Walk home arm in arm under the rain. Kiss in the doorway, climb the stairs. Finally get to the room, the best still to come. Open the shopping bag that’s been in our minds all night. Don’t take your clothes off, he says, closing the handcuffs over my wrists, tying them to the bedpost. I want to fuck you just like that, just the way you prepared yourself for me. I want to feel your boots on my back.
Panties off, stockings ripped to shreds.
Yes, goddamn, that’s it, fuck me, split me apart. Make me cum once, twice, then let me out of the handcuffs so I can use them on you.
Normal people have fantasies, I say, closing the cuffs on his wrists. We sluts have plans.
And memories, my lover adds. We also have memories, and tonight we are creating some that will last a long, long time.
Roles are reversed. Now I am in control. I eat him out, make him wait. I mount him, I come again. I free him from the cuffs, we slide up, down, side to side, the bed our only known universe. Fuck, suck, lick, fuck, jerk, fuck, and then I make him come with my mouth, and I collapse like a happy ragdoll in his arms after an hour, laughing like fools, two happy lovers, like that, darling, sweetness. We lay just like that, sweaty, sated, blissful.
The morning after, I can’t help smiling at the office. Because we sluts have memories, indeed.