New Year’s Eve

“Babe, it’s getting late. Are you done studying yet? I didn’t plan on ringing in the new year by myself, y’know.”

I awkwardly poked my head around the doorframe of my open bedroom door and flashed Amy a smile. “I’ll put it down. Wouldn’t want you getting too lonely on the couch.” She flashed a thumbs up back at me and went back to playing Skyward Sword. Two blissful years, we’d spent together. It’d started the way a lot of these things do; just a chance encounter in a liberal arts class at a time when we were both wrestling with the freedom of living an unsupervised college lifestyle, and tentatively dipping into unexplored feelings that neither of us was as straight as we’d thought in our teens. Just friends at first, of course, then a bit of drunken fooling around blew the friendship up entirely for weeks. Then there were the awkward, blushing apologies, a kiss, and just like that, we were a couple.

Dating was wild.

We’d spent some wild nights at lesbian bars together, and even wilder nights experimenting with a growing collection of BDSM equipment and a growing collection of associated kinks and fetishes. I had my own place, and both of us were keenly interested in broadening our horizons. Our personalities were wildly different too. Amy was the extrovert; wild, rough, passionate, always the one to bring up some new website for inspiration. I was the introvert; creative, strict, sultry, the one who brought the fantasies and creativity to the bedroom. We may have brought different personas to the relationship, but the overlap in interests; switching, studies, gaming, similar libidos, it made the relationship work so well, even though we both had to work to keep things a secret. Neither of us had accepting families, and this was all before Obergefell v. Hodges. Being openly gay wasn’t professionally safe, and both of us were as ambitious as we were kinky.

The couch was in the center of a relatively bare living room in the apartment, just beside the dining area and the kitchen. The floor was thickly and cheaply carpeted, like most student housing, and I just had a lamp, a couch, and a TV on a stand there, along with a few Nintendo consoles. Amy was sitting on the couch, a blanket haphazardly tossed over her body while she focused on whatever dungeon she was busy clearing on the TV. She’d been over for almost a week at this point, and things were casual. She was in grey sweatpants and a black hoodie with a now-forgotten metal band logo plastered on the front. It was pretty cold in the apartment, and the heating worked just well enough to stave off frostbite, at best. She turned to look at me, her long, black hair pooling cutely on the couch behind her, and patted the couch next to her, holding up an end of the blanket invitingly.

Of course, I joined her immediately. I’d worked earlier in the day, so I was still wearing an untucked white blouse and jeans, and I had my hair up in a ponytail. I leaned over and pressed my lips against her cheek, catching a vague, vanilla scent from her hair as I turned and let my head rest on her shoulder.

“We watching the ball drop? I kinda hate that tradition, but if you want to do it I’m up for it. Also do you want me to cook something? Be a bit weird if all we had for dinner was wine.” I said, squirming a bit so I could slip an arm behind Amy and around her waist. It was cold, but being under the blanket and with her pressing into me certainly helped.

“Not too keen on the ball either, really, but we might as well turn it on just before midnight. Let’s order out. Pizza? Also why didn’t you grab the wine on the way over? Bad girl~” Amy teased back, turning her head to press her lips to my forehead. She’d topped the night before, as evidenced by the haphazardly coiled rope stowed away next to the couch, and she was still teasing me about it. I rolled my eyes, but smiled at the same time, and then pinched her butt as I threw the blanket off my body and made my way back to the kitchen, making sure to do so with enough gusto that she’d also get a blast of chilly air in the process.

“You do the pizza then, Amy. Better quit with the good girl/bad girl teasing before I gag you~” I teased right back, pulling a bottle of fairly decent champagne I’d bought for the occasion and loudly popping the cork. Amy gave me an unimpressed look but pulled out her phone, while I poured two rather full glasses, and carried them over to the couch. It was always like this, in private; the unending teasing back and forth, the threats to tie each other up. We were both switches, more out of a desire to experiment than with any firm commitment to that flexible state, but we were both competitive. It wasn’t enough to take turns topping every other night. Betting on video games. Betting on grades. Racing each other on jogs. After more than a year together we’d even gotten into wrestling one another, which, coupled with my growing bondage fetish, made for some rough, intensely passionate nights. Thankfully both of us had hobbies to explain away the occasional bruise.

