Little Miss Muffett (3)

He walked to a coil of rope at the side of the stage, and picking it up, stood looking at her steadily. His eyes were suddenly sharper, the eyes of a predator. An eagle…or even more dangerous, a Wolf.  Her knees shook a bit as she stood where he had placed her, center stage. She could sense the eyes of hundreds on her, her body nearly bare, but she only felt His. He looked at her, into her. She shivered. She stood, clad only in her bra and panties, but it was not cold that drew the gooseflesh across her arms, her belly.

Her eyes, large and luminous, followed His every movement. She drew strength from his presence, holding onto her with that intense gaze.  He moved behind her, and she took a fast, deep breath. For a moment, she was bereft.

And then, He was there. She felt the heat of him against her ass, her shoulder. She felt his hands in her hair, pulling out the stick from her leather barrette, allowing her hair to tumble down, cascading from the sloppy knot on top of her head and tossing wildly around her breasts, shoulders and back.

His lips brushed her ear as he pulled the mass of waves to the back of her shoulders, baring her breasts and belly of the tresses.  She shivered in response to that soft caress.

The rope sang as he drew the first folded coil through his hands, and  over her torso. The doubled rope was quickly pulled tight against her, making her take a deep breath, and releasing it with a soft moan as his arms came around her, holding her tight as he drew the next round of rope around her, below her breasts.

With every tightening tie, every knot, he would hold her, consuming her with his vitality. His rope and his hands were drinking her.

Somewhere in the middle she began to fuzz. The tight constraints ceased to pinch and bind, and began to control, and to dominate. But there was also a sense of being  nuzzled, and nestled, drawing her closer to Him, closer to a need she could not define.

Until He kicked apart her ankles.

Her hands were tied behind her, and he had moved to her front. With every pass of the rope now, heading lower down her torso, he would hug, glide his hands along her, gently caressing, then firmly holding. Her breasts were contained in a rope bra, and her nipples were so sensitive, that the unobtrusive cotton against them rubbed like nettles.

He knelt between her spread legs, his eyes boring into hers, his breath whispering against her navel. She was breathing shallowly, so incredibly turned on.

As her Mom, the hippie would say, she was “feelin’ groovy.”

She felt his hands circle around her ass, so nimble with the rope, around and then pulling it up, hard. Then again. He wrapped it tight around her legs, his hands briefly caressing her suddenly incredibly tight butt.  Gawds. Her breathing increased, and she felt an embarrassing rush of lust.

Jeebuz! He was right fucking there! There was no way he could not know she was suddenly wet for Him.  He reached for the rope dangling untied that hung from the center of her chest rope. All the encircling ropes passed over it, the end of it hung loosely to coil between their spread legs. He tugged it now, taking up all slack, and tied a knot in the doubled line.

He drew it between her thighs, nesting it snugly in the silk-covered cleft. He never broke eye contact with her as he pressed the knot against her, never as he felt the soaked swatch of fabric. He could feel the shiver, the moan running from her as he pulled that cord tight, straight up that soaked valley, between her clenched asscheeks, and slipped it up and through the coiled rope round her hips, her waist.

He ducked around her, and pulled.

Hard.

The moan that came from her was audible. The sexual tension between them transmitted to the mesmerized audience.  There were indrawn breaths, and more than one heated exchange going on. Not that she saw anything. She was, as Mom would say, “totally far out, man, like, outtasight!”

She took no notice of the blow job happening almost at her feet. Of the Dom pinching his girls nipples as she knelt between his spread legs.

The total center of her focus was the big knot laying on her swollen clitoris.

And of the fat thickness of rope laying between her labia.

And up between her asscheeks.

He pulled the rope tighter, the knot rubbing her clit even tighter. Her mouth opened and a sighing moan came out. Her eyes were dazed. She looked stunning and stunned, strung tight with  his rope coiling her.

His hands slipped through her pussy again, she felt him putting a bit more pressure on her with the rope and could only move as he moved her.

Oh gawd, how He moved her.

dear readers,  this story is one i’ve wanted to write for awhile, as rope bondage simply turns me on. it’s fascinating, it’s beautiful, it’s powerful. i invite you to go to this link and watch the vid by one of the Lifestyles preeminent Rope Masters, Monk. I have read his blog off and on over the years, but never actually seen his work until i watched this: http://vimeo.com/10682971

and from that, this story. ~n~