Wrists to the Chair

The chair was wooden and the cuffs were soft and the word was red.

Noor was thirty-six. Her partner Ed was forty. They had done the list on Sunday. Wrists to the chair arms. She could struggle. He would not free her unless she said red or snapped twice. He wanted her held and fucked. She wanted to pull and not get free and still be kissed after.

"Wrists."

She gave them. He cuffed her, checked the fit, and kissed her mouth before he did anything else. Then he was not gentle. He sucked her tits, licked her cunt until she was pulling at the cuffs, and pushed into her hard. Noor swore. The chair took it. He fucked her deep, a hand on her throat not tight, the other on her clit.

"Colour."

"Green. Don't stop."

She came with the cuffs creaking. He pulled out and came on her stomach, then freed her before anything else, wrists checked, kiss on each. She was shaking and grinning.

"Again tomorrow. Ankles too."

"Red if you need it."

"I know. That's why."

Ed cuffed her ankles the next night, as asked, and the chair became a fact. Noor pulled and did not get free and came harder for it. He fucked her deep, checked the cuffs, and came on her stomach, then freed her in order, wrists then ankles, kisses on each. She was shaky and pleased. The chair lived in the bedroom after that, not the kitchen. She looked at it in the morning and got wet. He noticed. They were late for work. Red stayed unused. The cuffs stayed soft. The want did not.

The chair moved into the bedroom for good. Noor sat, offered her wrists, and was cuffed before the sentence finished. Ed checked, kissed, and fucked her until the wood creaked and she came pulling. Ankles next time, then both. Red unused. The morning look at the chair made her text him at work. He came home early. They were late for everything else. The cuffs were soft. The hold was not. She trusted the word. He honoured it. The filth sat safely inside that.

Noor asked for the ankles every time after the third. Ed cuffed wrists and ankles, checked every fit, kissed her, and used her until the chair walked an inch and she came twice. He freed her in order. He rubbed the marks that were not really marks. She looked at the chair in daylight and got wet enough to cancel a call. Red remained a door they both knew. The hold remained the point. They were precise with the word and filthy with everything else, and the wood remembered them.

The chair walked an inch every time and they stopped straightening it. Noor offered her wrists and her ankles and was held, checked, kissed, and fucked until she came twice and the wood complained. Ed freed her in order and stayed close. Red was said once, early, as a test, and he stopped at once, and the trust made the next night filthier. She looked at the cuffs in the morning and texted him a photo. He came home at lunch. They were late for a call and exact for this. The hold was the want. The word was the care. Both stayed.

Lunchtime became a risk they took. Noor sent the cuff photo. Ed came home. She was in the chair before he had his shoes off, wrists and ankles, checked, kissed, fucked. She came pulling. He freed her and fucked her free because she asked, the contrast a gift. Red remained the test they had passed. The chair remained unstraightened. The wood had a memory. So did her wrists, in the good way. They went back to work flushed and useless for an hour, and neither apologised to the calendar.

They stopped moving the chair back. It lived at an angle, guilty, ready. Noor sat. Ed cuffed, checked, kissed, fucked. She pulled and came and was freed in order and kissed on the wrists. The test of red had been passed and was not required. Lunchtime remained a risk. The photo remained a trigger. The wood remembered. Her skin remembered. They went back to the day flushed and precise, the filth folded inside a word they both could say and rarely needed.

She offered her wrists. He cuffed, checked, kissed, and fucked her until she pulled and came. Red stayed a door. The chair stayed crooked. The morning found them late.