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Turning the Tables


F/F, Bondage, D&S
Turning the Tables.
By Cate

When you come back from the powder-room you sit down at the
table and hand me something. The waiter is poised over us
with his pad, and I realise I'm holding your panties, still
warm from your body and you're looking at me with a
mischievous grin and your tongue flicks out to absorb a bead
of red wine from the rim of your glass. I wonder if I
should try to hand them back to you, then scrabble in
confusion for my purse. You are grinning and my face is on
fire and I am suddenly aware that something enormous has
happened that frightens and delights me at the same time..

We decide to share one dessert. But my bladder's
straining now and I stumble out from behind the check
tablecloth. I have to wait in a tiny corridor. Then an
overweight woman comes barrelling out, pushing past. After
I've peed and washed my hands, I open my purse to look for
my lipstick. I take your white cotton panties out.
They are faintly damp but scrupulously clean, no trace of
you visible on the fresh white material. I press my
nostrils deep into them and at first there is just that
faint, far-away, country girl after her bath scent you
have, then your distinct female, animal odour. And on
the sweet little soft cotton pad in the crotch I see a
single pubic hair. I touch it with my tongue, taste
salt, take it in my mouth and relish its coarseness.
I touch it against my upper lip, then for a second I
can't feel it and have to look in the mirror. It is
still on my tongue. I swallow it. You are inside me.

We share the grape sorbet with gingersnaps. Half the
people in the restaurant must know by now that I've been
waving your underwear around and I'm uncomfortable but
you are as insouciant as ever. The icy crystals of the
sorbet taste clean and sweet. You lift the second
wine bottle which is still half full.

"I've had enough," I say. I am suddenly more than half

"Me too"

"We can get it corked and take it with us," I say.

"We can't walk into a hotel carrying a half-empty bottle of wine.
"Hotel?" I croak.

"You can say you spent the night at our place. I'll say I spent
it at yours.
I'll make the phone calls while you're paying the bill,"
The receptionist in the hotel is suspicious of us. She makes
a telephone call and looks at us severely through her heavy-
rimmed spectacles. She has dark hair in a pageboy cut and
she is not at all bad looking. I feel so conspicuous and
then, damn you, you say "My friend and I are just dying to go
to bed together, so would you mind getting a move on?" The
girl's face is pimpled with indignation as she hands us the
key. I cannot believe you have done this.. I am so annoyed
that I will not speak to you in the elevator.
"She thought we were pros" you say.


"Prostitutes, call-girls. High class tarts."

"Thanks for the high-class," I say .

As you start to kiss me, the elevator jolts past another floor
and I feel my womb and belly turn to water. It's different
than kissing a man, not just the adhesive thrill of lipstick to
lipstick, but the way you make those tiny dry bites at my
underlip with your own lips. And the way there is no hurry,
no urgency, as if this is a foretaste of the most intimate,
slowest lovemaking. I think of the coarseness of that pubic
hair of yours on my tongue.. Then my knees weaken and for
a moment I slump and you brace your legs and support me and I
feel myself surrender to you as the elevator overshoots
slightly, then settles back trembling at our floor. We step
into the corridor and the aluminium doors close with a long
dreaming sigh behind us.
The room is cosy but anonymous with a long dressing table and
mirror and a couple of prints of the sort that seem to have
been created especially for hotel rooms. You surprise me by
producing two new toothbrushes and a hairbrush from your

"Just so we won't look like two complete tramps in the morning."

You unzip your dark red linen dress and step out of it. I
can't take my eyes off your dark, unshaven bush as you lean
backwards slightly to unsnap your bra. You drop the bra on
the floor and I pick it up. I am irredeemably tidy. Your
breasts are broad, pale and tulip shaped. I feel your body heat
still in the soft cotton of your bra. I am appraising you
covertly. Dressed, you are superb, but I notice the slight
puffiness of your belly and the coarse heavy grain of the
gooseflesh on your buttocks and thighs. I am storing all this
against my jealousy and my fear that you will be the one who,
some day, will not return my more and more frantic calls,
content to have me recede into a comfortable memory. I think
when you see me naked you'll recognise an equal; but suddenly,
now that we are here, completely alone, I find I'm determined
to prove myself to you.
You lie on the bed, looking at me as I undress. I go into the
tiny bathroom and pee. I fill the basin with hot water to
wash my hands and I scrutinise my face in the mirror. Maybe
it's the light, but I look terrible. I take off my bra and
find I still like the look of my chubby breasts.

"What the hell are you doing, Cate?" you holler after a few

"I'm just rinsing out my knickers for the morning," I answer in a
surly voice.

"You bloody little housewife," you shout and next thing you've
hurried in, giggling, and you are dragging me out, our feet
skittering on the wet tiles. You collapse into one of the
armchairs, still holding me by the hand and looking at me
intently until I color and turn aside to look at the mirror.

