058 Dinner

Thom has tied me down on the bed.

My wrists are tightly secured with climbing rope. The thin kind, with pretty colours. I remember the day we bought it, at that large sports store outside of town. Thom had been bringing it up for weeks. Saying that silk ties weren’t really doing the trick, because they kept slipping when he squirmed, and then he could easily escape if he wanted to. That’s right, it was Thom who had been the one tied down. It wasn’t really my thing, and Thom hadn’t complained.

Until now.

It’s afternoon. The curtains are open, revealing the neighbours’ bathroom window. No, revealing me to the neighbours. An older couple, friendly, but in a cold, formal way, and behind that façade still very much disgusted with us and everyone else thinking that same sex relationships aren’t a sick, twisted sin. If one of them would discover me lying here like this, they’d call the police on us, no doubt. Thank God Thom at least put my boxers back on.

It’s been two hours and thirteen minutes since he left me here. My wrists are burning, the blood hardly able to make its way to my hands. He sure knows how to tie knots. Every time I try to loosen them, they only tighten more. That rock climbing camp he did as a kid sure proved useful. I try turning myself around, but when my stomach reaches the mattress I hiss from the pain my wrists are causing. I turn back and sigh.

It had started out rather good, though. Sleeping in, Thom bringing me tea to bed for a change, both of us just enjoying the peace and quiet of a Saturday morning. Noon, actually. And enjoying each other. I will never get tired of that, I know that by now. Ever. Even if I had to swear to never fuck him again, forever be the bottom, I’d do it with a smile. He’s good. The memory of this morning alone could be enough to wake up certain bodyparts.

I jerk my head towards the movement I notice at the door from the corner of my eye.

A smirking Thom is standing in the doorway. He’s holding something I can’t see, but when I lift my head from the pillow, he tucks his hand behind his back.

“How are we doing, Jonjon?” he asks casually.

I close my eyes and count to ten to keep from thrashing about.

“It’s nearly 3 PM, you know. You might want to consider getting out of bed, you lazy bum. The weather’s beautiful.”

My leg jerks involuntarily. Breathe, Jonny. Zen. Om. Yin Yang. Whatever.

“Thom. You’ll have to untie me eventually, there’s no way you’re going to cook that dinner for your parents on your own. You mess up cooking bloody potatoes.”

The smirk doesn’t leave his face. It gets bigger, ever.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve got everything under control. I’ve been doing some grocery shopping on my own. And lookie what I found. 50 cents off!”

He holds the can of whipped cream up for me to see. I roll my eyes.

“How unbelievably cheesy of you,” I snort.

The smile fading a bit, he walks towards the bed, crawls to the middle on hands and knees and straddles me, pinning my legs down.

“You know, I don’t really care about your opinion. I can do what I want with you. And right now, I want...”

He pretends to think deeply for a few seconds, then shakes the can, making the bed wiggle. The friction of our hips together is stirring things I’d rather keep down at the moment. I’m in the middle of picturing the neighbours g-string clad on the beach, when whipped cream is being squirted into my nostrils. I’m assuming he was going for the upper lip, when he starts covering my chin with more of the white stuff.

When he’s done, he sits back, evaluating his work.

“What,” I mumble, “you’re getting off on Santa?”

He lets out a high-pitched ha!, before adding, “Getting off is not my goal right now, Jonjon,” he pats me on the stomach, then keeps rubbing lightly, “but I might as well enjoy the moment.”

He bends down, pressing warm denim into my crotch and placing his hands next to my armpits, and sticks out his tongue. I don’t even feel it at first, the layer’s that thick. When he gets to my chin, it starts getting messy. I can feel lukewarm cream slowly sliding down my neck. Before it stains the mattress though, he swoops it up. I throw my head back; despite wanting to keep a stubborn face, I can’t help but enjoy this. He notices and pushes his hips down slightly. I swallow the gasp I was about to emit. Whilst licking my upper lip clean, he does it again, and I quickly lift my head and scoop up some whipped cream from his tongue before he can protest.

“Sneaky,” he says amusedly, and pinches my nipple. I grin, but don’t move an inch.

“Suit yourself.” Thom gets up and leaves the room haughtily.

“At least close the curtains?” I yell after him.







I think I dozed off for a few minutes because the sun is now fully concentrating on the bedroom window. I look at the alarm clock and am surprised to see almost an hour having passed since I last checked. 5:24 PM. Thom’s parents are arriving at seven. We need to get started on the dinner, and the toilet hasn’t been cleaned yet. It wasn’t my turn this week, and I’m not taking his again. He’s rubbish when it comes to household. I’m second worst, really, but two and a half years of trying to make the best of it have taught me a few things about cleaning, cooking and doing laundry. Thom, on the other hand, doesn’t learn from his mistakes. He keeps on putting jumpers in the dryer, cooking pasta until it’s mush and he never. Ever. Changes an empty toilet roll. At least I hope he’s currently proving himself responsible downstairs. I doubt it.

