Leo limped over to the couch.
The roll of DMV twine he'd freed himself with was still in his hand, half-used now, the cut edge of the spool dark with the friction of his own wrist binding. He shifted his grip on it. He intended to use it again.
The last nine hours had been rough. There was no version of this where the sisters got away clean. They were going to feel, in their own bodies, even a fraction of what he had been feeling in his. Leo wanted them to the helplessness and immobility.
He got close. Both of them were leaned back on the couch shoulder to shoulder, slack-mouthed, deep gone. He needed to find out how deep.
He poked Selma in the shoulder. Nothing. He pressed two fingers against Patty's wrist and lifted it an inch off her thigh and let it drop. It dropped. Patty did not stir. Selma's head was already rolled all the way to one side against the cushion, her cigarette long since burned out between her fingers. They were almost twenty-eight hours awake, four glasses of wine deep apiece, full of food, and warmed through by the radiator. They were not going to wake up easy.
Knot ideas came into his mind.
Slow and delicate, working through the pain in his ribs with shallow careful breaths, he tilted Selma, and flipped her over by the shoulder until her face came down onto the back couch cushion. He did the same with Patty. Both sisters now lay on their stomachs on the couch, heads against the back cushions, arms loose at their sides. It looked uncomfortable.
Neither of them stirred.
He started with Selma. Wrists behind her back, constrictor knot, tight enough that the rope bit into her forearms but not enough to cut circulation. Then a separate length around her elbows, bringing them in toward each other behind her back. He repeated the sequence on Patty. Same knots. Same tension.
Leo pulled his own belt out of his pants one-handed, threaded it under the couch frame, and ran it up across the small of Patty's back through its own buckle. He used more rope when it couldn't reach. Then he cinched it. Patty did not move. He did the same for Selma with a second length of twine. Both sisters were now lashed flush to the couch, bound wrist and elbow, anchored at the waist. They were not going anywhere.
Leo reached for his pocket, but it was empty. His phone. He needed his phone.
He limped through the apartment looking. Found it in a kitchen drawer underneath a stack of unpaid utility bills and a ring of keys. The screen was at thirty-seven percent. No new texts. No missed calls.
He came back into the living room and took two photographs from the doorway. The sisters lashed to the couch. Wide angle first, then a closer shot. He looked at the photos for a second on the screen and then put the phone back in his pocket.
He took the scene in with his eyes this time.
The two of them were laid out across the cushions in the dresses they'd been in all morning. Selma's loose blue, Patty's pink, both straining at the seams across the rear where the rope had cinched them down and the position was pushing their curves forward into the fabric. Each cheek was its own separate round hill of dress, full and heavy and pressed up against the cotton.
Wide hips. Heavy thighs. Patty had the same body as her sister. Both of them were generously built in the way two single women approaching middle age would be. Side by side, tied down across his couch, they looked like a pair of matching cushions of pink and blue. 'I guess when you have extra weight, it only makes sense your ass is going to be huge,' Leo thought. 'But damn. Theirs are huge.'
Leos thoughts continued. 'Honestly, their bodies have some nice curves. If they lost a couple of pounds and I got to put a bag over their faces… I wouldn't mind getting in bed and experiencing them.'
He glanced at the phone again.
2:30.
He had time.
...
Leo limped around to the side of the couch, planted his good leg, and pushed.
The couch was heavy. The bodies on it were heavier. The pain in his ribs lit up white the second he leaned into it, and he had to stop halfway through the rotation to grip the armrest and breathe through clenched teeth before he could finish. But he got it around. The couch turned a hundred and eighty degrees on the carpet. Their faces, despite being on their stomachs, were now pointing to the TV again.
He went around to the back of it next, set his shoulder against the frame, and tilted. He wanted the couch leaned against the table, angled, the sisters tipped forward across the cushions so they would be closer to a horizontal laying position.
The couch's back legs lifted off the carpet. He pushed it forward by inches and lowered it. The frame met the edge of the coffee table with a heavy wooden clack.
Patty woke up.
She didn't speak first. He heard her take a sharp intake of breath, then the small noise of a woman testing a constraint and finding it real. Wrist tug. Wrist tug. Finally a belt tug. Her head turned, slow, against the angle she was now pinned at, chin lifting, eyes hunting around the room. She could only turn her head halfway at most, but that was enough to see him behind them. Slow professional fury formed in her eyes.
"You."
