Catch

She ties the eighth knot.

"Now," she says with satisfaction, "what shall I do to you?" She lets out an "Mmm..." when she sees me cringe visibly at that.

"I know," she says, a sly grin spreading slowly across her face. "Let's see if I can catch your breath." And she gets up off the bed to go to the linen closet. I watch her, wondering what the hell she means by that.

She comes back with a terri-cloth face towel. She palms it, her thumb on the other side, and brings it toward my face. I see what she plans to do, start shaking my head back and forth. She chuckles and says, "What's the matter? Don't you want to play with me?"

"No, please, I--" is all I get out before she clamps the towel down on my face and pinching my nose tight between a fold of the cotton. "Yes, you do," she murmurs, her voice getting dangerous. "You love to play. I watch you practicing at night, when you think I'm asleep. Don't even try to deny it."

My eyes open wide with fear--not fear that she'll actually make me pass out, but there's so much discomfort between the here and now and unconsciousness. She watches my eyes like a cat, her mouth open in a loose leer.

She lifts the towel up slightly, enough for me to breathe, though only with difficulty. "Breathe," she whispers: an order. I struggle to get air into my lungs, but before I get as much as I want she brings the cloth back down. "Stop."

She presses down harder, and I start to panic. "Let's see if you can make it a minute. I know you've done it before--I've watched the clock in the dark, waiting for that light little gasp. Trying not to wake me up. You're very cute. And I'll bet you get hard, don't you?" Her free hand trails down my chest and my abdomen, and then my cock. I instinctively try to breathe in at the sharp sensation, but my chest can only buck up and down as my lungs try vainly to expand.

She laughs. "It must be harder to do it when you're being...distracted, mmm? Only thirty more seconds, dear." She continues lightly fingering my cock, all the while watching me watching her: she is going to remember the clock, isn't she? Thirty seconds feels like an eternity before she lets up at last on the towel.

"Breathe," the whisper comes again. Time enough for another half a breath before that damned cloth comes down again, the cotton seemingly filling my mouth and nose. "That should last you a while more."

She can't be serious--my god, it isn't nearly enough! I pull hard on the ropes attaching me to the four corners of the bed. I know it's no good, she's done this too often, but all I can think of is getting my hands free to rip her hand off my face, my legs free to twist away, anything.

She climbs on top of me, her naked body pressing tight against mine. "I can feel your cock, and it's wet. Don't even think of telling me you don't enjoy this. Now let's see how long you can go." I close my eyes, trying to concentrate--what the hell am I going to do? I try to slide her off me, but I can't move enough, and meanwhile, it's using up all my oxygen.

"Look at me," I hear her whisper. It barely registers, but I know I heard it, because she says it again, more insistently this time. "Look at me." I refuse; no way she's going to make me look! She laughs then, and a brief moment passes before I feel something cool pass against my eyelids. Before I even realize it, I open my eyes to see what's happening.

"Made you look," she says, chuckling triumphantly. She blows a breath of cool air against my eyes. "That's what you want, isn't it? Nice, fresh air. It's so close, you can even see it!" She's got the drunk look in her eyes again, she's mad, she doesn't even care that I'm on pins and needles waiting, waiting, waiting for that next breath.

Seconds tick by even slower. If I could make my voice come out of my eyeballs, they'd say it then. "Please, jesus, just one more!" In my desperation, it almost makes sense. But nothing comes out.

OK, this is it. My heart is pounding like a motherfucker inside my chest. Nothing for it now, and all I can think of doing is to press even further into her, lifting my head with the last of my air, looking fearfully into her eyes. She whispers, "You're mine." Yes, yes, of course! I think. Then she says it again, "You're mine," almost growling this time, but it sounds so distant. My vision's getting foggy, is she waiting for something? What for? A few seconds before I pass out, I know it, I'm gone, I nod my head--I can't even look at her.

In the instant between the nod of my head and darkness, she pushes my head down, hard, lifts the towel up and puts her head next to mine to listen to me breathe. My god, nothing ever sounded so good as that resonating in my chest! And my ears fill with sound again, like water rushing in...

Somehow my limbs are free. Eight knots untied in evil efficiency, and she slides back down next to me, her hand passing back against my face, but this time just to caress my cheek. "You're beautiful," she says, simply, and I think to myself: yes, you're right, I am, but only because of your hand, the hand that separates me from breath, the hand that yet stays death.