Rope Play

Image by Shibari Kinbaku at Pixabay

With my hands tied behind my back, my main concern was my hair. He desired it untied so it would frame my face in wavy locks, loosely hanging past my shoulders.

I liked that look on myself, but I had a small concern. If I moved my head, would my hair end up in my face? I disliked hair sticking to me when I was hot and sweaty.

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Lace and leather

On my knees in black lace and leather, eyes wide open, I salivate. My tongue almost laps at his tip.

He stares down at me with bedroom eyes. I’ve seen that look before, once or twice, many months apart.

I stare back at him, lure him into my core.

Stay a while, I say without words.

Still on my knees, my mouth warm and moist, I invite the inevitable. I can almost taste his manhood.

I lick my lips. He watches closely, his body tense and rigid.

The connection is there, deep and real.

Also simple and complicated, consistent and predictable, recurring and relentless.

A delicate dance between fantasy and reality.

I feel his hands touch my hair, light and sweet at the back of my head. He needs it, my lips on his cock.

It’s all I need to begin. I use my mouth, not my hands, to end the suspense.

Later, my hands will play a part.

But for now, our seduction continues its torturous game.

Sleepless (part 2)

This story makes better sense if you read part 1 first. Previous consent was given to all activities described in this post.

***

Samantha laid on the bed, arms tied above her head and ankles tied apart, wondering what will happen to her next. Cesar was a man of few words, she knew, and asking him questions while he’s concentrating on bondage was futile. It would only frustrate him.

All her fidgeting earlier must have interrupted his rest, she realized. When he had left the room she thought he went to sleep someplace else, given how active her movements were, but she was wrong. He came back with rope, and tied her up just as she was drifting off to sleep.

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Sleepless (part 1)

Samantha tossed and turned for most of the night.

Her skin felt flushed and prickly from the humidity even though she took a cool, soothing shower before bed.

To distract herself, she looked at the sky through a crack in the blinds. It was late; the pale light from the moon implied a time for stillness and slumber.

Samantha tried to fall asleep again. She turned this way and that, moved pillows into different locations, and pulled her hair up into a messy ponytail on top of her head. Still, sleep remained elusive.

Maybe I should just get up, she contemplated before deciding to kick the bed-sheet off her body. Satisfied with her overt nudity exposed to the cool air of the air conditioning, she laid back down into her pillows.

She always went to bed naked; there was something very sensual about the softness of the bed-sheet and how it slid off her body each time she moved.

Samantha understood that nudity was expected here. She no longer had a choice; she gave this up willingly and with consent any time she was invited to sleep in this bed. Back at home, perhaps out of a newly formed habit, she chose to sleep the same.

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