This Is Not The Gift You Were Expecting by Anonymous

This is not the gift you were expecting
You were expecting something wrapped smartly,
With crisp corners and tight edges, bright cheery paper, like those clerks in the malls
 At Christmas time would offer. Perfect bow centered on top, seams straight.

This is something wrapped urgently on the way out the door, barely covered in the Sunday comics, tape everywhere, frayed cord bow stretched enough to make a little hole right over The Family Circus

It’s the feel of the cord on your wrists that jolts you back into the present. It tightens like a feeding boa constrictor every time you try to move. You give that up.
The blindfold is still there. Time is meaningless, an abstract concept invented by a dead religion. The sun may have crossed the sky, it may have laughed at you. The stars may be telling inside jokes.

Cracked lips and dry mouth. Sore muscles. The not knowing. The knowing that the only thing you know is that you don’t know.

Then there is the cock. The random erections caused only because your thoughts drifted to her. Because in your need you dared to let yourself hope. Throbbing, pulsing, hardness, even that, ultimately out of your control.

Once more it stands straight up, slapping off your stomach as you hear her voice murmur an appraisal.  A wet tongue brushes your lips, gone in an instant

Then tracing every curve and line of your aching body, down the sweep of your thighs. A pause, then with impossible precision, a line is drawn up the vein of your shaft, and your whole body shudders.

This is not the gift you were expecting.