I Paid a Stranger Fifteen Hundred Dollars to Be My Boyfriend for My Father's Birthday Weekend, and He Obeyed Every Order I Gave novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: Curtain Ties

At two o'clock my mother marched the whole family down the pasture trail to look at the foliage.

I stayed behind with a headache.

"I'll keep her company," Ben said, and my mother said, "Of course you will, dear," and handed him a thermos.

Now the farmhouse was empty and creaking and full of light.

I stood in the guest room and untied the cloth cords from the blue curtains, one and then the other.

They were thick, soft, a foot and a half long, with tassels at the ends.

Ben stood by the bed and watched me do it.

"You're going to tie me up," he said.

"I'm going to tie your wrists to the headboard."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I haven't told you to say that."

"Sorry."

"Strip."

He took his clothes off in the afternoon light, slowly, and folded them over the chair.

He did it.

I loved that, too.

He lay down on the bed on his back, and he put his arms up over his head.

I knelt over him and looped the first cord around his right wrist.

I wrapped it twice and knotted it to a slat of the wooden headboard.

Then the left.

"Pull," I said.

He pulled.

The headboard creaked.

The cords held, soft and firm.

His chest was rising and falling, fast, and his cock lay hard against his stomach.

I could see in his eyes that he wasn't going anywhere and that he didn't want to.

"I want you to listen," I said.

"I'm listening."

"I'm going to do whatever I want to you. For as long as I want. You are going to take it."

"When you want to say something, you say it, but you do not move your hips, and you do not come until I say."

"Understood."

"Say it."

"I do not come until you say."

"Good."

I sat back on my heels, naked, in the sun, and looked at him.

Then I started with my fingernails.

I ran them down his chest, light as a feather, from the hollow of his throat to the line of hair below his navel.

I watched his skin pebble in their wake.

I did it again, across his ribs, over the scar, up the insides of his arms to the soft part of his wrists.

He shivered all over.

"You're beautiful," I said.

"You."

"I'm speaking."

"Yes, ma'am."

I bent and took his nipple in my mouth, and sucked, and flicked it with my tongue.

He arched.

The cords pulled tight.

I kissed down the center of his chest, and his belly.

I bit the soft skin of his hip, and then I took him in my hand.

He was hot and hard and wet at the tip.

I stroked him slowly, the whole length, and watched his face.

His mouth fell open.

His hips began to rise.

"No," I said.

They dropped.

I kept stroking.

I made it long and tight and unhurried, my thumb sliding over the head.

The muscles in his forearms stood out against the cords.

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