“I want to tie you up tonight” he texted me, around noon. Five fuckless hours to go.
“So, I should be waiting in bed for you?”
“Yes, put a plug in and don’t touch yourself ?”
Fuck. I couldn’t concentrate on work anymore. My stuffy, windowless office pressed in on me. Middle aged women in the hall erupted in laughter. Fuck me.
I left at 3:30, couldn’t take it anymore. The holidays are so close, there’s nothing to do, and I’m aching for him. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d be uncomfortable.
I start straightening up the bedroom, neatening the sheets, putting away junk on the nightstand, turning on some mood lighting, just in case he felt like filming it this time. I eye the drawer with my vibrator in it… Release is so close. But no. I can’t. I need him.
I opt for some personal grooming instead. Frankly, it’s been awhile. It’s cold out, and sitting naked and spread legged for 20 minutes, meticulously shaving delicate skin, hasn’t seemed appealing. But warmth is radiating off my skin and flushing my cheeks, so now seems like a good time. I leave one patch–I never cared for the bald look–and focus my attention on getting my skin as smooth as possible.