The Memento 
by Robo

    She really does sleep very soundly, especially after a couple of glasses of wine. She doesn’t even stir as I gently snick the handcuffs onto her wrists, and then to the headboard of the bed. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t really stir until I tightly gag her with the weighty silk scarf that I bought especially for that purpose. £130 for an original Yves Saint Laurent geometric pattern in black and white. I tie a large, muffling knot in the centre, very delicately obstruct her nose until her mouth falls open and then I pounce, forcing the knot between her teeth and crossing the ends of the silk under her hair, tying them off over the knot in her mouth. But by the time she is fully awake, her ankles have been bound to the foot of the bed with soft cotton ropes and she is silenced, spread-eagled and helpless. 
    Her eyes snap open. 
    She can’t see a thing. 
    She can’t move. 
    She can’t speak! 
Terror assails her as she struggles against her bonds. She knows that someone is here. In the room. Of course there is someone in the room with her. How else could this have happened? But it is too dark for her to clearly make me out. All she is aware of is a darker shadow against the darkness of the room, and my hoarse breathing. 
    She knows it must be a man. No woman would have done this to her. Though, in a perverse way, the thought of a woman tying her up and gagging her is somewhat erotic. Even through the terror, she feels the first stirrings of her body as she realises how helpless, and exposed, she is ? how at my mercy! 
    She listens intently as I move through her bedroom. I am aware that she is watching me, but I manage to keep in the shadows or, at least, keep the light behind me and in her eyes. I bend over her and she turns her face up towards me ? and finds herself suddenly and completely blind. Panic, then. Absolute panic. Until she feels the blindfold being tightened and tied behind her head ? one of her own scarves, a Louis Vuitton in pink and brown, delicately scented with her perfume. Recognising the fact that she is merely blindfolded and not blinded does not lessen her fear. 
    And still I remain silent. 
    She must hear the strange whispering noises, then, as I move about the room, opening drawers. She must also hear the sound of cloth on cloth, soft rustlings. Does she wonder what I must be looking for? Does she hear a sigh? Or, an exhalation of surprise and pleasure as I find ? what? My hands are at her ankle. I loosen the soft rope, and her foot is free. No, not quite free ? I hold the ankle tightly, but it is no longer tied. She feels the stocking being placed over her foot. My hands fit it to her leg, rolling the top up across her calf, over her knee, and up her thigh. I lift her leg slightly as I snug the top around her thigh. My hands wander over her flesh, to the fine hair of her vulva. My fingers stroke lightly, and my intake of breath matches hers. I withdraw my hands, and in seconds her ankle is firmly bound once more, the white cotton a stark contrast to the dark silk of the stocking. I repeat the process with her other leg. This time, however, I stroke her moistening slit with a finger. I caress her several times, urging my finger deeper with each stroke. Until she writhes with a beginning need. I stop and retie her ankle. And she is once more spread-eagled on the bed. 
    My hands grasp the hem of her midnight blue satin night-gown and pull it slowly down her body, providing her with a false sense of modesty. I wonder if she can imagine the erotic picture she makes: spread-eagled on her back, hands firmly cuffed above her head; breasts straining against the blue silkiness of her gown as her position thrusts them up into prominence; nipples beginning to harden and distend; legs spread as if awaiting a lover, the skirt of the gown stretched tightly across hips and thighs; legs encased in silk stockings. She is helpless before her captor, her face obscured, blindfolded and gagged with the richest of silk scarves. 
    My hands touch her. My fingers graze lightly over her face, touching eyes through the folded silk. My fingers trail over her cleaved lips, touching, tracing. They follow the line of her jaw, seeking and playing with her ears. I trace the rim of her ear with a finger, then slowly and delicately insert the tip of it under the Vuitton blindfold and inside it. She shivers as I play with her ear, moving my finger into and out of it as if it were her sex and the finger my organ. Her breath catches, and becomes laboured. Her head moves from side to side - half attempting to pull away from my fingers, half attempting to take advantage of the emotions surging through her. 
    I grasp her chin, tightly, with one hand and hold her head still. The fingers of my other hand strokes her lips. I move them across her upper lip, then down and back across her lower lip. I slide a finger, then two, under the gag and seek her tongue. She tries to bite, but I hold her jaw tightly, threatening to hurt her if she tries to bite or otherwise resist. I play with her lips, teeth and tongue for several minutes. 
