Jeanine said, "One of us needs to go to the store."

I was puzzled. Even through my post-orgasmic fog I recognized that statement as the verbal shorthand that signaled the commencement of foreplay. Not just any foreplay, mind you, but a foray into the brave new world of light consensual bondage. What confused me was the fact that I was lying spread-eagle in bed, my arms and legs fastened to the head and foot posts, and blindfolded to boot.

I cleared my throat. "You want to start over?" I didn't think I could, but I'd been wrong before. If she wanted to trade places, I might manage something.

"Hmmm? Oh!" I guessed she just realized what she'd said. "No, no... I mean yes, but -" She sighed. "I misspoke. I meant that we need something from the store. On the other hand, I did not mean that I don't want to, you know, what we're doing."

"Well, if you're going to the store, would you toss a sheet or something over me? I don't want to catch a chill," I said. I knew better. When a woman says, "we need" she means, "you better provide."

I felt Jeanine's body stretching across mine. Since I couldn't move, I concentrated on enjoying the feel of flesh-to-flesh, of her nipples scraping over my stomach and up my chest, her cheek brushing mine. Her lips were next to my ear. "You're normally more perceptive than that," she whispered. "When I say 'we need', it means 'go get for me'. I thought you knew that by now."

"I am yours to command, mistress." Well, at least until I was untied. And since the bonds that tied me weren't all physical, I guessed that might be forever. Had I told her this morning how much I loved her? Before the games started? "I love you, Jeanine."

"I love you, too," she replied. She locked her lips on mine and her tongue sought mine. Tongues danced, or wrestled, or played hide-and-seek. If this kept up, I might manage to rise to the occasion. It didn't. She lifted somewhat and I heard the shrrrk of separating Velcro, followed by the thwack of the cuff slung against the wall by a bungee cord.

I would have expressed annoyance - the cuffs end up behind or under things - but she kissed me again before I could speak. I brought my free hand into play, lightly scratching her shoulders. Soon enough, I had two hands free and the blindfold was removed. She bounced lightly from the bed, leaving me to free my own ankles while she dressed in her bathrobe.

She used the bathroom while I freed myself and retrieved the toys, ankle and wrist cuffs, bungee cords and blindfold. I stored them in the top drawer of the nightstand. The alarm clock on the nightstand said 9:15. If my memory served, it was 6:45 when Jeanine had awakened me with a kiss and the words "One of us needs..."

I smiled as she breezed through the bedroom, asking "Coffee?" as she passed. My 'yes' followed her down the hallway, and it was my turn in the bathroom. A quick shower, a vigorous toweling, and I dressed for a shopping trip in shorts, T-shirt and sneakers. My cup waited for me on the kitchen table; she was refilling hers.

After my first sip - high Andes with cream and Equal - I asked, "What is it we need?" Something important, probably. She seemed distracted.

"My period is late," she replied, searching my face for my reaction.

I trust I didn't disappoint. I could feel my grin pushing back my ears, and her face relaxed into a grin in relief. We only started trying to have a baby two and a half weeks ago. Can we cook, or what? I said, "So I need to pick up..."

"...an early pregnancy test," she finished, as I expected. Her brows knit. "I don't want to get my hopes too high until it's confirmed. As anxious as I've been, I know stress can screw up a menstrual cycle. I can't celebrate until I know for sure."

"And when you know for sure, how do you want to celebrate," I asked.

"Let's not put the cart before the hatching eggs," she answered. She loved her little fractured bromides, like, "Crying over spilt milk won't put out the burning bridges behind us." I just loved her, fractured bromides and all.

The pharmacy was open, and had early pregnancy tests behind the counter. I bought two, from different companies, after discussing the merits of each with the pharmacist. To my surprise, kits were available that could determine pregnancy within a week of conception, but Jeanine having missed a period, other kits would be less likely to deliver a false positive.

Something else I bought at the pharmacy, I hadn't seen available at my convenience or grocery stores. I bought a chocolate bunny. Not just for Easter anymore, I guess. Of course, I'd have to rush straight home to avoid a melted chocolate incident. That would violate the rules of chocolate, and Jeanine just hates when that happens.

I brought my loot into the house, and Jeanine greeted me at the door with hug and kiss. While not a rare event, the fact that the front door was open was unusual. Especially with Jeanine still in her bathrobe. I yanked at the robe's knot and she hastily pulled me in and closed the door. I pulled a kit from the bag, one that required the highest concentration of hormones for a positive result, and she dashed from the room with it.

I followed her to the bathroom, but had to wait outside a locked door. While I had overcome my shyness about certain things, and Jeanine rarely locked the closed door, This Was Different. After an interminable wait, the door opened and Jeanine came out and sat on the edge of the bed, facing the alarm clock. She checked her wristwatch, comparing the two, and sighed.

Whatever you may have heard or read, sighs matter. I knelt behind her on the bed and began kneading her shoulders, trying to drive the tension out. Her next sigh had a different taste and texture. Encouraged, I asked, "How much longer?"

"Three more minutes," she groaned. I had dug my thumbs into a particularly recalcitrant knot, and hoped that accounted for the tone. When that knot eased, I switched to back-scratch mode. Jeanine loved to have her back scratched, and I had finally broken my nail-biting habit on her account.

