Currently Untitled By: Sean She tied his hands with soft silk scarves-- it wasn't his fantasy, but her variation on his fantasy, a way of making it her own, so he let her, though no such thing had ever been done to him before and he wasn't sure how he felt about it now. He wrapped his hand around the bedpost as she cinched the cool slippery cloth around his wrist, testing its strength. Stronger than it looked. A twinge of trepidation stabbed his belly as it came home to him that he was at her mercy in a real way, and he kissed her beneath her ear as she leaned across him to secure the second knot. She shivered, and sat up, straddling and smiling down at her captive. A redhead. Slim, taller than she looked. The fineness of her features made you remember her as small, though in heels she was nearly eye to eye with him. Hair clipped boyishly short, glinting like embers in the dim light. She wore no make-up, and no perfume. Her skin was like the inside of a seashell-- ivory tinged with pink. She wore one of his shirts, and it was huge on her, the tails reaching past her knees, the cuffs engulfing her small hands. She pulled it off over her head without unbuttoning it-- and there she was. Luminous in the shadows, small-boned and every bit as beautiful as he'd always imagined she would be. Shy, too-- her eyes downcast as he looked at all of her for the first time. It always surprised him when beautiful women were shy. He took a moment to take in every detail: slender thighs bracketing his hips, small flaring hips, the tiniest hint of a tummy swaddled in the dark blue lace of her panties. That lace itched as he became hard against her. He squirmed, a little, and felt the muscles in her legs tighten in response. He was breathing harder, as if there was less air in the room than there had been a second before. A redhead's freckles dotted her shoulders, like a leopard's pelt, and paler, golden ones traced a path down into the cleft between her apple-sized breasts. She'd said so many times that she wished they were bigger, and the endearing absurdity of that almost made him laugh now. They were largish on her tiny frame, full and round, in apparent defiance of gravity. He moved to cup them and remembered that he couldn't when the silk bonds held his arms in place. The corners of her mouth turned up in the beginning of a smile, and it blossomed when he arched his back instead. He pushed harder with his hips, and her eyes drifted shut. She returned the pressure, letting out a sigh. He started to speak-- maybe to tell her she was beautiful, maybe to ask her what she wanted to do next-- but she stopped him with a finger placed across his lips. She leaned across him again, bringing those breasts painfully close to kissing distance, took something from the shelf above his head and sat back before he could crane his head forward and touch a nipple with his lips. The disappointment dried up when he saw what it was she held in her hands. A square of linen paper: the sort salesgirls spray samples of perfume on at make-up counters. And a tiny bottle of perfume. He knew she'd bought it just for him, because she didn't own cosmetics of any kind-- she couldn't use them. He'd seen the effect they had on her often enough, when she was near others who did wear them. She was really going to do it. All of a sudden, he couldn't breathe at all. She held the card far away from herself, uncapped the bottle, and sprayed a tiny bit of the scent onto the paper. She looked at him, smiling her tiny smile, and fanned the card under her nose, inhaling deeply. The first sneeze happened right away. It was not a hard one, but she scrunched her eyes shut and half-stifled it like she usually tried to do, forgetting that she didn't have to now, that he would prefer it if she didn't. His pulse pounded. He could feel it in his chest and throat. Blood roared in his ears, and the second one came moments later, much more violently this time. Her breasts shivered with the force of it. He arched his hips hard against her and strained against the scarves, desperate to hold her, squeeze her, kiss her, fuck her. She sniffled and laughed, surprised at his reaction, surprised at how physical it was (this was not associated with sex for him; it was sex-- she believed that now), even though he'd explained exactly what her sneezes did for him. It'd been so hard for him to tell her, but he'd been so anxious, too-- trusting and vulnerable-- and it was that that'd finally convinced her to indulge the affection she felt for him, to fan it into something more. Knowing that he had a sexual on/off switch that she could press at will excited her as well. It was fun to be irresistible. She'd had to try it. Blinking allergic tears out of her eyes, she asked, softly: "would you like another?" All he could do was nod. She dug in the sheets for the perfume bottle and sprayed the card again, much more liberally this time. He was rocking his hips now, not thinking about, his body taking over and trying to put itself as near to her as possible, trying to become a part of her, working independently of the brain. She held him as still as she could, bracing him with her thighs, holding him down with her hips, loving that. It was bliss to hold him at the edge of what it was he most wanted, to feel the desire rushing from him into her like an electric