I returned to the living room and handed her a glass, and we both cuddled and drank together, cautiously balancing our glasses on the (thankfully flat) arms of the couch while I watched her play through the game. Of course, I was anything but a passive watcher, leaning in to whisper all sorts of suggestions about things I could do to her if she died in game, which, of course, had the delightful effect of making her blush profusely, and made her performance in-game suffer dramatically. I made sure to point that out too.

“It’s almost like you want to be my pet for the evening~ That’d be so like you. Ringing in the new year on your knees~” I said, my lips planting a line of kisses on Amy’s collarbone. At some point she’d lost the hoodie, and I’d ended up in my bra. Probably around the time when I had wrapped my lips around one of her nipples and teased it to hardness. She was doing her best to ignore me, but she was getting increasingly flustered.

“Kat if you don’t stop I’m going to grab a strap-on and fuck you into 2015, and we have a pizza on the way. Also I’m almost at the boss so if you’d just…” I don’t let Amy finish. My leg gets a bit tangled in the blanket, but I swing it over Amy’s lap and straddle her anyway, pressing my lips to hers and silencing her into the cutest little whimper.

It starts immediately. She drops the controllers, leaving poor Link to be helplessly slaughtered by a random monster while I go for her wrists, trying to pin them into the soft fabric of the couch. She squirms, unable to throw me off properly with my weight on her lap and leaning into her, but refusing to let me take complete control without a fight. The kiss goes from a whimper to passionate fire instantly. Her tongue pushes against mine, rolling against it aggressively and trying to push the entire kiss between my lips. I may have gotten the jump on her, but she knows that kissing is a weakness of mine, and it’s hard to concentrate as I feel her lips, wet with our mutual passion, sliding along mine, the sweet taste and smell of her filling my senses.

Her hand snakes through my hair, pulling on my ponytail, and breaking the kiss forcefully as I gasp and whine from the rough sensation. She’d known for well over a year now that I loved this sort of thing, and while I’d managed to clamp down over her other wrist, she knew she had me. With my weight now pulled back, she has the leverage she needs to stand up, and I tumble off her lap and onto my butt on the floor, yelping in pain. She’s towering over me. She’s already taller than I am by a few inches and has a larger chest too, and from my position on the ground, she’s an angry giantess. I ought to kiss her legs and beg for forgiveness, and the smirk on her face makes it seem like that’s precisely what she expects.

I don’t apologize.

I lunge forward, grabbing both her legs and pulling them together, and then shift my whole body sideways. Her arms fly out to try and keep her balance but it’s way too late, and she crashes to the floor on her stomach, catching herself on her hands and trying to roll over before I can get on top of her. I let her roll over, mostly so I can be in position to straddle her face the moment she ends up upright. She knows all my kinks, but I know hers. She loves getting pinned down like this, and I work my knees over both her arms too, trapping her face between my legs, and her forearms under my knees. She’s not going anywhere, and those beautiful breasts are right there too. I reach out, taking one in each hand, and begin gently kneading them, flicking my thumbs teasingly over her nipples while she squirms beneath me.

I’m still wearing jeans, of course, but even so I can tell from the way her legs are rubbing together as she tosses and turns beneath me that she’s loving every second of this. Amy hates admitting to it, but she’s a slut for feeling helpless and like a toy. I can relate to that too, but I don’t intend to give her the chance. As her nipples spring to attention beneath my thumbs, I make a mistake though. I lean forward to let my tongue enter the game, and it gives her just enough leverage to roll over, tossing me off my perch. She’s on me in seconds, practically tackling me, her arms wrapping around my body as she puts me on my back.

I can see the lust in her eyes as she struggles to remain on top. That desperate lust coupled with that competitive fire that has her clawing at my bra, putting an irreparable hole in it, even as I use my feet to push the waistband of her sweatpants down to her shins. She kicks her own pants aside. She could have put them back on of course, but we’d agreed long ago, during the very first wrestling match, that it was unbelievably, incomprehensibly lame to dress back up during something like this, competition or no. She’s not wearing panties. My choice to wear jeans seems prescient now, and she has to use both hands to undo the button, giving me more than enough time to kick her off me and reverse the tackle. This time, I plant both hands on her naked side and shove her as hard as I can to knock her over. She ends up on her stomach. I capitalize.

My pants are falling down, but it doesn’t matter. I’m breathing hard, but it doesn’t matter. I can feel my panties getting wet, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is my butt is planted firmly on the small of her back, crushing her against the carpet. Her legs are flailing. Her arms are flailing. I reach out and grab both of her wrists in turn, and pull them painfully behind her. She winces audibly, her upper body squirming against the carpet in a last ditch effort to throw me off, her legs helplessly kicking behind her. I hold her arms for a few more seconds, until she finally stills.

