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Hair Bands For Christmas
Copyright Oggbashan November 2017
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
I had made a bad mistake for Michelle’s birthday in September. I had bought her a set of expensive underwear from a local lingerie shop. I had the sizes exactly right. That was the last straw.
“Thomas! Our relationship doesn’t mean you can buy me underwear!” Michelle shouted at me. “And I don’t like you knowing I’m a size 18 with a 38 D cup. We’re friends! Not lovers! We’re not married. We’re not even engaged. If you make mistakes like this — we never will be.”
Michelle went on and on for most of the evening. I got the message. She was seriously annoyed with me. I had given her the package when we had returned from a day out followed by an expensive early evening meal in a local restaurant. I thought… It doesn’t matter what I thought. Michelle’s reaction was what mattered to both of us.
It took weeks for me to recover from that error. It didn’t help that Michelle could only change the underwear in that shop, not get a refund. I had bought her underwear even if she had chosen the items she ended up with. I never got to see the replaced underwear whatever it was. I had hoped… But Michelle was more distant than she had been before that incident. It took until almost the end of October before she started to forgive me. She wouldn’t forget, nor let me forget.
She couldn’t avoid me. We worked in the same office, in the same room and together as part of a project team. We lived in the same block of apartments, on the same floor. Our front doors were only yards apart and she had to walk past mine to get to hers. We had gone to the same school in the same year and on to the local university on the same degree course. We had known and liked each other since we were children.
When Michelle had dumped her boyfriend Paul a week before my girlfriend Janis had dumped me, we sympathised with each other. We were in and out of each other’s apartment sharing coffee and occasional meals. We had begun to recognise that we had been too close for too long to see that we liked each other more than just long term friends.
We had started hugging and kissing each other. We liked that and did some more. We started going to events together. We went to the theatre, to the cinema and to local dances. Until my mistake on her birthday I had thought we were moving beyond friendship into love.
The underwear changed all that. It was my mistake. Michelle’s reaction had been extreme. At the beginning of November she gave me a hint of why she had been angry. I was sitting on a stool at her kitchen table drinking coffee. It was her thanks for mending a kitchen cupboard door — again. She was sitting beside me. She was obviously about to say something important. I waited.
“I’m sorry, Tom,” Michelle said.
That was a good sign. I was Thomas only when she was annoyed with me. I am Tom when we are friends.
Her former boyfriend Paul had begun to show signs of controlling behaviour. He wanted her to change the way she dressed, who she met, and even where she lived. Being Michelle she resented that. Although they were having sex he wanted to direct what they did and how. She learned that he was into bondage. He hadn’t told her. She found handcuffs and a ball gag in a bedroom drawer when she was looking for clean sheets.
He was out getting a take-away meal. Michelle had time to look further. She discovered a leather hood, a leather harness with collar and lead, a chastity belt, and items of bondage underwear. The underwear was in Michelle’s size. Paul’s former girlfriend had been a size 12 to Michelle’s 18. Every item seemed new. Michelle added two and two together to make six at least. Paul would want to use the bondage equipment on her.
She didn’t say anything to Paul at the time, or for a week or so. It might just have been his fantasy and he didn’t intend to use the items. A few days after the discovery of the bondage lingerie she had cleared his apartment of anything of hers that had been there. She wanted to be able to walk away cleanly if she had to. She didn’t want to. She had been enjoying sex with Paul.
A week later, after yet another session of sex in Paul’s bed he suggested they should try some consensual bondage. She had refused. He insisted. She objected and he tried to hold her down and force her to wear the handcuffs. Michelle had grabbed his balls and twisted so hard that Paul screamed. She gathered up her clothes and left. She had to dress herself in the lift.
When I bought her lingerie it had reminded her of Paul. Although we had never gone beyond kissing and hugging she knew I wanted canlı bahis to go further. Part of the reason for her reluctant was that I was larger and stronger than Paul. If I had tried to force her into handcuffs? She wouldn’t be able to stop me.
“I don’t own any,” I objected.
