Violet's feet had carried her to the shelter entrance. Apart from the new locks, the improvements here at the top of the shelter kept being put off. It was still just a set of double iron doors set in the ground, raised at a slight angle so water didn't pool over them. They were slightly wet, though, a brief spring rain having come through earlier that day, and with a sigh Violet realized her choices were to either kneel in the mud or on the wet metal as she put her key in the lock. She was wearing one of her few pairs of good jeans, too. Cursing, something her Dad WOULD have approved of, she picked wet metal.The trip down the stairs gave her, unfortunately, more time to think.What was she doing.It's not like they HAD to get married. Not really. They could live in sin. Everyone did it. Neither were even religious (Spiritual? Maybe). Hell, Bill and Julie went to church and still slept in the same bed! Once they had graduated, Cynthia from high school and Violet from college, they could. My eyes followed her. She had given me an option: not touch her, or be tied up. I chose the latter, knowing from experience that I would not be able to trust myself if I was free to move. She walked back over to me, swaying her hips with every step, the rope in her hands. She held an overwhelming confidence and sultry smirk as she walked over to me, laying me on my back on the bed. “Hands above your head,” she commanded. Her voice was soft, despite her cold appearance. I was not one to disagree with her. She held my wrist as she tied it to the head of the bed. A simple action, but the physical contact was enough to send a spark through me. Her touch always had that effect on me. Once she had secured my one wrist, she moved to my other. Leaning over my body, laying down on the bed, she worked on the rope and my wrist, her breasts tantalisingly close to my face. The temptation to stick out my tongue and trace it over the soft curve of her was overwhelming, as was the alluring scent.
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