The bed was one of a kind. Made from native ash, it was full of curves, bent saplings formed and tied into arches and whorls. The bark had been stripped, sanded to satin, and polished to a soft glow. The footboard was as high as the headboard. A piece of art as well as a bed, it was a bondage lovers dream.
He’d draped her over the side of it, laying her torso across the queen mattress. Her inviting ass was up in the air, an ass He planned to take full advantage of tonight. The slave was in the corner, waiting to be used. And he would be utilized. Fully.
“This bed,” He began conversationally as he wound the thin cotton cord around her left wrist, “looks light, bendable, wouldn’t you say, slut?”
Her voice was muffled by the mattress, her face half-hidden by her hair, tousled over her face. He had brought her inside by it, his fist buried in the dark thick mass, sweat-damp from standing, bathed in the sweltering rays of the setting sun.
“Yes Master it does.”
Her voice was lust, vocalized. Rich and sexy, it had the mellifluous tones of a wet-dream in each honeyed syllable she spoke. His cock hardened just at the sound of that voice. He’d heard it for so many months across the vastness of the American continent. Now here she was, bound to His needs, His wants, His desires.
“You will find, little one, that Ash is extremely flexible. You will pull your left wrist now.”
He had secured this wrist to the far side of the headboard. She gave a gentle tug. Nothing. She pulled harder. She felt a little give but she could see the bed was securely made.
She swallowed, hard, as He wrapped her right wrist, and secured that to the far side of the footboard. Pulled across the bed like this, she wouldn’t even be able to kick out at him, as she was nearly on her toes already. Not that she would…but.
He came around the bed, stroking her back, and pinching her asscheek.
“OW!” she jumped, her surprise evident. Taking advantage, he squatted and slipped a noose around her right ankle, then tugged it towards the footboard. When he was happy with the spread of her stance, he tied it off securely.
She tried to evade his grasp of her left ankle, but he was prepared for it. He’d known she would struggle with this, her final capitulation. Her breath sobbed through her lips in her frustration, as he snagged her foot, and slid the second noose around her svelte ankle. Pulling firmly, her legs were spread, opening her pussy to view, and her ass became quite accessable.
Still kneeling behind her, he ran his hands up her long, strong legs. Months of bike rides had strengthened, toned her already gorgeous gams, and he admired with his mouth following the track of his hands, up one shapely calf, nipping his way up her thigh, lapping lightly at the curve at the bottom of her ass, as he worked his way over to her other leg, and journeyed downward.
Nipping her gently behind her right knee, he rose up, his denim-clad legs brushing her inner thighs. Bracing a hand beside of her, he leaned forward, brushing the hair from her face. He looked at her, smiling. She stared back at him, solemn, her role as a Domme forgotten in the utter submission to this Master.
“You smell of wet cunt,” he said bluntly, the smile never leaving his beautiful mouth. “A smell your slave is quite familiar with, yes?” She nodded.
“Slave!” He barked, still holding her in thrall, his eyes never leaving hers, “get the fuck over here and suck on my sluts’ pussy. I want it very, very wet.”
Pushing off the bed, he stepped back and watched as the slave came forward, the eagerness to be attending to his Mistress evident on his face. He bent forward, sniffing the air just between the juncture of her thighs, and smiled into her crotch as his lips began sucking tenderly, his tongue seeking the sweetest honey he knew.