Alone pt 2.

part one <>here

She lay, cuffed by her left wrist to the wall behind her bed. Though she had some freedom of movement, she could not get enough leverage to move the fucking heavy nightstand where the cuff key had fallen.

She was completely fucked. She could not face calling the police, that would be too fucking humiliating. Her girlfriends just would never let it go.  Her husband and kids were out-of-town, 2 states away.  Who the fuck would she call?


Her next door neighbor was a dear friend. He’d lost his wife several years ago, and she’d helped him out by running his house for him while he grieved, and healed. He was an attractive older man, who had a way of just…soothing. He gave 100 per cent of his attention when he talked to you, and she always felt safe and calm knowing he was next door.

Well, he might just get the shock of his life over this one, but there was no one else she could trust.

Her free hand shaking, she reached for her cell, and pushed his speed dial button. He answered on the second ring.

“Joe?” her voice was shaking.

“Drea? you okay? ”

“i…i…haveaproblem” she said in  a rush. “Please come over. I’m upstairs…”

and she disconnected. Her heart pounded thickly in her chest, and she felt sweaty and nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Geezuz. Leave it to her to come out with one of her grandfathers proverbs now. NOT that Joe exactly reminded her of her Grampa, but…kinda. Sorta.

He started calling her as he came up the stairs.

“i’m up here,” she called. Moments later he appeared in the doorway of her room. He was outlined there, a slightly lighter blotch against the dark hallway. She heard him fumble on the wall and find the switch for the light. He stopped, his hand still over the switch when he saw her. And just looked.

She’d pulled the sheet across her as best she could but it was obvious what had been going on here. The room smelled of her sexual release and there was a large damp spot on the sheet covering her.

A smile crossed his face and then was gone.

“Well, well well. Drea, I never figured you for this kind of woman.”

“w-what kind of woman would that be?” Her eyes were wide, and deeply green  in her distress. He looked her over, noting the perky nipples tenting the sheet held to cover them. Did she even know how very much it tantalized?

“a slut.”

It was said so matter-of-factly. Slut. The word echoed in her head, much as the quiet of the house had, earlier. A flush rose to darken her cheeks, and slid down her throat to her chest. A flutter arose in her pussy. No. No. Absolutely not. Not Joe.

He walked into the room, and sat on the bed beside her. His body held the sheet tightly against her, inhibiting nearly all movement.


That word bounded around inside her head, too. She watched his eyes travel from her cuffed wrist, down her arm, pausing on her chest.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you how dangerous self bondage is? What if I was …more  than your friendly neighbor?” He asked, as he moved a strand of tangled  hair from her face, smoothing it behind her ear with a gentle finger. Her eyes were huge pools of green now, as she stared up into his. His face was unreadable. It seemed…different, somehow. Joe…but so much more.

“Like what?” she wanted to ask, but the words stayed behind her slightly parted lips.

That same gentle finger rose, and traced the lightest touch down her arm from her trapped wrist, along the sensitive underside of her forearm, up the upper arm, and through her armpit. She shivered, but not only because of the tickle he was creating. She felt her nipples draw up tighter,  and her pussy went supernova. That teasing finger slipped across her lower throat, drawing a round-bottomed ‘W’ there, before sliding slowly, ever so slowly, downward.

Her exhalation became a low whimper of sound as his hand slipped below the sheet, as that finger sawed against her nipple.

“I could be someone who might take advantage of you in your compromised state,” he continued, watching her face as he continued to tease her nub, now pinching its hardness between his thumb and finger as if testing it for ripeness.

“I could be someone who takes pleasure in hurting beautiful, captive things,” his voice went on, and she arched, yelping, as those testing fingers became brutal, squeezing and twisting her nipple cruelly. He noted that her free hand did not come up to pry his fingers away from the assault, but stayed, fisted tightly, in the sheet over her other breast.

Her eyes tightly closed against the pain, she didn’t see his smile.