    Maintaining my grasp on her chin, I slide my free hand down her neck to her breasts. Through the plain, shimmering bodice of the night-gown I find a nipple, which I pinch lightly. She squeals in muffled protest and tries to pull away. I pinch harder until she breaks into a gasp of surprise and pleasure/pain. Her nipple rises of its own accord. I twist it between my fingers, pulling and pinching until it is fully erect. She feels my body shift. My hand tightens on her breast, squeezing the nipple into further prominence. My breath fans warmly against the rounded slope of her breast where it rises above the confines of the gown’s snug bodice. My teeth close on her nipple through the luxurious cloth. Tongue and lips close around it as I tease it ? nipping and sucking and licking until she writhes with passion. Moans start deep in her throat and roll around the gag, filling her ears, and mine, with her need. 
    I stop and stand. She is alone, writhing on the bed and moaning with unfulfilled lust. She tugs at the bindings on her feet, but to no avail. She knows that any attempt to slip out of the handcuffs is futile. Resigned, she ceases her struggles and awaits my next move. She certainly hears more drawers opening and closing, and the sound of more cloth on cloth. I move about the room, searching.
     I sit on the bed once more. She hears the sound of my breathing, deep and laboured. She can smell my arousal now. A deep, musky, almost wild-man scent assails her nostrils. Something smooth and silky brushes across her face, across her forehead and across her eyes. It moves down her face, under her nose, and across cheek to ear. Almost playfully it moves around her ear, venturing hesitantly into it several times, then across to her lips. It traces her lips. She feels warm fluid, small drops, being spread across her lips. Her tongue seeks my juices but is hindered by the gag. I shift, and the silken probe wanders down her neck and onto her breast. Across warm, rounded flesh, until it finds her nipple. It rubs her nipple through the cloth of her gown. 
    My hands grasp the top of her gown and pull, shredding the top like tissue. Cool air strikes her hot flushed breasts, further distending the aroused nipples. I move against her, and settle my weight on her rib cage just below her breasts. Even though I half support myself on my knees to either side of her body, I am sitting on her! My hands gather her breasts together and I plunge my throbbing cock into the warm channel formed there. My hips move, stroking back and forth. As my passions take over, I shift slightly and my penis thrusts further and further between her breasts and against her lips. She can feel the head pushing rhythmically against her gag. She shifts her head, moving it closer ? back and forth in time to my thrusts. She is straining now against her bonds. Her lips move, as if attempting to capture me. Again I stop. I move away from her and the bed shifts as I raise myself from her. She whines in frustration, gaining herself a slight slap and a whispered wordless warning. 
    I move down by her waist. My hands slide up her stockinged legs ? from ankle to calf; teasing the soft spot behind her knee; up across to the thigh; down across her thigh and around it, sliding under her, lifting her slightly, allowing me to cup her buttocks. My fingers search and find the crevice between her buttocks. I stroke her there, fingers gently finding and massaging the slight opening. 
    My hand moves from under her and slides up across her furred slit. I cup her, and apply pressure to her vulva. My fingers move slightly. She arches her back and presses her mound into my questing hand. My fingers shift, probe, and enter her. Moisture wells up, allowing me easy access to her inner reaches. My fingers seek her inner self, probing and thrusting and moving within her. The pressures of her need threaten to overwhelm her as she thrusts back against my demanding intrusion. I lightly bite her nipples and ravenously lick at her breasts. I suck first one then the other nipple into my mouth. It seems as if I am attempting to swallow her breast, while my fingers continue to plunge into her. My thumb finds her clitoris and begins to apply gentle pressure on it, stroking it into a miniature of the erection she must know I have at this moment. 
    She feels my breath on her leg, and on her bare thigh. Lips touch her, nibbling across her flesh. My tongue licks across her thigh, moving inexorably towards her waiting body and my active fingers. Slowly, I remove my fingers. Equally slowly, I replace them with lips and tongue. One hand caresses her legs through the sheer stockings. The other seeks and finds her clitoris, massaging it none too gently. Meanwhile, my tongue parts her nether lips and thrusts deeply within her weeping slit. 
    Tongue thrusts. 