It’s getting hot in here. The sun is going down and stretching over the blanket, over my legs. Soon I’ll be drenched in rays and, consequentially, sweat. I’m losing my patience now. If he isn’t back in five minutes... No, I will not call him. But the dinner... If I don’t get downstairs now, we won’t get it finished in time, and I can picture my mother-in-law’s Face of Disapproval all too vividly.

Just when I feel I can’t wait any longer, I hear footsteps on the stairs.

“Thom, damn it, stop playing games! We need to get moving, they’ll be here in an hour!” I raise my voice, trying to get him to reasoning.

“Calm down, Jonny; as I said, everything is under control.”

He moves to sit down beside me with a tranquility that makes me want to chew my nails.

“Come on, Thommy, I’ve been here long enough, don’t you think? It’s getting too hot in here, I need a shower and I haven’t ironed that shirt yet, and have you turned on the oven for the peppers, ‘cause-“

“Shhhh.” Thom puts a finger on my lips and blinks calmly.

“You’re so sexy when you’re frustrated,” he coos in my ear, whilst running a hand over my thigh.

“Is that why you tied me up? I thought you’d had your dose of Jonny frustration last week when you broke that tile at the fireplace,” I state coldly.

“Jesus, Jonny, you sound like a married couple.”

“It takes two to get that effect, you know,” I bite back, but my voice is quivering because the hand has now moved to my inner thigh and the fingers are making the slightest circling movements towards my crotch, just enough to not tickle, not enough to satisfy. Well, what he lacks in household knowledge, he does more than make up in bed.

No, no no. Focus, Jonny. Dinner. Parents-in-law. Holy fuck we’re screwed.

“Thom, I’m ordering you to untie me. Now. We have guests, for christ’s sake. Your parents. Your mother. You won’t be able to do anything wrong, it’s me who always gets the blame. Besides, I can’t feel my hands anymore. I don’t deserve this,” I add miserably.

Thom nods.

“You’re right, you don’t deserve this. I’ll open a window.”

I make a grumbling, incoherent noise out of sheer frustration and powerlessness.

“Ooh, do that again.”

“Fuck you. Hey, wait, hey! The curtains! Thom!”


I can’t believe he just did that. I am now lying on my bed, hands tied to the bedposts, in my underwear, the window in front of me wide open, revealing me to the neighbours’ bathroom in all glory. I hope for them they’re not planning on taking a shower at six in the evening.


Part 2

I smell something. Could it be... is he really cooking that dinner all by himself? He doesn’t know how to season fucking spaghetti, let alone roasted peppers with plums and cherry tomatoes. He’s going to ruin the entire dinner. Fuck, I knew it. What is he trying to prove, though? We’ve developed our little division of tasks over the two years and a half we’ve lived here (well, one and a half, if you include the tour), and it works. Most of the time. Why this then? Is he unsatisfied with how things are going? He could’ve just told me instead of testing me like this. Fuck, my wrists hurt.

6:35 PM. That’s it. We’re done. I’ll be too late nevertheless. Not enough time to shower, iron and put on clothes, check the toilet (I bet he didn’t even remember), call a caterer to make up for the disaster in the oven... fuck, I have to make sure I won’t reveal an inch of my wrists. They must look horrible by now. Long sleeved shirt, then. What am I even thinking? It’s too late.


Part 3

I hear something. Thom’s climbing the stairs. What, now he’s coming to save me? It’s bloody 5 minutes to seven. I hear footsteps on the landing, then stopping. Something is being put on the ground. It’s clunking. Sounds heavy. Thom is entering the bedroom now, that same smirk from before smeared across his face. I look away, I’m too angry to react at this moment.

“Jonny.”

He says it with a certain... lecturing tone. As if he knows it all better. But softer, mixed with pity. I can hear the smile in his voice.

And then it hits me. The phone call this morning. It must’ve been to cancel the dinner. Must’ve been. He’d never... Oh, the fucker. He’s going to pay for this. I look up at him.

“They cancelled, then.” I say it calmly. I am calm. I’m calm, because I know I’m going to make him pay big time.

He blinks slowly, answering my question that wasn’t really a question anymore.

“Please untie me. It hurts.”

“Just a little longer, Jonjon. I have something for you.”

He walks back to the hallway. I hear some more clunking, and then clinking, like glass. He comes back with a bottle of red and two glasses.

I can’t help but smile.

“Now how the hell am I supposed to drink that?” I ask him.

He giggles, then says, “We’ll work something out.”

He pours us both a glass, then sips from his. Nodding approvingly, he moves closer to me and presses his lips against mine.

“What does that say?”

“Good. I’ll have to have a better taste, though.”

He grins, then kisses me again, this time letting his tongue share the flavour of the wine with me.

“Mhmm. I approve.” I open my eyes again, lazily.

My glass is being brought against my lips, and I have to strain my neck to drink. Despite my efforts, some of the wine spills down my throat, but Thom’s mouth is more than happy to clean it up.