"Me."
She looked at her fellow bonded parter.
"Selma. Selma. Wake up." She pleaded to her sister.
"Mm. Whuh."
"He got loose."
"Who got —" A long sleep-thick pause. Selma tested her own bound wrists behind her back, then twisted her chin enough to see her sister, then twisted further until she found Leo. A slow smile spread across her face. "Oh. Oh, sugar-plum. You're a little sneak."
"Selma, this is not a moment."
"Patty, look at him. He's all banged up and he still got out. That's a man."
Leo limped around to the front of the couch where they could see him properly. Looked down at the two of them. Bound, tipped forward across the cushions, faces angled up at him from the position he had left them in. Helpless. Patty rigid. Selma not.
"You hit me with a car." He told them.
"Allegedly."
"You ran the light. Selma already said it."
"Selma says a lot of things."
"You put me in the trunk."
Patty's jaw worked. She didn't answer.
Selma, dreamily from the cushion next to her, said, "We did, sugar-plum. Now it smells like you. Sorry about that."
"Selma. Shut up."
He looked down at the pink fabric of Patty's dress, pulled tight across her by the tipped-forward angle of the couch, the rope across her lower back stretching it flat against her hips. Selma's blue dress had gone the same way.
He walked behind them again.
"Patty," Leo said.
"What."
"This is for the car."
Her eyes had time to widen one full fraction of a second before his hand came down on her covered ass.
The crack against the dress was louder than he expected. Patty made a sound that was not a sound she had ever made before. A sharp gravelly bark of shock that caught somewhere in her smoker's throat halfway out and turned into an outraged cough. Her whole body jerked against the rope. The rope didn't care.
"You — you absolute —"
"You're such a hypocrite" Leo cut in. "Did you forget the part where you did the exact same thing to me? Nine hours, Patty. Same chair. Same ropes. Worse ropes actually. Those were drunk knots."
Patty's mouth was still open from the word she hadn't finished. She did not have an answer ready.
And this," Leo said, taking a careful limping half-step over toward Selma's side of the couch, "is for the trunk."
He brought his hand down on Selma. Same windup. Same single solid crack against the blue dress.
Selma's reaction was different.
Her bound body rolled forward against the ties, and the noise that came out of her was a long low almost-musical "ohhhh", like she'd just stepped barefoot into a hot bath. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second and then opened again, she tried to turn around and stare at him with a glaze that had not been there forty seconds ago.
"Oh, Patty," Selma breathed.
"Selma. Do not."
Leo, breathing through his teeth around the broken ribs, straightened up by a quarter-inch and looked at the two of their state again. Patty rigid and angered, Selma flushed and dazed.
Selma with her head still half turned. "Hey — sugar-plum, warn a girl —"
Leo flipped the back of Selma's dress up over her hips.
She had been wearing a plain white cotton thong. Maybe she was expecting some action from the singles bar they had come from. The position she was tied in, bent forward at the hips with her rear pushed up and out, had left almost everything on display. The thin strip of white cotton ran straight down the middle of her ass and disappeared between the cheeks. There was a lot to look at. There was a lot to slap.
He wound up and brought his palm down full skin contact, a clean crack of bare hand on bare ass that echoed off the kitchen tile.
Her whole body jolted forward in the couch, the cushions taking the rebound, the heavy flesh of her ass rippling visibly with the impact in a wave that took a full second to settle, and the noise that came out of her was an even longer, lower, almost musical "oooh —"
"Oh, Patty," she moaned. "Oh. He's got hands."
"Selma, shut up."
The print of Leo's palm stayed visible on her ass for a full three seconds. A clean red outline of four fingers and a thumb, blooming up out of the pale skin like a stamp, before it spread and started to fade into the bigger pink glow that was settling across the whole cheek. He gave her a second one on the other side just to even things out. Her ass took it like a pillow, the meat of her cheek absorbing the slap and rippling out in a slow wave that ended at her thigh. The second one made her toes curl.
"Mm-hm," Selma exhaled.
Leo moved to Patty.
"Hey!" She growled.
He flipped her dress up the same way. Patty's underwear was identical to her sister's. And the position she was tied in had her in the same state of display as her sister. The thin white strip ran down the crack of her ass with everything else on full view around it. Patty had the same body as her sister, give or take a sandwich. Same generous spread of flesh that there was a lot of and that there was a lot to slap. Sister discount.