current. She wouldn't be able to hold back much longer herself. This time, she put on a show. A sneeze-tease. She wafted the card under her nose until it tickled, until she could feel the first bite in her sinuses and the first welling of tears in her eyes. Then she took it away. Just long enough to let the feeling dissipate. She brought it back and took a deeper sniff, coming close to the sneeze, not sure herself whether or not it would happen. At the last second, it didn't. She sniffled hard and laughed again at his expression: a mix of awe and driving lust. The next time she brought the perfume sample near her nose she sneezed right away, uncontrollably hard, forgetting herself again and trying to stifle it, not that it did any good. A second one followed, then a third. He jumped and twitched beneath her each time, as if he was the one sneezing and not her. Confident that they'd keep coming on their own for a few minutes now, she flicked the perfume card away and raised herself up enough to slide out of her panties. She settled back onto him and he shut his eyes, gasping at the warmth of her, the wetness. She wanted to kiss him. Instead, she took him in her hand and helped him inside of her, both of them gasping at the sensation, and slid down onto him. Her nose was tickling. She let him slide deeper as the tickle intensified, and sneezed hard at the instant he was as far inside her as it was possible to go. He jumped like he'd been jabbed with a pin. She ground her hips against him and did it again, their hips locked together. Two more quick, hard sneezes made him throw back his head and writhe as if in agony. It gave her a deep stab of pleasure in the pit of her belly to watch him, and she coaxed another sneeze by inhaling oh-so-slowly, to encourage that faint, persistent tickle. She realized her knots were slipping just an instant before they gave up the struggle and let go. His arms came up around her, crushing her against his chest, and his mouth met hers in a rough, deep kiss that she had to struggle away from to sneeze again. Then she was on her back, flipped over before she knew what was happening, and she was a little afraid. Like she had been the very first times she'd ever had sex. Afraid it might hurt, afraid of what he'd do, afraid that somehow he'd break her apart, and hoping in some deep part of herself that he would. Looking forward to it. that'd been a part of it then, pleasurable in a strange way, but it was better now. Both because it was rediscovered, and because she trusted him. Loved him. He drove into her and it felt soooo good-- she wished it would never end. It was a few moments before she realized she wasn't going to sneeze again without some help. "Please don't stop," he was murmuring in her ear, "please don't--" so she sniffled and whispered back "help me." He grabbed up the perfume bottle and aimed it at her, hesitating at the last second to spray it in her face. "Go ahead," she said-- a rash decision she'd probably pay for with hours of stuffiness and days of sinus pain, but she was in the moment and didn't want the moment to end. He squirted perfume into the air above her rather than right at her, a small compromise that touched her anyway, reassured her that he was someone she wanted to do this for, and as the sweet-scented mist cooled her cheeks, she started sneezing for real. This was a severe attack-- the sort she had in the springtime, or when an over-zealous salesgirl at the mall doused her with perfume as she walked by, or when she spent an hour cleaning an especially dusty corner of her apartment. She could feel him both wanting to drive forward and pull away, afraid he was hurting her, afraid she was miserable, and she held him close, bucked beneath him, encouraged him to make the most of it. He did. And the sneezes came uncontrollably, one after another. She scrabbled at the bedside table for a wad of tissues and sneezed into them, fifteen or eighteen times at least before it even began to taper off. Every fifth or sixth was especially violent, and he thrust into her after each of these so desperately she was amazed he didn't come. It was kind of a good sensation in and of itself, the sneezing-- the tension and release, repeated over and over-- a machine-gun blast of overwhelming and inescapable physical sensations, each one making her clamp down on the hardness inside of her-- miniature versions of the orgasm she realized she was about to have. That was nice and strange, because her orgasms were often elusive and hard-won-- but then it was happening, and she was digging her nails into his shoulders, clamping her legs around him hard enough to hurt, and not thinking about anything at all. As it was winding down her breath caught, she inhaled, waited, felt it fade and even whispered "oh, sorry--" before it came back twice as strong and she sneezed hard enough to see spots behind her closed eyes. That was it for him-- he exploded inside of her, whimpering, crying as it ended. She cradled his head, kissed him, turned away to sneeze, laughed, and kissed him again. He was muttering apologies, pushing tissues at her, looking at her reddened nose and weepy eyes and getting more upset. "Shhhh," she whispered. "Don't. I'm okay." It took her a few minutes to soothe his guilt and worry, but she did, and he held her, and rocked her to sleep.