He gets up and goes to the hall again. This time he stays away for a longer time. It takes him almost five minutes to come back into the room, carrying two lit candles and a plate. He places the candles on the bedside table and the plate on my chest. It’s filled with small pieces of toast, topped with melted cheese – camembert, possibly – and half a grape on each piece. Without saying a word, he takes a piece and brings it to my mouth. The moment it touches my tongue, I close my eyes and moan. It’s wonderful. The grape was a great idea, I wonder where he got that. Before I can think too much, another piece is on the way.

“Mmyummikeff?” he mumbles around his own, looking at me.

“More,” I command, watching him playfully.

By the time the plate is empty, the wine is half empty and my chest is full of crumbs and greasy fingerprints. Thom traces a finger over my lips whilst getting up, and I don’t ask where he’s going.

When he comes back, I can’t help but laugh out loud. Another plate, full of roasted peppers, knife and fork, a napkin ánd a table cloth, with which he starts to clean my chest. By the time he’s done, I’m shaking with laughter. This is so not Thom, and the effort he’s making is so adorable and hilarious at the same time.

“What?” he laughs, and it’s more a nervous laugh than anything else. Apparently he needs reassurement. I’ll have to taste first, then. I have to admit they look delicious.

When I get my first bite delivered to me, I hold my breath. What if it’s a complete disaster? What should I tell him? I close my eyes and chew. My eyebrows furrow and my moans are followed by a ‘holy fuck’ as soon as my mouth is empty.

“Where the hell did you learn to cook?” I ask him wildly.

“Your sister. Directions over the phone,” he admits. Taking a bite himself, he nods.

“She’s goood.”

“You’re good,” I nudge him with my thigh.

I get rewarded for my comment with the next bit, brought to me by his mouth. We both bite our part off the chunk and kiss before breaking apart, chewing happily. The plum and cherry tomatoes go incredibly well together, and the fresh basil adds an amazing touch.

“This is way too Lady and the Tramp to be healthy. Is this some sort of a compensation? Did you break my Tele?” I eye him suspiciously.

“’Course not! Jonny-y!” he whines. “Do I ever need a reason for doing this?”

His innocent blue eyes combined with the food and wine make me acquiesce.

The more we eat, the bolder he gets in feeding me, and the last piece is fed to me with him straddling me, taking it carefully between his teeth and letting it drop into my open mouth, before diving down to nuzzle my neck, hands roaming my bare skin.

I squirm and whine, telling him I want to feel him too.

“No way, this is too much fun,” he grins, snaking a hand under the waistband of my boxers, that are slowly getting too tight. But first I need something else done.

“Thom, the curtains. I’m not asking again.”

“Then don’t.”

“Thom, they can see us. Close them.”

“I don’t think you’re in the position right now to order me around, Jonjon,” he states boldly.

Despite the lovely dinner, this is getting on my nerves. I nudge him towards the end of the bed with my legs.

“Close them!”

He sways and almost falls over, but manages to stay up, and before I know it he’s pinned my legs down with his, his nose inches away from mine. Exactly how I want him.

“Hey now. I just made you dinner and hand-fed it to you. I think I can choose what to do next,” he states calmly, but the tone in his voice and the gritted teeth say otherwise.

“Well maybe for that alone I’d let you fuck me again right now, if you hadn’t been such an ass for keeping me tied up for ten fucking hours,” I retort.

“As I said, Jonny, I don’t think you’re in the position to order me around, let alone forbid me.

He puts a knee between mine and pries my legs open. I resist a bit, but let him anyway. He’s best when he thinks he’s in control. Lube is found quickly, and with only a few seconds of preparation, he shoves into me. I sway from the push and groan. He bends my legs further and grabs my hips. The strength with which he’s fucking me surprises me. I must admit that the feeling of helplessness, when tied up, adds something.

He buries his head in the nape of my neck and continues thrusting violently, moaning each time, and soon I’m joining him, tension building up. He brings his right hand towards my cock, and with a few strokes I’m there, making my chest the messiest it’s been this evening. He bucks a last time and comes with a groan, then collapses on top of me, skin on sweaty skin, lips grazing my throat.

Silence for a few minutes.

“Thom?”

“Mmh.”

“Could you untie me now?”

“Mmh. If you promise not to be mad at me.”

Fuck, I knew it. Somehow I knew it.

“It was my Tele, wasn’t it,” I state coldly.

“I called half the country this afternoon, there’s a guy called Roman who’s coming down from Manchester tomorrow to fix it.”

I sigh.

“I’m going to tie you to the boiler in the storage room tomorrow and you’re not coming out for a week. And don’t even think about being fed roasted peppers.”

“Whatever, Jonjon,” comes the sleepy reply, and with one hand he removes the knots. My hands, stinging with fresh blood rushing through them, instinctively fall around his thin frame, but I don’t care anymore. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.