Dedicated to my muse;
a good man: good to wake up to, good to go to sleep to. good to walk home with.
She had emailed him to say how she had enjoyed his words, adding, 'that she wished she could experience them.'
His reply had been simple. It had said 'she could'. All she had to do was submit to her own predilection. She was, by her own admission, secretly submissive. She was not unique in this, far from it. Many understood this duality lived within themselves. Many more hid from it, stifled the free expression of femininity and need.
She had told him so, in so many words. She had written of her need to feel, not just think, her desires.
______✒✒ ♩♪♪ ♫ ♬ ♬ ♫♪ ♩♪ ♫ ♫✒✒ __________
Of course, she knew exactly how she had come to this.
Knew the road down which she had travelled to arrive at this moment, this sweet predicament.
Words. Simple words.
They had woven this snare, this sweet captivity.
Words had stormed the tedium of life's entrenchment.
Words that sounded like this; middle of creamy filling with just the right amount of honey sugar ending with a roast beast and hotter leather bonds. you deny me nothing i cannot feel already hmm-hmmm-hmm--
______✒✒ ♩♪♪ ♫ ♬ ♬ ♫♪ ♩♪ ♫ ♫✒✒ __________
NEXT: being on top. What it feels like ...
(ooh, ooh, don't forget the bar stool and the green rope this time. fat green rope.)
She blushed when he asked one of the employees for assistance. But it wasn't until the lover held the rope up to her wrists that the girl quivered in recognition of utter terror of submitting. However; it was when he tested the rope for softness against her skin that tremors spread throughout her, right to her knees.
The girl looked into the lover's eyes, caught his serious gaze, she realized this was real and happening tonight. This was what she'd wanted, of course. It had been her wish for as long as she could remember. And she'd finally found a man she trusted who could take her on that amazing journey.
The front door swung shut behind them. In the hall, without speaking, he took her hands and wrapped fat green rope bracelets around both her wrists. Swelling under its own urging her rubber hard nipples offered no resistance to the fingers that precisely rolled them to swelling awareness. The fingers squeezed, never soft, and slow growing harder. That one touch, such a simple contact, almost made her legs collapse under her.
"Why are you here?" he asked the question as softly as he stepped, a purr in his even, low voice.
Gentle yet unimaginable strength in that tone locked her in the most powerful grip,
every word a simple yet resounding fact.
He did not need leather or rope to bind her.
All he needed were his words, and her own will.
All she needed were her words and his will.
He admired his handiwork, so did she, as the rope fit snugly. He left end pieces dangling on each wrist for convenient tying.
The girl chose a padded lounge stool. It reflected itself in the hallway's mirror. As she examined the knot intricacy on her left wrist he easily attached her right to another length and drew her arms tightly behind her, palms cupping her own ass. He then repeated the motions, deftly weaving her feet and ankles to the stool. It was the height of her own inseam but the padding made her tiptoe to balance. But that balance and that center of gravity meant surrender of her upright position.
Her breasts swung evenly when her bellybutton caressed the padded seat, her balance now in the lover's control, tapping against the edge of the green bracelets of rope on her wrists as he double wrapped each breast, running the length back around her neck like a swimsuit tie then back to the opposite breast. As her nipples crinkled to the pressure, the girl felt her predicament wet her inner thighs. Oh, for his hand in her exposed lips, creases spread wide for the lover's viewing. He slapped her mound, a stinging hand. And again. Once more, this time harder.
“Damn” she got out under her breath, teeth pressing into her lower lip. And still she couldn't quite believe this was happening. Even as he re-positioned her, stroking the length of her back lightly with the end of the rope. Even as he moved her hair out of the way and forced her chin up, eyes to see in the mirror what he was creating. Even as he got the camera flashing for the required poses. Even as she felt the secretive sexy need blossom within she wasn't certain she could handle being restrained, being open and vulnerable in her need of him. Her mind seduced, her body succumbing to a raving desire she hadn't even cared to look at before.
But when her lover lashed her skin with the braided flogger, the girl finally realized what she'd longed for was truly here. The situation was happening. Bound to the stool, not a muscle of her body under her own control and gasping in pain each time the lover applied the flogger to her thighs and soles of her feet. Or was it pleasure?
As the sting of the flogger raced up her spine and nerve endings her breasts begged for harsher treatment. The lover, attuned to her need, his need, cupped and then slapped her engorged tits, smiling as she gasped at the sting. Two fingers only pulled and then squeezed one bound nipple, then the other.
The sensation, her reward, tore through her. Its intensity might have been pain any other time, now lay her bare amid the storm of her joy at its presence. Her humiliation became his praise as her body took over the conscious responses. She listened for his breathing. Opening to his owning touch.
"i am here because I want to step beyond my own control." She gasped the words, the fearshadow cast itself across the very real moment. His eyes were so hungry as he tipped the girl's chin up to look into him as his hands explored her, wet and open. No masks, no gags, just devouring.
“i am here for you, open me!” she cried out more broken phrases as he plunged into her dark and deep. Her balance, her lust, her need becoming his. The ownership of a woman that happens when she surrenders to love.
"I am here because I love you!" he raged back, her allowances lifting him high.
She drowned in him; he controlled her entire being from the stool's rocking legs to his vaulting hard thighs. It felt as if allowing the mind of her pussy free expression somehow allotted her feminine self true value. For the first time, for all time the woman below her waist in sync with the woman behind the green eyes and green rope.