Assistant 2

been awhile since part onethanks for the heads up, Mick!!…as i write this, i’m rocking out to Chopin, Beethoven…all the best classical pieces…i wonder what those old “Masters” would say about this…..*wickedly grinning*….~n~ (from Evanescence to Rachmaninoff… and all in between…it all inspires….)

She was at the end of her rope.

She almost laughed aloud at her own sally. For literally she was at the end of a rope. Alone, in a sun-drenched room, her feet pressed firmly against wide oak flooring, relieving the incredible pull of rope sawing against her clit. Her arms now bore the brunt and burn of the ropes. She was caught in liminal time, and damned if she could figure out which was worse…or better…or even better, worse. The constant dance between pain and pleasure was an interesting thing to discuss with a snifter of brandy or a glass of pinot noir…but living it? Very, very different. It moved from esoterics, to a purely raw physical state.

She was drenched. Sweat beaded the underarms of the borrowed tee-shirt, and worse? She could feel the moistness of her silk pants sticking against her upper thigh. Likely his rope would be wet, too. Moisture leaking from her suddenly hyperactive pussy. It was embarrassing. It was…a huge turn-on.  She remembered seeing that tv reporter once, getting all giggly and …almost high, when she reported on a rope convention, and got to model a few moves.

At the time, she’d scoffed at such unprofessionalism. Likely the perky blonde was a slut to begin with. Now? She wasn’t at all sure. She herself was no slut, just sexually needy, after a long year of abstinence, damn her ex-husband to hell.  And back.

When the chance came to find out more about BD/SM she thought, what the hell. She was the lifestyles writer, after all, and people who got into this crazy shit called themselves ‘lifestylers’….it seemed fitting.

But she’d been tied here close to 10 minutes, her Dom-for-a-day having exited after securing her in this very stirring predicament. A moment or less from his leaving her hanging here, a young woman had come into the room.  It seemed her only ‘job’ was to watch over her, for she spoke not a word, didn’t comment when moans, groans and an occasional ‘fuck’ came from her mouth.

She focused on two things. Her breathing, which was shallow, and sounded even to her own ears, like she was having a sexual experience. And her body.

More specifically, the body that was located between her thighs. The part of her body that was being rubbed by her own small movements, adjustments to the constantly pulling ropes. Her pussy was on fire.

She’d been able to tune out the need for sex for so long. If she got desperate, she’d pull out a vibe and masturbate, but it was pure mechanics.

This? This was pure lust. Her body had been drastically, shockingly awoken from a long sleep. Her clit was throbbing, engorged. Her cuntlips were getting pressure from the ropes, and she was desperate to cum.

He’d know that if he truly was a Dom..and from what she was feeling, she understood that he was certainly a Master of rope.  Then again, a man would have to be pretty oblivious to not smell her, see the staining on her pants, feel the wetness of the rope when He came to release her.

She hoped he did that soon.

Almost as soon as that thought crossed her mind, the door opened. She looked up, a fast smile running across her face.

“Ready for release, little one?”

Oh, if only He knew.

He crossed to the winch, and lowered it a bit, then came up behind her. At some gesture, the young lass who’d been her guardian bowed gently towards Him, then quietly slipped from the room. She thought he was going to release her now, but instead, he touched. Softly, gently ran his hands over his ropes.

He came around to the front of her, tracing one thick, manly finger over the twisted strands outlining her tits,  his eyes tracing the path of the rope, then flitting up to her open mouth. She tried to calm her breathing, but the effort was too much, and she began panting again.

His eyes met hers, and there was fire there. She felt gathered into that dark stare, pulled as surely as if there were invisible cording between them. His finger lifted, tracing her lips. The touch was soft, barely there, but so incredibly stirring.

She felt that touch deeply inside of her, and the pulse between her thighs grew to a thundering beat. Oh, how she wanted.

For a minute, maybe more, they stood in tableau, until he smiled, briefly, and bent to begin releasing her. As he worked, he talked to her. He explained that she might feel dizzy, might feel floaty, and he’d make certain she was recovered before they tried anything else.

“Anything else?” her voice wobbled a bit.

“Well, of course, I would be remiss if this was the only experience you were offered for your research. You did say you had the entire day open?”

“i-i do, yes.”

“When we are in session together, it is appropriate to respond to my comments with ‘yes Sir’ or ‘no, Sir’, so you understand the protocols, little one.”

Her response was a soft, barely audible ‘yes Sir.’

Who was this woman? she wondered. How had 15 minutes in rope pulled her from her assured, career-path oriented self? Even to her own ears, she heard a submissive little voice coming from her lips.

She tried to ignore his fingers slipping down the silk-clad curve of her ass cheek, hooking up under the rope threaded through that cleft, his other hand busy pulling rope through her crotch area, his fingers constantly, surely not intentionally, banging her clit as he unwrapped her from his bondage ties.

She kept her eyes focused across the room, not wanting to see what expression crossed his face when he found the wet ropes, her damp pants. His hand moved between her legs from behind, smoothing over her wet crotch, one finger trailing firmly over the seam in her pants, up through the crack of her ass, and adjusted her waistband.

“It’s not uncommon at all to be ….” his silken voice paused a moment and she sensed him searching for a less provocative word than he might ordinarily use…”stimulated by the ropes. After all, the point of predicament bondage is just that…a choice between two evils…pain, pleasure. For many subs, both are equally desirable.”

She wanted to say something smart. Witty. Sophisticated. Her voice squeaked. She cleared her throat, and his hand came to her shoulder, rubbing slow circles there.

“Take your time little one.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders, supporting her and pulling her so close to his side. She felt…engulfed…and strangely safe.

He led her slowly from the room, taking a water bottle from the table just outside the door, uncapping it and handing it to her.  A tall thin man passed them in the hallway, and some unspoken message passed between them. Sir nodded, and led her down the hall.

The room was as dark as the previous one was light. All manner of strange, and okay, scary-looking things were here. He led her to a not-scary couch, and had her sit. He opened the padded hassock and pulled out a blanket, laying it around her shoulders.

“We’ll take a bit of time for you to get your pins under you again, little one. Lay down here and let me rub out the kinks, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

She giggled. She was feeling a bit light-headed. A bit …how had he put it? Floaty.


His large, warm hands worked miracles on her tightened muscles. He worked almost aggressively on her knotted shoulders, moving her arms this way and that, rubbing, massaging, pinching, until she moaned with the unexpected pleasure. Unclear to her now if it was the undeniable pleasure of touch, or the release of the stress from the tie session…but whatever it was, it felt pretty fucking good.

He worked his way down her lower back, and over her hips, and ass. She made as if to protest, but his hand between her shoulders, pressing her back down was firm.

“These muscles worked hard too. They need relief”

oh my, if only he knew just what sort of relief those muscles needed just now….