Driven

"Could you pass me my bag from the back seat?" I ask. Leaning back, you get it for me. I open it up and, keeping one eye on the road, look inside. "I've got something for you. Not a present, I want it back, but something I think you'll like to try. We've talked about it before." I pull my hand out and I'm holding a collection of black leather and steel. Almost immediately you realise what they are. Leather manacles.

"Uh..." you say, buying yourself time.

"Just put them on. If you need help getting the second one on, let me know."

What harm can it do. You fiddle with the buckles and get them open. Left wrist first, the leather's cool against your skin. You wrap the leather around and fasten the buckle. As you pull it tight, it grips your wrist, without even the restraint of joining both of them, a shiver runs up your spine as you think about the potential. Putting your other wrist on the other side, you ask for help. Quickly, I have you fastened in.

There's something reassuring about having both wrists bound, unable to move one without the other, the restriction to your movement. A closer inspection and you realise that if you wanted, you probably could bend your fingers to the buckles and free yourself. As if reading your mind, I speak. "There are padlocks you can add to make the experience complete. Do you want them?"

You pause. "Sure." Why not? You're pretty sure you can trust me, so what's the harm. Why not enjoy the complete experience.

Reaching back into the bag, I pull out two small brass padlocks that go through the buckles, fastening you in. Another shiver. You're locked in place now. "Feels good?"

"Yes." You test the restraint, trying to pull your arms apart. You can't...Very good.

"Good, now for the next part." Back into the bag. This time I pull out an aeroplane eye-mask. "Put this on. It'll let you focus on the feelings."

It's a little difficult with your wrists bound, but each time the restraints stop you, a warm sexual feeling washes over you. Finally though, you get the mask over your eyes. With the world blacked out, your other senses kick in stronger. You feel every gentle roll and bounce of the car. The sound of the engine, other cars going the other way. More so, you feel the cool leather, gripping. The links allow some movement but every time, the chain pulls tight and the leather holds you in place.

"See how things feel now. Touch your breasts."

"Uh..." you try and think how to say no.

"Trust me. You'll enjoy it. If you're not comfortable obeying me, think of me more as a guide. I'll show you new exciting things if you'll just trust me and let me guide you."

Not entirely comfortable, you move your hands up to your chest. Through the shirt, you cup your hands over your breasts. You have to cross your hands to cup both at the same time and there's something about that simple compromise that feels good. As you squeeze the flesh, they feel firmer than usual. Against the palms of your hands you feel your nipples. Thinking about them makes them grow, harder, pushing more against your hands. Pushing your fingers into the flesh, you knead them, twinges of pleasure radiating out.

"That's enough." You're reluctant to stop. "As I said, let me guide you, you'll enjoy it more." Consenting, you lower your hands back to your lap, leaving your breasts sensitive and crying out for more. With the blindfold in place the sensation is stronger.

"Nice?"

"Mm-hmm." There's almost no need to speak, you're content to just enjoy the feelings. "Very nice," you say after a minute or two's silence. "Can I touch them again."

"Of course. You start to move your hands. "-But!" I stop you. "This time, don't do it through your clothes. Unbutton your shirt."

You begin to argue. "And don't argue. Trust me."

You give in. After all, I've been right so far - you are enjoying yourself. Once more, the difficulties of performing a task send little twinges of arousal as you unbutton the shirt. With a deep breath, you pull shirt open. Your heightened senses from behind the blindfold feel the warmth of the sun across your cleavage. You imagine what you must look like. Your shirt open, bra covered breasts exposed, full and rounded beneath the white satin.

Tentatively, you move your hands up to cup them. The smooth fabric feels good against your skin. Your nipples seem harder now and if anything are, as they almost strain with the risque sexiness of the scene. Your palms slide over the material then off onto the soft skin of your exposed cleavage. Probing fingers feel good as they dig into the flesh.

"Lift them out." There really is no point in arguing and so you do as you're told. Scooping one hand into a cup and lifting the breast out, to rest on top of the bra, then the other.

You know I must be looking and it feels good to know that the show must be appreciated. Listening carefully, you're sure you notice my breathing change. Touching the hard, crinkled, nipples feels like electricity. The soft flesh of your breasts easily distorts around your finger tips as you stretch and squeze them, enjoying the way they move. As you become more vigorous, you feel the edges of the cuffs and the metal links touch your skin. The cold metal sending flashes of sensation through to the very core of your breasts.

My breathing has definitely changed, is it arousal? Deciding to play up to it, from your darkened world you act up each action, making them lewder, more blatant, displaying your breasts proudly. You take the nipples and lift the breasts using only their pinched tips for support. Shaking them, you show their liquid texture. The combination of playing, with the ever present restraint, mixed with knowledge you're being watched is a heady cocktail.

Leaving your breasts, you move your hands down to your jeans, rubbing against them. I laugh softly. "If you want to do that, you may. But you'll have to take your jeans and knickers off."

No debate this time. You quickly pull the waist of the jeans open and they're down your legs, pushed off into the foot well of the car. You lift your bottom and with a little struggling - again thanks to the cuffs - your panties join them.

Furiously your hands dive between your legs, still joined together and you begin to rub, forgoing the gentle stroking for quick, desperately wanted pleasure. As you remember my presence, you open your legs as wide as the space will allow, sliding down into the seat, tilting your sex upwards. Your fingers plunge in and out, up and over your clitoris and back down again. Quickly you approach your orgasm.

As you are almost on the brink, I speak. "You do know there's another car just in front of us. They're watching you."

You listen. I'm right, you can make out the sound of another car. They must be able to clearly see your breasts, what you were doing to them and now, guess what you are up to, beneath the level of the dashboard.

That's the last, disgustingly dirty, tremendously horny, thought you need to plunge you into orgasm.