12:00 12:00 12:00

"Are you sure?"

Chelsea sat on the couch, feet tucked under her, wrapped in her thick, fluffy robe, a steaming mug of tea in hand.

"Yeah. I'm okay, just not feeling all that well."

"I can stay with you-"

"No! No, really it's okay."

Truth was the last thing she wanted was company. She had been looking forward to tonight, Thursday night, club night. Looking forward to catching a buzz, maybe meeting someone, maybe getting laid. She had been moderately horny for the past few days, but had resisted the urge to diddle herself. Probably why she was in the state she now found herself - hornier than horny, exquisitely horny, horny beyond words. And she needed some quality time alone. Key word: alone.

"I'll be fine. Go! Have fun. Get lucky."

Holly left. Chelsea sipped her tea, channel surfed, stalled for time. In the state she was in you'd think she'd run to her bed instead of drawing it out. She took a perverse pleasure in that. The thought made her smile.

TV off, mug in the sink, Chelsea locked her bedroom door. They didn't have many rules, but a locked door meant keep out, do not disturb unless the place was burning down, and, even then, think twice. She didn't expect Holly any time soon, but you never knew.

In the bathroom mirror her sister looked back. Same pouty lips, same chipmunk cheeks, same straw-blonde hair. They weren't twins, born two years apart, but she used Joyce's ID when she was younger and no one ever questioned it. Probably would have if the picture showed her chest. Chelsea wasn't flat chested, but Joyce's boobs were huge. She always felt that maybe God had screwed up there. Should have evened things out a bit.

Chelsea worried the stud that pierced her clit hood, her "little friend." She shuddered. A mistake, that was definitely a definitely a mistake.

She squatted over the toiled, ran the electric trimmer through her nest until all that was left was stubble. In the tub she lathered her mound, scraped it bare. Almost came in the process. She was trembling, literally, as she toweled herself dry.

She gathered her things.

She wasn't into bondage, but at times like this the sensory overload would overwhelm her and she'd stop before the itch was properly scratched. So she wrapped a scarf around one of the spindles in the headboard of her bed, wrapped the doggie choke collar around that. She laid out four more scarves.

Chelsea pulled the fuzzy handcuffs from the nightstand drawer. A lovely parting gift from a relationship long past. She plugged in the electronic timer, set the display, set the time for an hour. That should be more than enough. The handcuff key was on a metal ring and she slipped it over the little solenoid gizmo, plugged it it. It snapped shut. She led the string over to the pillows. She slipped one of the cuffs through the rings on the chain until they were fixed between the cuffs.

She uncoiled the vibrator's power cord and plugged it into the timer, also. In an hour the vibe would stop, the key would pull free, and Chelsea would be reduced to a puddle on the bed. She'd snooze, still bound, warm beneath the covers.

Although not into bondage, there were other practical matters. Noise being one of them. Her bedroom shared a wall with the apartment next door. Chelsea crushed the foam ball, stuffed it into her mouth, sealed her lips with strips of wide tape. She worked the plugs into her ears. Add the spandex hood and she'd be guaranteed no distractions, being blind, deaf, and mute. And, once fixed to the bed, totally helpless.

She tied a scarf to the foot of the bed. Wrapped her ankles with another, knotted it, fixed it to the first. She thumbed the power switch on the vibrator, dialed in the frequency she liked, settled it between her thighs, nestled it right up against her mound.

Chelsea whimpered. It took every ounce of will to not just curl up into a ball. But she managed to bind her knees. She wrapped another scarf around her thighs just below her butt cheeks. She wasn't fat, but her thighs were on the heavy side and they enveloped the toy completely. She pulled the bedclothes over her, up and over her head. She tugged on the hood. The only thing left was the set of cuffs.

Chelsea tied the string to her finger, snicked the cuffs to her wrists, took one deep breath, and came. It was a grunting, back-arching orgasm that left her panting.

They came like ocean waves, row after row, crashing on the shore. Chelsea writhed beneath the covers, beyond Joyceng. The itch had been scratched, more than scratched, but still they came. A small part of her brain said, "Yes!" While the bigger part, the animal part, the part that had crossed the line from pleasure to torment to torture screamed, "NO!" But it was out of her hands, literally. Until the timer cut out, until the key came free, she was completely helpless.

Chelsea fainted. If she hadn't fainted, she might have heard the boom of thunder in spite of the ear plugs. If she hadn't been hooded, she might have seen the lightning flash.

She might have seen the timer flashing 12:00 12:00 12:00...

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02.04.13