I see the brush lying on the dressing table and I ask can I
brush your hair. I stand behind you, pulling the stiff bristles
through your coarse brown mane, teasing it carefully through
the ends at first, then more briskly until there is a crisp
crackle of static. . I know this is what you want - to prolong
your pleasure, knowing you can have me whenever you want, but
enjoying my timidity. In the mirror you catch me looking down
at your beautiful shoulders and wide breasts. You smile.
The brush continues to hiss through your hair and your cat-like
eyes are half closed, you are almost in a trance. then you drag
me on top of you so that I am sitting on your lap. You press
your lips against mine, pushing my head down so that my hips and
thighs are forced upwards and I am off balance, completely at
your mercy. Then you make a contented, purring noise and your
lips become soft and again you create that slow, hypnotic
friction against mine. You break away for a moment and say
"Christ, let's make this last..." Then I am buried again,
I grip you frantically but you soothe me, slow me down again,
your body telling me what you want, guiding me though our
discovery of each other. We spend what feels like an hour
at this, it seems like too much and also too little. We
stagger to the bed and you pull back the covers. You lie
there, breathing heavily and I am so aroused now that my body
is screaming for release. You continue to lie there. What
the hell are you up to now? Then you turn to me and say,
"Cate, I'm exhausted, maybe we'll just sleep tonight, honey."

And I'm so hurt ! What am I - your fucking wife or something?
You see the anger in my face and you start to laugh, as if
you're joking, but I don't believe you. This is the third
time you've stopped me in my tracks tonight, I don't know where
I am with you and I cannot take any more of it. I take up the
pillow and hit you with it. You can only try vainly to defend
yourself as the pillow thumps you on the belly and breasts.
You are still begging me to stop, still half-laughing as I climb
on top of you. You are wearing those big gold peasant
earrings in your pierced ears and I hook my thumbs in them
I stare down at you.

"What am I going to do with you?" I say.

"Please, Cate," you say.

"Turn over." I say, getting to my knees astride you, so that you
can move, but only slightly. You turn over, lying now on your
face, your exquisitely shapely buttocks between my knees. I give
a big, gasping sigh. Your buttocks are right under my belly and
the feeling is extraordinarily powerful, as though all the breath
has been knocked from my body. My mouth is dry and my tongue
feels huge in my mouth. Rain in a sudden shower rattles against
the windowpane. Sitting up again, I reach down and take your
wrists very gently and place your arms with the wrists crossed
below your shoulderblades. Then I scrabble on the carpet beside
the bed with one hand and I find your dress. I pull the soft
fabric belt through the loops and tie your wrists behind your back.

I'm kneeling again, turning you over on your back, with your
pinioned wrists underneath you. I know it is uncomfortable, but
I still get on top of you again. I reach between your legs. You
are wet and open to me. You moan softly and I hear a siren in
the street and then another rattle of rain against the window.
You warn me that you're not an easy fuck and that I am not to be
offended if you do not come. I start to rock gently on top of you.
I'm still a little drunk, but I know that I will take my full
satisfaction here before I let you up. You groan a little as I
bear down on you and I know it must be uncomfortable with your
wrists underneath you, but I am relentless in pursuit of my
pleasure. I am punishing you and I want you to know this. And
it is only a soft dress-belt. I want to climax, yet also to
hold this exquisite pleasure at its peak for as long as possible.
I am kissing your lips, starting with dry pecks at the
corners, seeking your sweetness, then, as your mouth softens,
plunging my tongue deeply into you. I remember again on my
tongue the feel of that tiny pubic hair that I found on your
panties in the restroom and suddenly that starts to send me
towards the brink. But you beat me to it, you come harshly
and with a heavy groan of surrender, then my own familiar
gentle beats come, building for a while as you thrash about
underneath me, then subsiding into the most exquisite
feeling of intimacy.. I continue to lie on you, my desire
sated for now. You say. "Are you going to untie me?" I
roll you over on your side. I lie behind you, spooned into
you. Your fingers are entwined in my pubic hair.
I wake during the night. I am on fire again and I pull you over
and get on top of you. I come very quickly and fall asleep.
When I wake in the morning I am still on top of you and you are
looking up at me, smiling. I climb out of bed and order
breakfast from room service. I put you sitting up in the bed
with the sheet tucked over your breasts. I feed you strips of
toast and butter and thinly sliced bacon and pieces of fried egg.
I hold the thin china cup to your lips and you sip daintily.
You don't even ask when I'm going to let you go. I am loving
this, serving you like this and yet having you helpless.

From the bathroom I bring the little disposable razor, wrapped in
clear plastic, a glass of hot water and soap.

"No, Cate, please," you shriek.

You are frantic and start kicking
off the sheet and blankets. This suits me fine and I grasp you
around the ankles and drag you towards the end of the bed. But,
of course, I don't know at this stage how I'm going to manage this
unless I tie your legs as well.

"How could I explain it?" you screech as we struggle at the end of
the bed.

"Who do you have to explain it to?" I demand, because you have told
me you have had no relations with your husband for months. I know
you've probably been lying about this too.

"There's an asset transfer thing that hasn't gone through yet,"
you protest. "I might have to be nice to him....."

"I don't care," I shout.

"I want to be properly positioned before any divorce proceedings..."

"I don't care," I shout, "I want you - for myself!"

There, I've said it. Now I know I am going to have to tie you.
A vacuum cleaner starts up in the room next door and a trolley creaks
past our door.

"Please, Cate," you beg.

You are so handsome and I cannot believe that I am going to make you
mine. I state my terms and you are aghast. No, you say. You
lie on your side on the bed, pouting angrily. I sit on a chair
beside the bed and start reading the newspaper the maid brought with
our breakfast. I poke you with my foot.

"Stop sulking, " I say.

At last, when you finally admit you are beaten, you move so that
your feet are resting on the floor. I get my nail scissors and
clip your pubic hair and then, using the soap and hot water, I
shave what's left into a heart shape.

Then I tell you that you are going to have my baby.

(Continued in "Now You Are Mine" on Website - previous title
"Making You Mine" in txt. files)


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