    Fingers tease. 
    Hot breath excites. 
    She moans louder. 
    Her hips move against my face. 
    Her body shudders Her breath catches. 
    She is crying and moaning now, the scarf in her mouth damp with her saliva, the silk quietening her cries somewhat and rendering them inarticulate, more animal-like. 
    Totally at my mercy. 
    Overcome with need and lust. 
    Out of control. 
    Fighting the cruel band of silk that both fills and slashes across her open mouth.
     My tongue abruptly withdraws. She loses all contact with me, but her need is so great, her emotions so overpowering, that she isn’t aware I have stopped. Her back arches as she senses I am no longer there. An inquisitive moan comes from deep within her. Only to be replaced by a sharp intake of breath and a slight scream as my weight suddenly descends upon her and she is fully penetrated in one long stroke of my cock. My hands grab her breasts, as I use them for leverage to thrust harder and deeper within her. 
    In and out. 
    Circling. 
    Side to side. 
    I thrust and plunge within her. 
    Merciless and demanding, relentless, until she is wracked by orgasm after orgasm. My breath bathes her face as I bend and lick her gagged lips. Her head whips from side to side, fanning her hair around her face and over the pillow. My orgasm floods her interior, filling her with what seems to be scalding liquid, so intense is my pleasure. 
    I rest briefly, then withdraw slowly, teasingly. She feels my weight shift as I lie down beside her. I sleep, making no attempt to loosen her bonds, or otherwise ease her strained body. Resigned, my bound and well-fucked beauty tries to relax and recuperate. 
    I wake sometime later and pad over to her bathroom for a quick drink of water and survey her outstretched form recumbent on the bed. She has fallen into a fitful sleep and wriggles every few moments against her bonds. Her breathing is shallow through the saturated gag and a loose fold of wet silk balloons in and out with her breathing. 
    I move back over to her cupboards and begin hunting. I quickly find what I am looking for ? a pair of black suede four-inch heeled court pumps and some more of her extensive collection of silk scarves. I unfurl a predominantly white Hermès scarf (Regina is inscribed under the floral pattern on the scarf) and roll it into a thin, cylindrical rope. I perform the same ritual with a second scarf ? another Vuitton in shades of cream ? then I slip the pumps onto her feet and secure them in place with figure-eight’s under the arches and around her ankles. I leave the trailing ends loose, untie her left foot from the end of the bed and then tie the two ankle scarves together with a triple knot, leaving about eighteen inches of designer silk hobbling her legs. She begins stirring now, moaning as she struggles toward wakefulness. Moving quickly, I uncuff her hands from the bedhead and leave them cuffed together in front of her. Rolling her onto her side, I draw her hands down between her legs and tie the chain of her handcuffs tightly to the center of the scarves hobbling her feet with another scarf, tying it off with knot after knot to ensure its security. She begins moaning in earnest as I roll her over onto her front and position her with her knees drawn up into her belly and her ass up in the air. The deep blue glossy night-gown slides down her body and gathers indecorously below her breasts. I tear it completely off her body, the rending sound of the silk echoed in her fearful cries. I wrap two more of her scarves, both by Liberty of London, around my hands and coarsely fondling her body with these silken gloves, I put my lips to her ass and begin licking and probing with my tongue. 
    Her asshole puckers and her whole body tenses beneath my ministrations and tries to wiggle away. I grab her breasts, digging my fingertips in and pulling her body back towards me. Her fingernails rake at my chest and stomach and she screams, an unintelligible, shrill cry, over and over. I try to ignore it and press in harder with my mouth and face, but it begins to irritate me, so I sit back on my heels, fold one of the Liberty scarves down into a rectangular pad and roll the other one around it until I have a broad band with a thick padded bulge in the middle. I pull her upright by the hair (more screams) and hit her quite forcefully with my open hand on the cheek and ear. She immediately shuts up and bows her head, whimpering into her gag. 
    I bring the combination gag over her head and down in front of her mouth and, centering the pad, I pull it snugly over her mouth and chin and bring the free ends back to me. She struggles wildly against this new gag and throws herself back down on the bed, but I follow her, crushing her with my weight and tying off the brutally suffocating band of twill behind her head with an inescapable triple knot. 