She loosened the knot and lowered her garment - back scratches through a bathrobe are somewhat less satisfying than direct contact. With my nails on her tanned back, she lowered her head, seemingly ignoring the clock. When the three minutes were up, I tickled her ribs and said, "ting!"

She jumped up and took a step towards the bathroom. Her bathrobe tried to pool around her knees and trip her. Flashing a mischievous grin, she stepped out of it, and reached for my hand. I knee walked to the edge of the bed and stood, allowing her to pull me along.

In the bathroom, we both bowed over the stick resting on the edge of the sink. I asked, "What does the pink dot mean?" The tests I'd bought had different displays, and I couldn't remember.

Jeanine sobbed. That was answer enough, and I gathered her into my arms and held on tight. I rocked her gently as her shoulders heaved with her frustration and disappointment. Jeanine, nude in my arms, is arousing. Jeanine, naked and crying in my arms, aroused different feelings entirely.

I debated internally. If I told her that the test she took was the most accurate available over the counter, she'd be devastated. If I told her about the other, she might cling to false hope and be disappointed again. I had to figure out a covert way to do this, and fast. I had the germ of an idea.

I eased her back to the bedroom, and seated her awkwardly (still in my arms) on the bed. I kissed her eyes, her nose, her jaw, her cheek, and her neck. She had her hands loosely folded in her lap, as I opened the nightstand drawer. I withdrew only the blindfold. She glanced at me curiously.

She swiped the back of a hand across her eyes. "I know I said, or at least I didn't rule out..."

"Jeanine, I'm asking you to trust me," I interrupted. She wiped her eyes dry. She looked at me for a long time. Well, it seemed like a long time. I don't know what she saw in my face - love, concern, anxiety, sympathy, fear - but finally, she nodded, just a fraction of an inch.

She lowered her eyes and whispered, "I am yours to command, master." A chill ran up my spine and danced around my hindbrain. Emotions warred. Lust fought with tenderness; love battled pride; others welled up to support the main combatants. This woman was placing herself in my hands, trusting me. The battle was brief, the outcome never in doubt: love triumphant and tenderness her handmaiden. I would sooner die than betray that trust.

I placed the blindfold over her eyes, then simply held her for a time, one hand stroking her cheeks while the other supported her and enfolded her to my chest. Afterwards, I had her stand while I retrieved her bathrobe and dressed her in it. I even knotted the belt. Lust had lost a battle, but was prepared to renew hostilities.

I got the cuffs and cords from the floor, then led her sightless to the dining room. I seated her at the table, attached cuffs to her ankles, threaded a bungee cord through both D-rings and attached the ends to the chair legs. She was free to keep her legs together or apart, whichever might be more comfortable, but not to cross them. I placed cuffs on her wrists, as well, but attached to nothing.

The coffeepot in the kitchen must have timed out, but was still hot. I flavored hers with chocolate milk and sugar, mine with my usual, and served her. While I sipped mine, I started another pot, this time from the designer coffee stash. Swiss something or other, with the accent on chocolate. While that brewed, I turned on the television and placed "Shakespeare in Love" in the VCR and adjusted the volume. Our favorite movie.

Back to the kitchen, while Jeanine sat listening, curious. Flour, eggs, sugar, milk, butter, oil; all gathered and whisked together. Stove on medium (the big eye) and my shallow skillet warming on it. Jeanine tried to divide her attention between the sounds of my industry and the movie. So long as none of her attention was on test results, I was content with whichever was the victor.

I committed a bit of batter to the buttered pan, tilting to evenly distribute it. While that firmed, I fetched Cool Whip from the refrigerator and Nestle's Morsels from the cupboard. With an ear to the movie, I joined and spoke the words, "Strangely enough it all turns out." And "I don't know; it's a mystery." Jeanine dimpled, and the theatres were opened.

The center of the first crepe was properly pockmarked and the edges crisped and curled up, so I flipped it. It was unimportant. The first crepe served only to establish the proper temperature of the pan, and would join the spent coffee grounds rather than a plate. It did, and the second and edible crepe was started. I poured Jeanine another cup of coffee, added her condiments, and placed it in her hands.

One crepe followed another. The problem with crepes is that they are labor intensive. Unless you have sufficient pans and eyes to make several simultaneously, you are tied to the kitchen making them - they can be consumed in less time than it takes to make another. I made three (after the tossed test), and reserved the oldest/coldest to myself.

Jeanine's were buttered, rolled and filled with whipped cream (well, Cool Whip) and chocolate chips, with confectioner's sugar sprinkled on top. Mine was buttered and slathered with birch syrup, and tightly rolled. With Jeanine's eyes blindfolded, it was up to me to feed her, kissing the near misses and driblets from her lips and chin, and occasionally her cleavage. Has eating always been such a sensual feast? She licked birch syrup from my lips as well.

Brunch became a pleasant memory as I refreshed our coffee cups, and steered Jeanine to the couch, unshackled. I watched and she listened to the movie. I watched Jeanine's cup as closely as the movie, and kept it warm and full. Not so warm or full as she kept my arms, but a Jeanine full of coffee was necessary to my plans. I nibbled her ears and tweaked her nipples to keep her distracted.