Category Archives: handcuffs

“Rumors” – Original Fiction by Isabel

The music pounded and the bass line beat deep within my chest. The smell of musky perfume, sweat, desperation and excitement swam in my nose. Despite having nothing to drink for days, I felt drunk off my surroundings and my thoughts bubbled with the best kind of pleasure for me.
The club was surprisingly busy for a Thursday night and all around me the mating dances the local women were playing out. A flirt here; a grind there. A kiss on the neck; a kiss on the pussy. There wasn’t much in the way of romance out in the concrete jungle and quite frankly most of us liked it that way. We were the fast talking, fast running, fast moving of lesbian society. We had little time for finding dogs instead of kids and looking at china patterns for our commitment ceremonies.
Hell, most of us had never been to or been involved in a commitment ceremony. There were quiet whispers of disappointment when the cream colored envelopes arrived in anybody’s mailbox, announcing that one had dropped from our ranks and was off the market.
In a world where everybody was looking for something, I was looking for my next score. My next hit. My next fix that would tide me over until I had time once again for the trek to uptown where I could find the only good lesbian bar in my opinion. It had a nice mix of thick, thin, short haired and long haired. We all had our look and we stuck to them.
Just like we all had our vices. Ask anybody in the place and they could probably name off each woman’s poison. That one over there liked blow. The blond by the bar had a thing for high end shoes and pedicured toenails. The one grinding her fine ass on the brunette in jeans so tight I think they were airbrushed on shot tequila like athletes downed water.
My vice? I was in search of the high I could only get from watching others. Some liked feet, some liked rope, and some liked pain. But me, well I liked to watch. I was a voyeur. And a damn prolific one at that. Every spare minute I could I was sneaking away from the corporate grind to find myself in this place, stretched back in my private booth and getting a hard on for the action in front of me. It was an addiction I couldn’t break.
I came to search out the one woman none of us could put our proverbial finger on. Her moods were like the wind. One night she was blond with a bo-ho chic look, and the next she had jet black hair and leather pants. Rumors spread like wildfire about her. Some said she was a day trader, some a heroin dealer and some said she was a stock room girl at a big box store. Some swore they’d heard she’d fucked several Hollywood actresses and a US senator or two. Fuck, I didn’t care.
The game for me was simple – watch her like a hawk, get turned on to the point that my lingerie of choice for the evening was practically dripping and go home so I could fuck myself into a frenzy. I spent hours at home in the solace of my thoughts, pounding myself while remembering with crystal clarity every move she made.
We all wanted her, but none of the women I knew could ever testify they’d been with her. She was the ultimate enigma for me. The more I searched; the less I found. The more I watched; the less I observed.
Tonight though, she wasn’t showing. Figured. The one night I was really needing my fix and she wasn’t anywhere in sight. God, I fucking wanted her.
Two hours of waiting and watching combined with too many look-a-like drinks was quickly sending me to the restroom and I hoped it wasn’t busy. Round up enough women in one spot and you had a never ending line to pee.
Luck was on my side and the omnipresent line had somehow disappeared. I did my business and washed my hands dutifully, but then I felt a tap on my right shoulder. I glanced up and staring at me in the mirror like some kind of illusion in the Sahara was the ghost herself – the girl I was looking for.
My heart leapt in my throat and the pit of my stomach dropped out. For all the time I’d spent watching her, I hadn’t actually planned for meeting her.
She grinned at me, noir red lips set against brilliant white teeth. The glint in her eye was a mixture between evil and angel and made me pussy drip like never before. Dammit, she was hotter up close than from afar.
With a move so lithe ballerinas would be jealous, she leaned in and put her palms on the bathroom counter, surrounding me in her essence and smell. Whiffs of dark vanilla mixed with cinnamon crossed my nose and I craved to taste her like a fine dessert.
I stood there, frozen in the moment and unable to form words to say half of the things I’d always dreamed of saying to her. The problem with being a voyeur was you always pictured yourself outside of the situations you watched, not actively involved in them. When the moment actually happened, you couldn’t comprehend them.
The rosy tip of her tongue peaked out from between those pouty red lips and my heart altogether stopped when I felt it touch my skin at the middle of my neck, trailing its way up and over my jaw line. It left ice in its wake and set my body ablaze.
My eyes were glued to hers. Promises and unspoken desires rang through me, making me wish I could pull something out of my brain and out of my mouth.
Nothing came.
Her tongue flicked my fleshy earlobe and she bit it roughly between her perfect white teeth.
“Looking for me?” she whispered in my ear and I wondered where the pounding music of the club was. It was surprisingly quiet enough to hear the low dulcet sound of her voice.
I nodded meekly, still unable to find words or form anything other than what would likely be a very unlady-like and undignified grunt.
Suddenly though, my vision was extinguished. Light became dark and inside turned outside. The prized view disappeared from my sight.
“I know you watch me,” she whispered in my ear again. “I can feel your eyes on me every time I set foot in here. Do you like what you see? Do you bank it all in that pretty little head of yours? Do you go home and fuck yourself silly to the thought of me? I can see it now, your legs spread and you pumping yourself with some big black dildo. You probably have the biggest one that’s made, you dirty little slut.”
My knees buckled and I wondered how she knew all that. For as much as us lesbians gossiped, nobody knew about my favorite toy. It sat at the bottom of my bedside drawer, ready for use whenever I got home from watching her gyrate and grind her hips onto a different unsuspecting woman.
My mind was so focused on her words that I didn’t feel my arms being moved. Hell, I almost didn’t feel the cold steel wrapping around my wrist and certainly almost didn’t hear the click of the handcuffs as they locked my arms behind me.
She bent me over the sink and for a brief second I wondered why the damn bathroom was so deserted for a busy night.
I could feel the heat from her pussy through my pants and I wondered what she was wearing.
“Do you like that, little girl? I can tell you do. I can smell you through your pants. You like this. Bent over a dirty sink in a crowded club for everybody to see. Blindfolded and handcuffed. The voyeur likes being watched,” she said and I moaned a little at her words. This had never happened before and yet I was turned on beyond description already.
“I thought so,” she replied.
She grabbed my hips and pulled me back onto her pussy. Her heat made me positive that I would need to throw out the horribly expensive pants I was wearing. There’d simply be too much girl goo on them to clean.
Suddenly, she pulled my hair back and the pain I felt caused me to moan out again. To my shock though, it didn’t sound like the sound of pain I was used to hearing from myself. No, this felt good. I liked this pain.
Cold steel lifted off my wrists and my arms fell limply forward onto the cool granite countertop. My skin blazed and I was breathing roughly.
“When you’re ready for more, you’ll know how to find me. You always do.”
With that, she was gone. She’d left me blindfolded and bent over in a restroom. The door groaned shut and I realized my lacy thong was completely soaked through.
I never thought I’d actually meet her and now I’d done more than that. Another 60 seconds and I’m pretty sure she would have had me with a gooey mess running down my legs. Turning the tables turned out to be my biggest turn on.
I rushed home, throwing pieces of clothing off frantically as soon as I was inside the door to my apartment on my way to that very same big black dildo she’d mentioned. I fucked myself for hours, remembering the smell of her skin, the feel of her tongue, the heat of her pussy and everything in between. I went so hard for so long I actually fell asleep with my toy still in me.
My pants showed up next morning, now ruined from the set-in stain of my arousal, showed up behind my couch. Poking out from the left side back pocket was a little white business card, and there was only one person who could have put it there.
There was a phone number and a simple phrase printed in black text.
“Don’t believe the rumors.”