The cool water ran over his hands, bringing the come with it. Hoffman looked up, staring at his reflection, at the accusing gaze of those blue eyes. Amanda’s voice ran through his brain. “...rather than having a fag jerk him off...”
The feel of Strahm in his hand had been exhilarating, new, but not a thing he’d try again; too much energy spent for too little self-gratification. Still, he could see that it had pissed her off, a plus in his book, even if it did make his sexuality a little questionable. C’mon, in the end, at least you got him to come. More than she did.
He slipped off his jacket, noting the white stains on it, making a mental note to throw that one away, not that he’d miss it. It wasn’t terrible, not especially uncomfortable, but neither was it special in any way, just another jacket he’d wear to work, to a club, to a casual meal out with a girl, to the bar with the guys... Not the sort of thing he’d wear if he was doing something serious... He tossed it aside, letting it out of his mind, and letting her back in.
“...having a FAG jerk him off...” He wasn’t going to let that one go, he knew that she knew that much.
“Fuck this,” he growled. Fag? I’ll show her a fucking fag...
Strahm had begun to slip out of his slacks and boxers when Hoffman strode back into the room without a jacket. Amanda, the wet patch of Strahm’s saliva still on the right side of her top, gave him a glance, taking in the light blue shirt and suspenders, before turning back to Strahm, his lower half now stripped of clothing, a sight that widened her eyes.
Glaring at Amanda, too fixated on Strahm to notice, Hoffman stepped toward the cabinet, digging into his pocket for a key, the small key he couldn’t lose, but couldn’t have anyone else know about. He slipped it in, turning it with a click that sounded like a gunshot to his ears; this was it, this was something that could either make the night, or just have her think of him as... well... Fuck it, she can’t think much worse of you. He swung the door open without further hesitation.
“Take your pick.” Amanda, still mesmerized by Strahm, was able to tear her eyes away from him to the inside of the cabinet, stepping a little closer to get a better look at the contents.
“...The fuck...” she breathed, eyes practically bursting out of her skull at the sight. Handcuffs and vibrators and rope, oh my, she couldn’t help but think, lifting a hand to stroke one of the accessories. She glanced at Hoffman, bringing a slight blush to his face.
“It’s... a long story.”
“Of course it is.” She smirked, lifting a pair of handcuffs. “I get to pick?”
The two eyed her as she shifted items, lifting some, putting them back down again. Eventually, she slipped her hand around a coil of rope, the half-smile back on her lips. She stepped behind the armchair, fingers drumming against the top, eyes glancing from Hoffman to Strahm, or at least, Hoffman’s eyes to Strahm’s lower half.
“Sit, Mark.” With caution lining his step, the detective crossed over to the chair, settling onto it with a wary glance upward at Amanda.
“Good boy,” she whispered, leaning down to give his neck a soft kiss, sending a shiver down his body. The rope spread across his chest, winding around the chair, across his torso again, and again, tight, pressing his body against the back of the armchair, trapping his arms. She tied the knot, crossing over to look at her handiwork. Her lips spread in a grin as she leant forward, pressing her lips against his, stroking his upper leg; she knew that if she went a little higher, she’d feel his hardness, feel the erection that made his breathing so difficult.
She pulled her hand and lips away sharply, smile widening to his desperate moaning. She turned to Strahm, stepping in front of him, staring up at the agent, seemingly oblivious to Hoffman.
“What the FUCK are you doing?” he groaned, struggling to try and get out of his bonds. “Amanda!”
Without giving any indication that she’d heard him, Amanda slipped her skirt down her thighs, letting it fall to the ground. “Strahm...”
“Manda,” he murmured back, slipping his hands into her shirt, feeling the soft skin of her back. Her fingers began to work at the buttons of his shirt, as she pressed against him, feeling him through her panties.
“You BITCH!”
“Don’t you think we should... shut him up? Use one of those gags in the closet?” Strahm slipped the rest of his shirt off, tossing it aside with a glance at Hoffman, jerking violently in an attempt to loosen the ropes.
“...You know... I think it would be kinda... fun... to hear his opinion of us.”
“If by fun, you mean twisted. But if that’s what you want.”
“I think you know exactly what I want,” she chuckled, slipping the rest of her lower clothing down with one hand, as they entwined for a kiss.
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