The Match
The Match
Chapter 1: The Match
It started with a swipe. Chad wasn’t expecting much that night, thumbing through profiles on Kasual in his dimly lit office, where silence and habit replaced affection and laughter years ago. His thumb froze on Jess.
That profile pic—just her jeans pulled down slightly to expose the arc of her ass, the faint outline of a tattoo riding her hip—suggested something different. Real. Raw. Her tagline sealed it: “Feel what it is like to be encapsulated by a woman in endless passion.”
Chad, for the first time in months, felt his cock twitch.
He swiped right.
A match lit up the screen less than ten minutes later.
Their first messages were light. She opened with a joke about duct tape and fantasies. He replied dryly but with interest. She liked that—no games, no desperate small talk. She asked what he did. He mentioned IT. She said she worked part-time from home, ran a chainsaw mill when she could get the time.
“I bet you look hot covered in sawdust,” he said.
She sent back a picture of her legs in dirty jeans and steel-toed boots. No face. But the arch of her back, the outline of her hips—Chad stared longer than he should have.
In the following days, texting became frequent. Every morning before work, every night after their kids were in bed. They started talking about things they liked. Not love, not future, just desire. Jess had a way with words, crude and clever, riding that line between teasing and commanding.
She asked for a picture. Chad sent one. Shirtless in bed, sheets just over his crotch.
“I like the size of the tent,” she replied.
She sent back a photo: a side view, her in a tank top pulled halfway up, nipples threatening the fabric. “No face,” she said. “But I like teasing.”
Chad stared at the image longer than he should have. He hadn't felt like this in years.
Chapter 2: The Plan
Chad needed the weekend. Not for chores. Not for errands. For escape.
He’d fantasized about it too many times: three days off the leash, with a woman who wanted to be tied up, teased, used. Someone who wanted it filthy. Someone who wouldn’t flinch when he showed her the things he hadn't dared bring up in years.
When Jess said she wanted to be “kidnapped,” he saw his opening.
He planned it all in advance.
He booked a rustic Airbnb off the logging roads, an old cabin with a working fireplace and no neighbors for miles. It didn’t matter that there was no WiFi. The point was isolation. Raw time. No filters.
In the trunk of his car he packed:
A thick black blindfold
A coil of nylon rope
A pair of padded cuffs
A spreader bar
Lube, condoms, a vibe
And a sleek, matte-black plug
He even packed his DSLR, figuring maybe—just maybe—she’d let him take some shots.
By Friday morning, his texts with Jess were relentless.
Jess: "Are you sure you’re ready for this much woman for 48 hours?"
Chad: "Only thing I’m sure of is you’re not leaving until your legs forget how to walk."
They agreed: he’d “kidnap” her Friday night.
She’d leave her front door unlocked. Lights dimmed. Kids at her sister’s.
He’d arrive silently. Blindfold her. No words at first.
Let the weekend begin with her surrender.
Chapter 3: Taken
The porch light flickered as Chad parked under the cover of trees, engine off. He stepped out into the cool spring night, heart thudding with a cocktail of nerves and lust. The house was quiet. Her message an hour ago had confirmed it:
“Door unlocked. I’m waiting.”
He opened the door silently, as instructed. Inside, the living room was dim, lit only by a single candle. Music played faintly in the background—something bluesy, like whiskey and gasoline in audio form.
He followed the faint scent of jasmine and sweat.
Jess was where she said she’d be: facedown on the bed, wrists already resting above her head like a gift. She wore a sheer tank top and a pair of cotton panties that clung to her curves. Her ass looked sculpted from sin.
She didn’t speak.
He walked closer, slowly, deliberate. Pulled the blindfold from his back pocket. It slid over her eyes, no protest. Just a quiet breath as she surrendered vision to trust.
Then the cuffs. The click of metal wrapped her wrists in a kind of promise.
“You ready?” he whispered, finally.
“Been ready since Tuesday,” she whispered back. “Take me.”
He tied her wrists to the headboard, adjusting the tension carefully. Her legs spread naturally beneath him, knees tucked beneath her belly, making her round hips the center of the world.
He knelt on the bed and just watched for a moment. Watched the way she breathed. The way her ass clenched ever so slightly when he exhaled over her skin.
Then he reached into his bag, pulled out the plug. Her breath caught when she heard the lube bottle pop open.
“You remember what you said about being taken?” he asked, slicking the plug slowly.
“I meant it. Do whatever the fuck you want. I want to forget who I am.”
He didn’t hesitate.
The weekend had started.
Let me know how far you want this to go—whether you want more chapters, what pace you’d like, how intense or depraved you want it to get, or whether you want to shift power, bring in other dynamics, or explore deeper emotional or psychological layers between them.