    With no warning and no lubrication, I shove two fingers up to the hilt in her pussy. Her terrified shrieks are muted to near-silence by the drenched silk inside her mouth and the thick layers over it. Testing the gag further, I rake at her tits with my other hand, while working my two fingers callously in and out of her. Her screams renew in intensity and volume but are so effectively gagged, they would be scarcely audible if I were standing at the door to the room. Satisfied, I slap her on the ass and roll off the bed. 
    She lies absolutely still, weeping uncontrollably and soaking the band of silk covering her eyes. To facilitate her breathing, she has turned her head to one side, her knees are still drawn up underneath her and her hands are plucking uselessly at the scarves binding the cuffs to her feet. 
    I step into her bathroom again looking for suitable lubricants and come back with baby oil, Vaseline and a cold white night cream. I settle myself between her legs again and re-commence licking and exploring with my tongue. This time, while she can’t suppress her anxiety, she does not try to move away and, other than moaning pitifully, does not protest verbally. I alternate my focus between her pussy and her asshole, all the while coating my left hand with the cold cream. Then I work the stubby pink nozzle of the baby oil bottle into her ass and squirt it up inside until it starts pouring out of her. I give my prick a thick coating of Vaseline and begin easing my left hand into her pussy. One finger, gently, back and forth. 
    Then a second, slightly rougher now, stretching her. 
    Now a third, gently again, allowing her muscles to relax around me. Now my pinkie joins in, slurping quietly as my four fingers work in and out of her. 
    Finally my thumb (muffled screams at this conclusive intrusion) and my whole hand grinds and vibrates carefully against her elastic walls. When I sense her relaxing back against my hand and beginning to rock slowly in time to my manipulations, I spread her ass cheeks with my right hand and begin feeding my trembling cock into the tiny opening. Her screaming redoubles and her asshole clamps down tightly against me. It is seriously painful and I have to fight the urge to withdraw altogether, but I wait it out and her body eventually relents and yields slowly to my penetrating member. I cannot get my cock fully into her asshole ? I keep coming up against some obstruction inside. Maybe she just has a short ass, because I would be the first to admit, my cock is nothing special. 
    But nothing special or not, she sure as hell knows that I’m there. Her cries are fainter now, but still rise every time I thrust up into her. The sensation at the tip of my cock is absolutely amazing. I have never experienced such tightness. She has obviously never indulged in any ass-play (which may account for the violence of her reaction to my initial touches) and her untried muscles clamp down forcefully on me in juddering spasms. Due to this unfamiliar level of intense stimulation, I cum very quickly, spilling my jism into her but I stay nearly hard. So, I pull on a condom and wipe her pussy dry with another scarf (£200 worth of Hermès ? a pretty expensive sweat rag, I idly think) and slip easily into her from behind. Her screams have died off completely and have become nasal grunts and moans of delight. I work the damp Hermès up over her breasts and play with them roughly while I plough her pussy. I grab another scarf, spread it over my hand and go to work on her clit. My sore cock slowly comes back to full erection as I work her body over and I find that I can sustain my thrusting for a very long time due to the distraction that this soreness offers. 
    I bring her to orgasm twice in quick succession and then a third time after a long interval and a lot of silken stimulation. She is almost suffocating as I bring her to her third orgasm, so I pull the Liberty scarves down off her mouth. The sudden increase in oxygen is too much for her and she collapses under me as she cums, puffing and blowing in a most un-ladylike fashion. 
    I give myself a quick wipe-down with a cold towel and get dressed. She has collapsed over onto her side and is still sucking in deep lungfuls of air. I purloin two scarves from her drawer, put the handcuff key into her right hand and leave quietly. 
    My phone rings early the next morning. 
    "Last night’s client was delighted and asks will you be available next weekend for an encore?" 
    I chuckle, "I’m sure that something can be arranged ? how’s my diary looking for Saturday?" 
    "You have one on the books, but that can be an afternoon session. Shall I put you in for a midnight start with this lovely lady?" 
    "Yes, why not …" 
    "Oh, and another thing. She says you left a scarf behind ? do you want it back?" I smirk, thinking of the two fine scarves I filched from her collection  a magnificent Bulgari and a rare Mappin & Webb. 
    "With what we’re charging her, I think we can afford to let her have a little memento ? don’t you?"