"I am at a dinner party tonight," read his email. "Polite middle class chat and all I can think of is fucking you with your hands tied behind your back and your knickers stuffed in your mouth." This followed on a conversation we'd had earlier in the day on the subject of ways to stop me complaining when tied up and at his mercy.
At home, alone, I finished my own dinner before heading into my bedroom and pulling out my camera, some rope and a lacy pair of panties.
A short time later I emailed him the results: me lying face down on the bed, nude but for a pair of black heels, hands behind my back and bound at the wrists, my head and shoulders twisted to look back at the camera, mouth stuffed with pink mesh and lace. "Sort of like this?" I wrote.
"OH FUCK" was the reply I woke up to the following morning.