“I know, Tom,” Michelle said. “While you were away at your uncle’s you asked me to keep an eye on your apartment. You gave me a duplicate set of keys years ago.”
“I did. I trusted you, Michelle, and I still trust you. You did more than look after my apartment. I hadn’t asked you, but you cleaned it. You even put fresh milk and bread in my kitchen on the day I came back.”
“All I was doing was what you had done for me when I went away a couple of months earlier, Tom. You cleaned my apartment and repaired the broken cupboard door — and left bread and milk.”
“Why not? We are friends and have been for years.”
“But I searched your drawers, Tom. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t find anything worrying, not even a stolen pair of panties…”
“Stolen? Your panties would mean something if you had given them to me, Michelle. I wouldn’t…”
Michelle kissed me. It was the first kiss since her birthday.
“What annoyed me about the lingerie was not just the memory of Paul but that you knew my exact size. How did you know, Tom? Did you search my drawers?”
“No, Michelle. There is a very simple explanation. Remember when your new washing machine broke down in mid-cycle?”
“Yes. Oh. Of course. I brought the wet washing through to put in your machine while I waited for the repair mechanic.”
“And I hung it on my airer when the load had finished. I looked at the size labels. I wouldn’t search your drawers. I couldn’t. You fold your clothes precisely. You would have noticed if I’d been looking in your drawers. That’s not why I didn’t do it. It would have been an invasion of your privacy.”
“Have I got any secrets from you, Tom? Except Paul’s behaviour?”
“I wouldn’t know, Michelle. I know a lot about you but…”
She kissed me again before sitting on my lap, the first time ever.
“Earlier you said you trust me, Tom. I have been reluctant to admit it, but I trust you too. Even before I found the bondage stuff I didn’t really trust Paul.”
Michelle’s head rested against my shoulder. I didn’t dare move or react. This was more than we had ever done. After a few minutes Michelle pulled one of my arms around her. Her arms went around my waist.
“I have a problem, Michelle,” I said.
“Yes. I don’t know what to buy you for Christmas.”
Michelle giggled. She snuggled closer to me.
“Not lingerie, Tom, even if you do know my size. I prefer comfort to sexiness for my underwear. I don’t want you buying maxi control panties or tummy support pantyhose. Buying any clothing for me is problematic. When I go shopping for myself it takes hours before I find something I like. Except?”
“Hair bands are possible. You know what I wear.”
I did. Michelle has thick brown curly hair. She often wears a wide hair band to keep it off her face when working or outside when it’s windy. They aren’t decorative, just wide bands of elasticated fabric in plain colours.
“Nothing else?” I asked.
“We’re both broke, Tom. You know we are. We are buying our apartments on mortgages. Those and the running costs don’t leave us much. That’s another thing that upset me about the lingerie. You couldn’t really afford it. I know you wanted to buy me something special for my birthday, but you spent too much on something I didn’t want. All I wanted was something you could afford. It didn’t really matter what it cost. Just a present from you to me would have meant something. The day out and the meal was more than I had expected. For Christmas? Less than a fiver on hair bands would be great. I’ve already bought your present.”
Michelle’s arms contracted around me briefly. She moved her hands to the sides of my face to pull us into another kiss. She moved her head back to look at me.
“I wonder,” she said.
I didn’t know what she meant. She pulled the hair band off her head.
“Look, Tom. This one just stretches.”
She climbed off my lap.
“Give me your hands,” she ordered.
I held my hands out. She slipped the hair band over them.
I moved my hands a couple of inches apart, as far as they could go without straining the hair band.
“Hands together.” Another order.
I put my hands together. The hair band flopped around my wrists. Michelle took it off, twisted it and pushed it back over my wrists. My hands were tied together.
“There you are, Tom,” Michelle said. “Who needs handcuffs? A hair band is enough.”
She kissed me again.
“But I could slide my hands out easily,” I objected.
“Not that easily. Try.”
Michelle was right. It was a struggle to release my bahis siteleri hands. I could but it wasn’t as easy as I had thought. As soon as my hands were free Michelle put the hair band back on, forcing it further up, beyond my wrists. I would still be able to get it off but it would take longer. I didn’t try because Michelle was kissing me fiercely.