“God fucking dammit Kat. F-fine. You win.”

We both know what winning means. I look down on her with a loving, gleeful smile, my heart racing from exertion even as my mind is racing with thoughts about what to do with my prize.

The knock on the door spoils the moment. Terrifies us both to the point of going pale. I bolt off her back fast enough to set a land speed record. There’s a panicked moment of redressing. I’m in her sweatpants and I forget to put a bra on, but it’s enough to make a panicked dash for the door while she covers up on the couch with the blanket on.

The pizza guy smirks like an absolute shithead. It’s hard to blame him. My face is bright red, hair frazzled, beads of sweat on me like I’d been caught mid workout. It’s an awkward moment but I make an idle comment about my boyfriend forgetting to bring dinner over to assuage any suspicion. I come back and Amy and I absolutely die of laughter. It’s not like anything terrible would happen if some random pizza delivery guy discovered we were bisexual, but you never know, and the pizza ends up in the fridge immediately. I pour more wine. One glass.

She gives me the sweetest smile when I look over at her from the kitchen. I don’t return it. “Babe, I seem to remember having a rule in place about pets on the furniture. Now get that loser ass off my couch and on your knees~” She nods and slips off the couch, kneeling on the floor obediently, biting her lip cutely as I step around the counter and make my way over to the couch, setting my champagne on the dining room table as I move. I make a circle gesture with my left hand. She’s well trained by now, and she pulls both her arms behind her back. I can see already that she’s positively dripping with arousal, and I’m still several feet away.

Amy and I both loved rope. There were more complicated materials out there, and I was also way into leather at the time, but rope was so universally useful once you knew how to work with it. Not to mention it was an absolute dream for a bedroom roleplay. Kidnappers hardly ran around with latex armbinders or ball gags, but cloth and rope? So much more believable. So I had plenty of practice taking a length of rope from the night before and working it into a pair of rope cuffs. Amy did an admirable job of accepting this beautiful symbol of her defeat too, holding her wrists out behind her so I could slip the makeshift cuffs on one at a time, then pulling them tight.

Then came a half-hour or so of ropework.

There’s something so delightful about immobilizing arms behind someone, and I spent coil after coil of rope making sure that everything from the shoulders down would be rigidly held in place, looping her forearms together, then elbows, and upper arms, harnessing the whole thing around her chest so that it wouldn’t slip with her incessant squirming. As usual, after the cuffs went on, Amy became more difficult, playfully squirming, spitting the occasional threat of reprisals at me, and on one memorable occasion attempting to stand up and run. I settled that with a few spanks, and soon enough I had her entire upper body squirming inside a somewhat tight rope harness that made her breasts pop in a manner that I was finding intensely distracting.

Next came the legs. A simple frog-tie, coils of rope around her thighs and calves to make sure Amy stayed on her knees and those sexy legs of hers would stay out of my way for what I had planned. The collar I added was almost an afterthought. We’d collared each other months ago, although we only wore them in moments like these, but slipping that tight, black, leather choker around her neck and watching her flush bright red again was certainly worth it, even if I didn’t feel like breaking out a leash. The real fun was adding the gag though. A cherry red ball pressed between her lips. She fought a bit, playfully closing her teeth, but I tickled her until she broke and unclenched them. Strapping that around her face and turning those threats of screwing me senseless into muffled angry yelps and whines was the finest music on the planet.

I took a moment to reposition her, dragging her across the carpet, slowly to avoid carpet burn, before placing her gently in front of the couch, facing the TV. She whined at me as I left the room, even though she knew exactly what I was doing. Still, the whine did make me roll my eyes, and I turned around and came back. Just long enough to wrap a blindfold around those pretty green eyes, and then left again.

I came back about ten minutes later. Black leather corset, tight black leather pants, and black heels. We’d both exchanged dominatrix outfits during a holiday, and she began to visibly drool when I pulled the blindfold off her and she had a chance to take in the outfit. Of course, that drooling, and the moaning, only grew worse as I placed a heel on her left shoulder from behind, and pushed her forward, putting her down on her knees, ass delightfully sticking up in the air, her cheek pressing into the carpet. I stepped around in front of her, crossing my arms for a moment, smirking down at her.