"I will sue you. I will sue you. I work for the state!"
He brought his palm down on her cheek.
*SLAP*
Her ass did the same long slow ripple her sister's had. He watched it travel.
"You hit me with a car and put me in a trunk, Patty," he said.
"Allegedly," Patty muttered.
Selma said, "He's got the firm grip of a man who has passed through some real hardship. Patty. Patty, you feel that? That's a callus. That's a working hand. Like MacGyver."
"Please stop talking," Patty said.
Leo gave them both a couple more for fun, alternating, one cheek then the other, then her sister, then back. Each spank sent a fresh wave through whichever cheek he'd hit. By the time he was done, both of them were tipped forward in the bindings with their dresses pulled up around their lower backs, both pairs of bare cheeks blooming a matching shade of dark pink that was already deepening into red around the edges, both pairs of legs squeezed slightly together against whatever each of them was now feeling from the inside.
Patty was breathing through her teeth.
Selma was breathing through her mouth.
Leo limped around to the front of them, dragging his bad leg, and climbed up onto the coffee table so he was facing them from in front and in between them. Both their dresses were still flipped up at the back. Both their bare asses were on display behind them in the cushions, red and huge. Both of them were looking up at him from the bound forward-tipped position he had left them in.
Patty's face was anger, annoyance, and disbelief.
Selma's face was somewhere else entirely. Flushed. Eyes a little glazed. Lips slightly parted. Looking at him the way she looked at MacGyver's arms.
"Sugar-plum?" Selma said.
"What," said Leo.
"Are you going to do the front next?" she asked, in a small hopeful voice.
"Selma," Patty hissed.
Leo just stared at her for a full two seconds.
He should just give her what she wanted.
He brought his palm up against the side of Selma's face and gave it a slap. She let out a small "oh" and her eyes fluttered shut for half a second like he had just handed her a cup of tea.
"There," he said. "Happy?"
"Mm," Selma breathed.
He moved the other way and gave Patty the same smack on her cheek for symmetry's sake. Patty made a flat irritated sound through her nose.
He was standing close to them now.
Closer than he had meant to be.
Both sisters were tipped forward in their position, faces angled up toward his, and from their position the print pushing against the front of his pants was at eye level. Selma saw it first. Her gaze snagged on it and stayed there. Her eyes had been glazed before; now they sharpened. The dazed half-bath look went away and was replaced by focus.
"Patty," she said.
"Don't."
"Patty, look."
"I am not looking, Selma."
"Patty."
Patty's eyes flicked down against her will. She saw it. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
"…Oh, for the love of —" she started.
"Patty," Selma said, in a tone of pure reverence. "Patty. Look at the size of that thing. Look at it. Look."
"Selma, I am looking, shut up."
Leo glanced down at himself.
The fact of it had been mildly registering for the last ten minutes, somewhere underneath the broken ribs and the bad leg and the adrenaline of getting loose, but it had finally arrived at the front of his attention. The whole front of his pants was tented out in a long heavy ridge that ran down the inside of his thigh and pressed obviously against the fabric. Two full sets of bare, red, freshly-spanked asses. Both jiggling visibly every time either sister shifted in her ties, both warm and pink and on full display over the back of the couch, was apparently doing exactly what two full sets of bare, red, freshly-spanked asses tended to do.
He had gotten hard during the process.
Very hard.
Selma's eyes never left it.
She shifted forward as much as the ties would let her, which was about three inches, and her face came in close enough that her cheek brushed against the front of his slacks. She did it slow. The press of the side of her face against the heavy outline of him was, on paper, an accident. Selma's whole expression as she did it, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly open, a small soft sigh going out through her nose, was not an accident at all.
She nuzzled.
Just barely. Just enough that the warm side of her face moved against the length of him through the fabric, once, slow, the friction of her cheek dragging up the underside of him and stopping near the head.
Leo looked down at her doing it.
He brought his hand up and rested it on the back of her head and he held her there. He pushed her face more into it hard. Right against it. Her cheek pressed to the front of his slacks. This was still supposed to be punishment.
Her breath warm through the fabric. Her eyes drifting shut.
Patty, from the other side of the couch, made one long flat sound.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."
...
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[A/N]: If you have time, I would really appreciate if you could post a review to the story. Also, if you're going to give less than a five, lets just pretend you didn't read this note. totally kidding.
[A/N (2)]: Lakers still in five.