You said:
write more of chapter 3, finish off the weekend. skip the depraved parts, intense yes, edging, finish with them returning to their normal lives, but only after many many orgasms and lots of teasing and fun
ChatGPT said:
Certainly. Here's the full continuation and completion of Chapter 3, staying within the tone and character dynamics already established—intense, sensual, and rich with edging, teasing, and exploration, without slipping into the depraved. The chapter closes with a thoughtful, carnal sigh of return to “normal life,” after a weekend neither of them will forget.
Chapter 3 (Continued): Taken – and Transformed
The first night blurred between edge and climax, the kind of night where time didn’t count. Chad didn’t keep track. He only measured it in sounds—Jess's gasps, the wet slap of skin on skin, the soft buzz of the vibrator pressed to her swollen clit again and again as she writhed and begged under him.
He didn’t let her come easy. That was the game.
“Not yet,” he whispered more than once, even when her thighs were trembling, her moans rising to a desperate pitch.
He’d pull back at the very edge. He loved how she squirmed. How she whispered curses into the mattress, breathless and hungry.
She bit the pillow at one point, eyes blindfolded still, and screamed, “Please let me come, goddammit!”
He leaned down, lips brushing her ear. “You’ll come when I say. And not a second sooner.”
The first orgasm didn’t come until well after midnight, when she’d been begging for nearly an hour, body quivering with need. And when he let her come, finally, it was as if she shattered, voice cracking, legs twitching, mouth falling open in a silent scream.
But that was only the first.
By Saturday, they had fallen into rhythm. Nakedness wasn’t even arousing anymore—it was a default setting.
They slept late, limbs tangled, and woke only when Jess stirred to press herself back against him, seeking his heat, his hands. Chad grunted, still half-asleep, and reached for her, sliding his hand between her thighs.
“No words?” she teased.
“None needed,” he murmured.
She came before breakfast. Twice. Once with his fingers, once as he stood behind her at the cabin sink, one hand in her hair, the other under her chin, whispering things she hadn’t heard since she was young and feral.
They ate bacon and scrambled eggs naked, still smelling like sex and sweat. She laughed at one point, coffee mug in hand, her body still marked with faint red lines from the ropes.
“Didn’t think I’d enjoy being tied up this much,” she said.
“You didn’t enjoy it,” Chad said, eyes fixed on her chest. “You loved it.”
She grinned. “Damn right.”
Saturday afternoon, they got stoned and laid a blanket on the porch outside. The sun was warm, the weed was mellow, and for a while they just talked. About divorces, parenting, sexless years, and the weird ache of finally feeling wanted again.
But the hunger never stayed quiet for long.
Chad pulled out his camera. He didn’t even ask. Just held it up, gave her a look.
Jess raised an eyebrow, smirking.
“You think I’m gonna model for you now?”
He nodded.
“What kind of shoot we talkin’? Pretty smile? Or me with your cock in my mouth?”
“Start with the smile. Work our way forward.”
She rolled her eyes playfully—but complied. Half an hour later, she was straddling the edge of the porch in nothing but a flannel shirt and a pair of knee-high boots. He captured every angle—the curve of her back, the way her hair blew across her face, the smirk that said she knew exactly how much power she held in her hips.
They never made it back inside before sunset. She edged twice more, with him inside her on the wooden porch, the camera resting nearby like a voyeur who had seen too much and still wanted more.
Sunday morning was slow and aching.
They woke curled into each other, sheets tangled around their ankles. Her nipples were sore, her thighs sticky and used. His cock was half-hard, even in sleep, as if his body didn’t want the weekend to end either.
They made love instead of fucking. Slow, grinding, drawn out like molasses poured over warm skin. She came on top this time, leaning back, eyes closed, hair tumbling down her back like a waterfall.
“You’re gonna break me,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” Chad said, hands firm on her hips. “You still owe me one more.”
He gave her three.
They showered together, finally. She leaned into the tile wall as he worked conditioner through her tangled hair, his touch softer now, as though reverent. The mood had shifted—still intense, but something more solemn under it.
“I’m not gonna lie,” she said, eyes closed under the spray. “I needed this. Like... more than I even realized.”
“Me too.”
“Do you do this every weekend?” she teased, looking over her shoulder.
He chuckled. “This is the first one that mattered.”
On the drive back to civilization, the silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was full. Worn-in. Comfortable. Like two people who had scratched an itch deep enough it left a memory, not just a bruise.
They didn’t talk about what came next. Didn't need to.
But as Chad pulled up in front of her house, engine idling, she leaned over and kissed him. Not hungrily this time. Just... sincerely.
“Next time,” she said, “I tie you down.”
Chad grinned. “Deal.”
She opened the door and stepped out, her legs wobbly, the weekend still dripping from her skin.
As she closed the door behind her, he watched her disappear into her house. The door shut. The weekend ended.
And yet, he didn’t feel like it was over.
Not really.
Just paused.