Earlier this month, I started on a different antidepressant and tapering off the Effexor, and I think my libido is really springing back up. And I found out last month that Russ is getting a divorce -- so the previous fantasy I wrote down has gotten longer.

After I get the energy to ease myself off Gus, I slowly roll off the bed and stand up to walk over to the chair where Russ is tied. In this version one hand is tied to each arm of the chair. I smile mischievously at him and he says, "You're evil."

I straighten up. "No, I'm not. If I were evil, instead of undoing your restraints, I'd be unfastening your clothes!" I lean over to whisper in his ear, "getting just enough out of the way so i can feel you . . . and then finally straddling you, on top of you in that chair, my tits in your face, your cock pressed against my belly . . . and you couldn't push me away -- you'd still be tied down. That would be evil." He's lost in the scenario and doesn't say anything at first. I stand up and take a step around in front of him toward the hand that's still bound, but he reaches out with the free hand to give me the slightest of pushes toward him. I smile at him and lift a knee to start kneeling over him in the wide hotel chair. "Is this what you want?" I ask before my other foot leaves the floor, and he just nods breathlessly as I lever myself into the position I described to him. He keeps the unbound hand on the chair arm as if I had never untied it, as I unbutton his shirt and then his pants, mostly by feel because I want to press my torso against his, though I have to raise myself up enough to be able to shove his pants and shorts downward. He pushes himself up from the chair until I can get the fabric out of the way, and point his hard-on in basically the right direction before I quickly slide down onto it, so wet that a slight mis-aim doesn't matter because the head of his cock adjusts itself to the most yielding part of my slickness. Gus is watching us now, I expect, but my back is to him.