He was no rope master, but years of being an outdoorsman had served him well. With practiced hands, he wove his satin spell around her body.
Every pull of the length ignited a small fire over whatever limb it touched, long strands of silk juxtaposed by a momentary scratch.
With each new knot, he kissed her somewhere new. First it was her forehead; tender and sweet. Then, her cheekbone; he could feel her smile against his lips. Next, her lips...slow and sweet.
Spreading her lower lips, he slipped the rope on either side of her clit as he moved down her jawline to her neck. The simultaneous pull and bite making her knees weak and a moan escape. She was delirious with it all.
Her thoughts, like her, were tied into a neat little package; no chance for escape. He had her kneel on the couch, long hair loose, leaning over the arm. He'd never seen her so still, so quiet. Fingering her hair, she went deeper, stilling even more; relishing her captivity and comfort.
The faint brush of fingertips down her harness, across her spine reminded her how this man played her body like an instrument; eliciting responses she couldn't readily contain. No one knew her like this.
Without preamble, one hand gripped her mane, the other making brutal contact with her ass. The slow burn spread. Another fell, drawing a squeak and a groan. They rained down, varying in location and intensity; she felt the sting transform into wet heat.
His cock presented itself in front of her. She licked and sucked with abandon. Tightly bound, taken in hand; he fucked her face. And she let go. Never had she sucked him like this before; a revelation years in the making.
It just wasn't enough for her. So with three simple words she found herself facing the wall, spread on the couch, impaled. A hand on her throat, head pulled back by a fist in her hair, she was well and thoroughly fucked. She climaxed in waves, shivering, surrendered to the pleasure.
Now every time she sees that 100 feet of white heaven, she smiles, and prays for next time.
