Buzzed
There was something a bit...off. You can’t place your finger on it. An energy. A tension. Something has made you extremely alert, but not adrenaline; you feel calm. Calm, but... excited? Eager?
Yes. Eager. That’s it. Usually you’re so good at focusing, but today you’re mind keeps wandering in all sorts of strange directions. Your brain darts from place to place in search of something.
“Focus,” you tell yourself. “Breathe.” It’s not working.
“Maybe it’s the coffee,” you wonder. You don’t usually drink any, but woke up so exhausted and thought it might give you a kick. Instead, it’s left you a bit hyper and with the attention span of a goldfish.
Each time you try to get your brain to work on something, it just starts to wander again, and with more and more intensity. Last night you were writing company-wide memos; this morning you can’t complete a thought, let alone a sentence. A gentle vibration, a soft buzz in your brain, keeps pulling you back into this loopy, unfocused haze. It’s pleasant, but a bit disconcerting.
As you start to wonder if you’ve been drugged, you feel that vibration kick in again, this time a little stronger. Every time you come close to having a clear thought, it seems like someone pushes a button and a little charge of energy rushes through you. The only time you don’t notice it is when you are directly contemplating the sensation itself; it’s as if you aren’t even allowed to think about anything save this. All you can really do is feel, intensely experience these sensations. And you’re starting to feel very, very good.
You catch a glimpse of your watch. You’re more than a bit shocked to see it’s already after noon. Hours have passed and...you’ve just been sitting here. You move to look at your computer but are stopped again by that increasingly intense jolt of electricity.
Another shiver runs down your spine, this one not the result of any jolt. This is all more than a little exciting. You pride yourself on your clever intellect, and the discipline it gives you. You seem to have neither right now. Everything seems a bit out of control. Correction: Out of your control. “Someone is definitely controlling this,” you think, but can’t take the idea much further. Strangely (perhaps because it feels so good?), the thought of being in someone else’s thrall doesn’t bother you. It’s actually starting to arouse you.
You can’t think straight (let alone at all, really), but if you could you know that the thoughts wouldn’t be your own anyway. Your body doesn’t feel like it’s yours. The only thing your brain can focus on are the words “GO HOME.” Going through the motions of collecting your computer and leaving, the buzzing sensation (now more of a throb) pulses twice, almost as if in agreement with your decision.
As you work your way home, you are increasingly aware of how turned on you are. Your body is moving, or more aptly, being propelled, toward home. Your thoughts (or whomever’s thoughts are flitting through your mind) have also started to change, becoming more urgently precise with each moment. You are overcome by the feeling in every part of you that you need to cum. You need to cum now. This can’t wait. You catch yourself whispering the words out loud: “You need to cum. You need to cum now.”
You arrive, gratefully, at home. But as you enter, the house feels different. Like there’s a live wire somewhere inside. The thought comes again, more insistent: “You need to cum. You need to cum now.”
Moving quickly into your bedroom, you notice that it is not quite the way you left it that morning. Neatly arranged atop the mattress are four cuffs, each tied to a leg of the frame. They’re not yours. But you want them to be.
You go to the bed. It feels like it’s pulsing at the same frequency you are. It’s no longer a pulse, really; more like a continuous energetic sensation that makes every part of you stand at attention. You pick up one of the cuffs, inspect it. The sensation intensifies in its pleasure. For a split-second, you try to take stock of the situation, only to find your thoughts forcefully returned to what now seems to be your mantra: You need to cum. You need to cum now.
You undress, yanking off clothes and tossing them to the floor. You’re usually so neat, and tidy; you’ve always wanted everything in your life to be clean, orderly, under control. You’ve largely been successful at that. But that is no longer true. Right now, you want messy; messy, chaotic, unrestrained pleasure and touches and thoughts that don’t stop. Again, you hear yourself: “I need to cum. I need to cum now.” And alongside those words, just as pressing: “I need to be in the cuffs.”
You sit on the bed, naked. You put one leg in a cuff, then the other. You see that you can pull on the straps to make them tighter. You do, and your legs spread open. You pull more; wider still. You’ve never done this before, but it feels very familiar. You pull the straps even tighter, your legs now taut. You try to lift one ankle, and are pleased to find that you can’t.
You place one cuff around your wrist and secure it. You fasten the other cuff. You use your mouth to grasp one strap, and slowly pull it tight. You love the slow, long stretch it is giving you. You hope that’s not all you’ll get.
So you lay down, arms and legs as far apart as they can go, every part of your body breathlessly anticipating what is going to come next.
For the first time all day, your mind clears, and you are able to actually think for a minute. But before that thought can cohere, before you can think about the strangeness of everything going on around you, you hear yourself saying aloud, “I want to be owned. I need to be taken.” And again, but louder. “I want to be owned. I need to be taken.” Over and over. “I want to be owned. I need to be taken.”
And from somewhere inside of you (but also not inside of you), in a voice you know (but also don’t know), a whisper replies, “You want to be owned? You need to be taken? What makes you think you haven’t been already?”
As that realization crosses your mind, it is quickly followed by the deep-seated confidence that this was all a very good thing. You hear the front door (something that only you have the permissions to unlock) slowly opening and closing. You are un-alarmed by this development (as, it would seem, is your house!). Instead, you close your eyes and try to concentrate: on the sensations washing over and through you; the tickle of the breeze on your naked, goose-pimpled skin; the delightful vulnerability of being restrained this way.
You hear, quietly at first, a slow “click, click, clicking” coming down the hallway toward your room. It grows louder, closer, the sound now in the room with you, approaching the bed. She stops, and you can feel her presence at the bedside. A drape, a coat, a something falls off her body onto the floor. You can feel the heat coming off her skin. You are desperate to feel it on yours, but you try to stay very still.
You could look and see who it is; the lights are low but you could probably make out a face. But you don’t look. You don’t want to. You simultaneously realize that you have been taken and that this is exactly what you want. The word “Please” is being said over and over again. Quietly at first, then gradually louder. It’s coming from you, from some primal, instinctual, part of yourself you’ve always managed to suppress. But you can’t, anymore. You can’t, you understand, because you are now owned. You don’t know what any of this is, but you do know it’s right.
She exhales deeply. She bends over you, alert nipples grazing your skin. Coming close to your ear, she whispers your name. She asks if you’ve been good. She asks if your straps need to be tightened. You respond with emphatic nods yes. As her forearm brushes past your thigh, you consider that her skin might be the softest thing you’ve ever felt.
There are hundreds of sensations inside of you, all competing for her attention, aching to be tamed and satisfied at this very moment. Your thoughts are messy: a jumble of smells (its clean and light); of touches that haven’t come yet but soon will (on every part of you, over and over, again), of cumming so hard that you might not ever be able to think of anything else (please). But cutting through all of that, you whisper (and plead, and beg) your mantra, “I need to cum. I need to cum now.”
With a confident touch, a warm touch, she runs her hands across your chest and your stomach and your thighs, her fingertips sending all new trembles through your body. As she lays down next to you, her body long and thin, her skin smooth and pale, she replies without hesitation, “Yes. You do need to cum. And now you will.”