free, / I am not content."
He moves lower. His palms cup my breasts, weighing them, squeezing them until I moan. He rolls my nipples between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to blur the line between pain and pleasure. My back arches, seeking more, my bound hands straining against the silk.
"I would that we were lying now in the shade where the sea-wind blows, / And the kiss of the salt water were sweet on thy mouth as a rose."
His hand drifts down, over the curve of my stomach, into the thatch of hair between my legs. I am soaking. I can feel the slickness coating my inner thighs. He slides a finger through my folds, collecting the wetness, and I let out a ragged breath. He circles my clit, slow, maddening strokes that make my hips jerk involuntarily.
"O my beautiful pale mouth with the crimson of the rose, / I would that we were lying now in the shade where the sea-wind blows."
"Please," I whimper, the word torn from my throat. "Percy, please."
He stops. The loss of contact is agonizing. I hear the rustle of clothing, the sound of a zipper lowering. Then his hand is on my waist, guiding me. He sits on the velvet chaise lounge, pulling me forward. I straddle him, the fabric rough against my knees. I can feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against my belly, hot and insistent.
"Ride me, Vivian," he orders, his voice rough with lust. "Take what you need."
I reach behind me, fumbling for his shaft, my bound hands clumsy. He groans as I grip him, guiding the head to my entrance. I sink down, impaling myself on him inch by inch. He fills me completely, stretching me, the friction sending electric shocks up my spine. I throw my head back, the blindfold damp with sweat, and begin to move.
I set a ruthless pace, grinding my hips down, taking him deep. The wet, slapping sound of our bodies joining fills the library, louder than the fire, louder than the poetry. His hands grip my ass, fingernails digging in, urging me on. The pressure builds in my core, a tight, coiling spring. I am panting, gasping for air, completely lost in the sensation.
"Fuck me, Percy, yes, oh god, your cock feels so good," I babble, filthy words spilling out of me. "I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum all over you."
He thrusts up to meet me, driving into me with brutal force. The spring snaps. My orgasm tears through me, a blinding wave of pleasure that rips a scream from my lungs. I convulse around him, my cunt clenching and pulsing, milking his dick as he continues to pound into me. He follows me over the edge with a guttural roar, his hips jerking as he spills himself deep inside me.
We collapse against the chaise, a tangle of sweaty limbs and heavy breathing. The room spins behind the blindfold. I rest my forehead against his shoulder, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Slowly, the world returns. Percy reaches up and unties the blindfold. The light from the fire is soft, almost dim compared to the darkness behind my eyes. He then unties my wrists, bringing my hands around to his lips to kiss the red marks left by the ribbon.
I slide off him, boneless and sated, reaching for my handbag on the floor. I pull out my silver case and extract a cigarette, fitting it into my long ivory holder. Percy strikes a match for me, the flare illuminating his satisfied, lazy smile. I inhale deeply, the smoke sharp and acrid, tasting like sex and victory.
Percy leans back, packing fresh tobacco into his pipe. He lights it, puffing contentedly, clouds of blue smoke wreathing his head.
"Kenya," he says suddenly, his eyes fixed on the fire.
I look at him, blowing a stream of smoke toward the ceiling. "What?"
"Next month. I'm organizing a safari. Lions, elephants, the endless savannah." He looks at me, his gaze dark and possessive. "I want you to come with me, Vivian. As my guest."
I take another drag of my cigarette, the heat of the orgasm still lingering in my blood. A hunt. A real hunt. I smile, tapping ash onto the rug.
"I'd love nothing more, my Lord," I whisper. "As long as you promise to chase me."