Bound

Her hands were tightly tied, the silken cord biting into her flesh firmly. He made certain that she could still wiggle her fingers, but as he wrapped the cording in a firm bracelet around her slender wrists, his only thought was to bind and control her fully.

“Control the mind, control the body,” was his adage. And really, there was nothing to replace the mindfuck of her being totally, completely helpless to his desires.

Slowly and with precision he wound the cord between her arms, binding off the first of her trusses.  She stood, eyes  downcast as he had taught her long ago.  He stepped back, admired the whiteness of the rope against her skin. Reaching up, he retrieved the hook and chain that hung from the ceiling of their dungeon.  Pulling it between her arms, he tightened them until her arms were pulled above her head. He continued to tighten until she was standing quite erect,  wincing slightly at the pull of her arms.

He retrieved the 4 X 4 post which had holes drilled through near each end. No matter which side faced, there were holes. He placed the post by her foot, then kneeling, he placed one foot, clad in a black strappy stiletto onto the block. He pulled the cord through the holes to the halfway point, and began coiling the cord up her right leg. She was secured to the block, unable to step off or on, balancing on her toes.

He worked quickly, knowing the posture was very difficult for her. He bent to her left foot, placing that upon the block, legs now widespread, leaving her tender bits vulnerable and exposed to him. As he wound the rope around this leg, he glanced at her cunt. She was moaning slightly, from the posture, or from her need was hard to say for sure. The ball gag kept conversation from occurring. He preferred to work in silence, so that he could more appreciate the noises she would be making later.

Her cunt was flushed and looked moist. He finished the tie, and did not resist the urge to slide his finger into her slit. Yes, very wet. He drew the wet digit across her upper lip, and under her nose.

The gesture said so much without a word being spoken.

“You want this. You say you hate this but you do want this.”

“Smell your arousal as I take you where I want you to be.”

“Feel how wet your traitorous cunt it.”

He drew up his long cat, preparing to lash at her, a living canvas for him to draw upon. His only brush, the cat. His only color pallet, the roses and reds of her flesh under his tool.

She was bound by her desires…

and by his need.