“Perhaps the idea of consensual bondage wasn’t so bad,” she said. “But not for me — you.”
She kissed me again.
“More coffee?” she asked.
I nodded into yet another kiss.
“While I make it, I’ll try with your hands behind your back.”
It was an effort for Michelle to get the hair band off my arms. She pulled my arms behind my back before using the hair band again. She kissed me before leaving me with my arms restrained. I didn’t attempt to release myself. Could I? I didn’t know. But while Michelle was kissing me I wasn’t going to object.
She did. Kiss me again and again. My coffee was cool by the time she removed the hair band.
A couple of weeks later I had found some hair bands for Michelle’s Christmas present. I had been lucky in a charity shop. They had two opened packs of three hair bands just like those Michelle normally wore. The two packs had cost me a pound. In our Saturday market I had bought two packs of Christmas-themed hair bands decorated with holly and mistletoe patterns. They had cost two pounds each pack of three.
But my relationship with Michelle was better than it had been before her birthday. We kissed and hugged more frequently. We had been to several dances. I had enjoyed the slow dances with Michelle pressed against me. From time to time I had sat on that kitchen stool, arms tied behind me with a hair band, while Michelle kissed me. Once I had objected that my coffee was getting cold. Michelle had held the mug while I drank.
When I had finished Michelle looked at me.
“I don’t think you should object, Tom. You’re enjoying it. So am I. So…”
This time she had a hair band that fastened with Velcro. She wrapped it around my lower face and made it secure. I could have talked through it. I could breathe through it. It was just a symbolic gag. I don’t know why it excited me so much that I had an insistent erection. Michelle couldn’t kiss me when I was gagged. I had surrendered to her even though I could release myself in minutes.
She seemed pleased by my gag too. She pulled my head down against her clothed cleavage, smothering me between her breasts. They seemed even larger than the size I knew they were. Was it just my perception? Or was it because I had never been hugged between her breasts before? I didn’t know. I just relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of breathing her perfume and the softness surrounding me.
As usual both of us would be spending Christmas Day with our parents. We could have met that day because our parents’ houses were only a hundred yards apart, but why should we? We would be together in Michelle’s apartment on Boxing Day. We would give each other the presents that day.
My parents seemed pleased that Michelle and I were friends again. They had noticed that I had been unhappy after her birthday but hadn’t asked why. They knew more than they had said because they had been friends with Michelle’s parents since they had walked us to school.
On Boxing Day I went to Michelle’s apartment for lunch. We had bought the ingredients together and we prepared the meal in her kitchen. It was a roast dinner that would take over an hour to cook. Once the oven was on we gave each other the Christmas presents. Michelle was pleased that I had bought so many hair bands for so little. She gave me a set of screwdrivers. I had a couple but I usually borrowed my father’s tools.
She put a mistletoe decorated hair band on her hair.
“Kiss me under the mistletoe,” she ordered.
I did. She kept kissing me over and over again.
“You get one kiss for every berry. I didn’t count so tell me when to stop.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Michelle was kissing me too effectively for me to count mistletoe berries on her hair band.
I was startled when Michelle picked up all the packs of hair bands and grabbed my hand. She pulled me into her bedroom.
“I want you as my Christmas present, Tom,” she announced. “Gift-wrapped…”
I didn’t resist as she helped me to undress. She opened one pack of hair bands. She pushed me on to the bed before attaching my wrists to the bed head with hair bands. She opened another pack and tied my ankles and thighs together.
“You’re nearly ready, Tom. It’s your last chance to say no. This is consensual bondage. There won’t be a safe word but an action. If you want me to stop — raise your legs and thump down twice. Or just shake your head. If you do either, I’ll stop and release you. I hope you won’t…”
“Whatever you want to do, Michelle,” I replied. “I trust you.” “OK. I’m giving you bahis şirketleri a pair of my panties. You can keep them as a souvenir afterwards. But you have to eat them first…”
It was the panties she had acquired at the lingerie shop in exchange for the birthday present I had bought her. They were high-waisted and full. She was wearing them and nothing else. She pulled them down and off. They were deep blue silk. She spread them across my face. I could smell not just the perfume she normally wore but that she was sexually excited. They were damp.