“You can’t kiss my boots, so nuzzling them will have to do. Get to it. Show me that cute subby side, Amy~”

She let out a whimper behind her gag, and awkwardly shifted to press her cheek against the top of one of my heels. As she did so, I bent over her body, holding a vibrating wand that I’d already placed a series of tape strips on. I laid it against her inner thigh, the end pressing firmly into that sensitive sex of hers, glistening with arousal. It was too much to resist. I pushed my fingers passed the toy, slipping them deep inside of her, feeling her whole body writhe beneath mine, and hearing that muffled whimpering of raw, needy pleasure erupt from near my feet. I slid those fingers out and in, rhythmically pumping for a few moments, before withdrawing them. I knew she was desperate at this point. She was practically humping the vibrator, even though I’d turned it off, and those needy whines were only intensifying now that I’d been teasing her for nearly a half hour.

“There we go! Now we can spend some quality time the way a subby slut like you loves, under my heels, cumming your brains out until all those silly notions that you could ever top me again are gone~”

She knows I’m teasing, but it’s a fantasy of hers to be pleasure broken into a pet, and I indulge it every chance I get. I flick the switch on the vibrator and watch her absolutely erupt into a squirming, writhing, moaning, defeated mess of hazy pleasure. As much as I want to watch, I want to make this as good for her as I can, and I know exactly what she would want. I drop down on the couch, picking up the discarded Nintendo controllers as I go, and place my feet on top of her presented ass, using her as a footstool as I hit continue on the screen and pick up where she left off.

We’d talked about this sort of fantasy before. She loved objectification, at least for shorter periods of time. It was a mutual love, and since I’d become so proficient at bondage, making her a footstool or worse wasn’t all that difficult to do anymore, at least when I managed to best her. Of course, I’d spent my fair share of time in a similar pose too, and we both loved how much it drove home the point of losing a fight. Felt very much like a sexy game over, within the safe confines of each other’s arms.

I left her there for an hour, mentally keeping track of her orgasms from those shuddering moans and the way her sexy ass would clench and shiver as those waves of pleasure crashed over her. I did my best to ignore her, trying to feed that fantasy of hers as much as I could, and I could see her occasionally bending her gagged head around to try and look back at me. Still, I did occasionally check to make sure her circulation wasn’t being impaired. This was a fairly long session, and while I had been careful with my knotwork, one could never be too careful.

Seven. Seven shuddering, squirming, whimpering orgasms. Her thighs are utterly coated in her love juices, her eyes hazy with pleasure and her cheeks flush from an hour of tingling nerves and a submissive posture. I was so caught up in the game and the sensation of her writhing under my heels that I nearly missed the time. 11:52. I’d almost forgotten what night it was.

I got up and began to rapidly undo knots and create slack, taking a second to swap the input so that the Times Square ball-drop coverage is on. Some talking head on the TV is talking about how big the crowd is, but I’m barely paying attention, trying to get my dazed and shaky girlfriend free from all her bindings. It takes a few minutes, but she’s out, and I have to work to get her gag and the toy off her as well. For her part, she stays on her knees, rubbing her arms and legs to help with the stiffness and lingering pain. It’s a bit of a rush to get her completely free in time, but I finally pull the gag off at 11:58.

“Fuck Kat. That was unbelievable. If I didn’t think you’d die from heartbreak from missing my strap-on, I’d just offer to be your sub forever~” Amy said, winking at me. I couldn’t help but smile at her, but I had one last surprise. That leash I’d left off from earlier, I clipped that onto her collar, then tugged her towards me.

“Well, maybe not forever, but you can be my sub until tomorrow morning. Offer accepted. Now I think there’s a tradition about kissing for the new year?” I said smiling wide at her. My hand resting on her leash, our lips pressed against each other. No competition, just slow, sensual rolling of our tongues, lips sliding against one another, lustfully and passionately making out as the crowds of people in Times Square began the infamous countdown.

We’re still kissing as the crowd on the TV erupts in cheers, and a veritable cacophony of fireworks begins to explode in the distance, far beyond my urban apartment. We hold it for quite some time, standing in my living room, my carpet faintly damp from Amy’s orgasms earlier, before I finally break it and grin at her, tugging authoritatively on her leash.

“Happy New Year Babe. I love you. Now get on your knees. I believe you owe me seven now, and I want to start this year off right, with that sexy tongue of yours buried between my legs~”