Friday Night Fun

Friday evening arrived with a weight I could feel in my chest. I packed a small bag—toothbrush, change of clothes, the plug still sitting in its drawer from the last time. I left it behind. He hadn't told me to bring it.

The knock at his door felt different this time. Final.

He opened it wearing a cardigan over a plain white shirt, glasses perched low. The apartment smelled of cooked chicken and herbs. A table in the dining nook held two plates, two glasses, a bottle of wine.

“You're early,” he said. “Good. I made dinner.”

I didn't know what I'd expected. Chains. Immediate orders. Not this—not a meal laid out like a date. He pulled out a chair for me. I sat.

We ate in quiet conversation. He asked about my classes, my father's job search. I answered in short sentences, my leg bouncing under the table. The wine was dry, slightly tart. He refilled my glass twice.

By the time he cleared the plates, the sun had set. The bedroom door stood open at the end of the hall. Black sheets visible in the dim light.

He took my hand. Led me to the room.

“Undress,” he said. “Then lie on your back. Arms above your head.”

The ropes were still there, coiled at each post. My fingers remembered the feel of nylon. I stripped, folded each piece, set them on the chair. The air raised goosebumps on my arms. I lay back, stretched my wrists up, felt the soft loops tighten around them.

He bound my ankles next, spreading them wide. The black sheet was cool beneath my spine. The lamp cast a low gold circle on the ceiling.

He stepped back. Surveyed.

“Beautiful,” he said.

He moved to the nightstand, opened the drawer. The vibrator was new—pale pink, curved, with a flared base. He held it up, let the light catch its surface. Silicone. Sleek.

“Do you know what this is for?”

I nodded.

“Tell me.”

“My clit,” I said. My voice came out dry.

“Yes.” He set it on the nightstand beside the bottle of lubricant. “And then I'm going to fuck your ass while you cum. Over and over. Until you lose count.”

My thighs pressed together involuntarily. He saw it, smiled, and reached for the vibrator.

The first touch was gentle. He ran the tip along my inner thigh, tracing a line from knee to hip. The silicone was smooth, cool. I shivered. He circled my navel, then lower, skimming through my pubic hair without touching where I needed it.

“Please,” I whispered.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

He pressed the vibrator against my clit. Just rested it there. The vibration was low, a distant hum. I arched into it. He didn't move it, just held it steady, letting the sensation build at its own pace.

“Watch,” he said.

I looked down. The pink silicone was nestled against my folds, the base pointing toward my belly. My hips rocked, trying to increase the pressure. He kept it steady, unyielding.

The vibration deepened. He'd adjusted something—a dial on the base. The hum grew stronger, spreading through my pelvis. My breath quickened.

“That's it,” he said. “Let it build.”

He began to move the vibrator in slow circles, pressing harder. My back arched. The pleasure coiled in my belly, winding tighter with each rotation. I gripped the ropes, knuckles white.

“I'm close,” I said.

“Not yet.”

He pulled the vibrator away. I gasped at the sudden emptiness. The coil loosened, slipped back. I groaned in frustration.

He laughed softly, a low sound. “Patience.”

He set the vibrator aside, picked up the lubricant. The click of the cap was loud in the quiet room. He coated his fingers, then reached beneath me, pressing against my ass. The touch was cool, deliberate.

“You're going to take me here,” he said, circling. “And while I fuck you, I'm going to use this on your clit. And you're going to cum. And then you're going to cum again. And again. Until you can't remember your name.”

His finger pushed inside—just the tip. I tensed, then forced myself to relax. He worked deeper, scissoring gently. The stretch was familiar now, no longer foreign. I felt myself open for him.

He added a second finger. The burn sharpened, then faded. I breathed through it.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “So ready for me.”

He withdrew, coated his cock with more lubricant. The head pressed against my entrance, slick and warm. I held my breath.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He pushed in. Slow. Steady. The fullness was intense, pressing against something deep. I bit my lip. He seated himself fully and paused, letting me adjust.

Then he reached for the vibrator.

He pressed it against my clit as he began to thrust. The double sensation hit me like a wave. The vibration, the fullness, the stretch—all of it merging into a single point of pleasure. I cried out.

“That's one,” he said.

His thrusts were deep, unhurried. Each stroke pressed the vibrator harder against my clit. The coil returned, faster this time, winding tighter. I couldn't hold it back.

The orgasm broke in a rush. My back arched, my inner walls clenching around him. He kept thrusting, kept the vibrator pressed against me, drawing it out until I was gasping, trembling.

“Good,” he said. “Now again.”

He didn't stop. The vibrator stayed on my clit, his thrusts steady, relentless. The sensitivity was almost too much. I tried to squirm away, but the ropes held me in place.

“Please,” I breathed. “I need a moment.”

“No. You need another one.”

He increased the pace. The vibrator's hum deepened, and the pleasure built again—faster this time, fed by the aftershocks still rippling through me. I felt myself climbing, helpless, unable to stop it.

The second orgasm hit like a punch. My vision blurred. I heard myself sob, a broken sound. My legs shook, the ropes creaking as I strained against them.

“That's two,” he said. “Keep going.”

He fucked me through it, the vibrator never leaving my clit. The third came on the heels of the second, a shorter crest, a smaller wave. My body was no longer mine. It was a vessel for sensation, nothing else.

“Three,” he said.

The fourth was a tremor, barely there. The fifth was nothing but a shudder. I lost count. The numbers blurred into a single sustained note of pleasure that hummed through my bones.

His breath grew ragged. His thrusts lost their rhythm.

“I'm going to fill you,” he said, his voice strained. “I'm going to pump you so full. You'll feel me for days.”

He drove deep, held, and I felt the first pulse. Hot. Thick. Another. Another. His body shuddered against mine as he emptied himself into me, his seed flooding that channel, filling me completely.

He stayed inside, breathing hard. The vibrator fell silent, rolling off my clit onto the sheet. I lay still, unable to move, my limbs heavy, my mind blank.

He withdrew slowly. The wetness trickled down my thigh. He reached down, pressed two fingers against my entrance, held it closed.

“Keep it in,” he said. “I want you full tonight.”

He untied my wrists, then my ankles. I didn't move. My body felt like it belonged to someone else.

He pulled the sheet over us, curled behind me, his arm around my waist. His hand rested on my stomach, pressing gently.

“You did so well,” he murmured against my hair. “So well.”

I stared at the wall. The lamp cast a long shadow across the ceiling. His seed was warm inside me, sealed deep.

Tomorrow was Saturday. And Sunday after that.

I closed my eyes.