She scrunched them up and pushed them into my mouth. It was an effort to get all that material inside. She took a holly decorated hair band, one that fastened with Velcro, wrapped it across my mouth and pulled it tight before fixing it behind my head. This gag was real. I couldn’t make an intelligible sound through the mass of silk held in by the hair band.
She opened a condom packet with her teeth. She was very gentle as she rolled the protection down my erection. I was worried that just the touch of her fingers would make me come too soon. Michelle straddled my chest before leaning forward, her breasts swinging. She lowered herself until my face was between her naked breasts. Slowly, ever so slowly, she moved downwards until my nose was in her cleavage. She pressed her breasts inwards.
“I’m not a 38 D,” she said almost casually. “It was an old bra in that wash load. It was on the way to the rag bag. I’m really a 40 E. Now those breasts are going to own my Tom.”
She slumped across me. I was struggling to breathe, swamped by her breasts. Her arms slid around my back. She pulled hard until my whole face was in her cleavage. I could feel myself running out of breath before she relaxed and let me snort for air through my nose.
Michelle repeated the smothering again and again. I could feel her getting warm and excited. Suddenly she moved a hand behind herself and fed my erection into her waiting cleft. That was too much for me. I grunted into my gag as I came uncontrollably. My senses were overwhelmed by my first time inside Michelle even if she was wholly in control.
She continued to bounce up and down on my diminishing erection. I tried to get my hands out of the bonds securing me to the bed head. I wanted to touch Michelle’s breasts swinging above me. She squealed and groaned as she had orgasm after orgasm. Even though I was spent I was enjoying watching her enjoyment.
She slumped across my chest, pressing her warm breasts against my skin. I was still her captive, unable to do anything as she settled down to sleep on me. I shut my eyes but the closeness of Michelle was arousing me again. I dozed too. It didn’t seem long before I was erect again, still held inside her.
She tensed her muscles around me. She writhed and wriggled. Each movement added to my excitement. She pushed herself upwards.
“I like being in control,” she said. “I have a man on my bed, in me, tied down, gagged and unable to do anything unless I let him. I can see the attraction of consensual bondage, as long as I’m the one in control. Now, Tom…”
Michelle aroused me to a peak and beyond. I shuddered as I came into the condom again. I was her victim, her plaything as long as she wanted, unless I gave a release signal. I wouldn’t. A sensual Michelle arousing me was more than I had expected for Christmas.
It ended too soon. The meal time was approaching. Michelle removed the hair band over my mouth and eased the panties out. She removed the bonds on my legs. She swung her breasts across my face as she released my wrists. I kissed them whenever I could.
The meal was an anticlimax. We wanted to get back to bed and play again. Michelle was willing to let me stay as her willing partner for the whole night. She rode me but I was unrestrained.
From Boxing Day onwards we were making love one or two nights a week. Sometimes I was tied and gagged with hair bands. Sometimes I wasn’t. Even if I was restrained it was only for an hour at most. Michelle was happy just to know she could tie me up if she wanted to. She knew I would consent every time she asked.
On Valentine’s Day we announced our engagement to parents who had been expecting it for months. That night I was tied to Michelle’s bed again. I’m hers. I trust her. She trusts me but she will never be my bondage victim. Her hair bands are my bonds whenever she wants. Sometimes she teases me at work by taking a hair band off, spreading it between her hands as she looks at me, and putting it back on her hair. It’s her signal that she wants me to surrender to her — now.
We’re planning to get married on Michelle’s birthday in September. We’ll change our two apartments for a small house with a mortgage two-thirds of the cost we had been paying as individuals. We’ll be better off financially and have space for a larger bed for me to be tied to.
I know she has made a bridal head band in white satin. She’ll wear it on our wedding day. On the first night of our honeymoon she’ll produce the other white satin head bands she doesn’t think I know about. I’ll be tied with white satin for my new wife to own.
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