what are you gonna do ? great question . you grin in response , slipping the cuffs down , pressing cold metal against his skin . “ turn the tables ?show off a little ? take some controlvinsky for myself . ” you circle them around his wrists , but don’t click them shut just yet ; you don’t have permission . old habits die hard . voice lowering into a plea , “ c’mon , let’s flip the script . ”
‘ show off what ? your dick ?been there, done that. ’ but your body betrays your dismissive tone, arching up against him. the cool metal against the delicate insides of your wrists is soothing, intoxicating. when was the last time you surrendered control ? you don’t do that with him.‘ c’mere. ’ you crook your finger, beckoning him down until he’s close enough to kiss, close enough to bite. ‘flip me, baby. ’
when you produced the cuffs, almost from thin air, you didn’t expect events to take this twist: mike straddling your hips, your wrists pinned in his strong hand, him dangling the cuffs out of your reach. the chain clinks, metal glinting in the low light. ‘ well, look at you. ’ your voice is a low, condescending purr. ‘ what do you think you’re gonna do with those, s u g a r ? ’
