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When she did, he pulled the tunic off of her. He did it slowly, so the silken fabric caressed her skin as he drew it away from her. He didn't remove her bra or skirt yet. He wrapped his fingers over her waist again, fanned them out so they were caressing her ribs, his smallest finger below her waist band and tracing her hip bone. He rubbed her lower back with his thumbs, loosening the muscles there. His chin remained against her pulse, just below her ear, so his breath stroked sensitive nerve endings. She unconsciously tilted her body up toward that stimulation. Her breasts wanted his strong hands cupping and caressing them, and her nipples ached at
the thought of him capturing them in his fingertips to pinch and play.
The shift rubbed her backside against him, and he made an approving noise. "I love a naturally sensual sub," he said. "No calculation from the mind, just following your own desires. Move anyway you wish, love. It's like the orchids when the wind or sun touches them. They lift and bend and, even caught on their stems, they can't help straining toward what they want."
He unzipped her skirt, so it slipped to the floor. When he drew back, she suspected he was examining her underwear. She'd chosen black lace for both bra and panties, and the panties were the boy short style. His palm slid over one cheek, rubbing the lace against her flesh, then he slid a finger beneath, drawing the fabric up further to expose the curve.
"Gorgeous ass," he murmured. "When we're done tonight, my rope will be marking it. I'll leave that language printed all over you."
Unclasping the bra, he slid it off her arms. He didn't cup her breasts as she hoped and expected. He took off her underwear so she was naked, and moved to face her.
She wasn't expecting that, him mostly dressed and examining her from head to toe. He'd let her hair drop back on her shoulders, so some of the strands had fallen forward onto her right breast, others spread over or behind her shoulders.
"Put your hands behind your back."
When she did, it straightened her posture and she realized she'd been hunching. His eyes glowed and he cupped one breast, giving it a light stroke. She was trembling.
"Cold, love?"
She shook her head, and he nodded in satisfaction, as if he'd anticipated that answer. "Do you have any old injuries that could affect your joints, your back?"
She shook her head. "Nothing more than the usual aches and pains of middle age."
"Yeah, they catch up with you. I'm going to be gentle with you tonight, but I like to ask. From here forward, you move only as I tell you to move. If you need something you tell me. Yes?"
"Yes."
He left her to go back to the table. In the corner of her eye, she saw him light three pillar candles on the table and pick up a couple coils of rope, a handful of clips. He must have activated a music player, because the opening strains to "Ever After" by Marianas Trench filled the air.
"Like a candlelit dinner without the candlelight."
"Mmm. Hush now. Don't move also means don't speak. Just experience this, love."
She noticed one of the coils of rope was smaller in width than the others. It felt like he used that one first, binding her wrists together but not stopping there. He created an intricate looping between fingers, knuckles and wrist. When he was done, her hands were drawn into balled fists she couldn't open.
"It's different, when you can't use or move your fingers. Every part I immobilize can open another level of consciousness for you, if you let it. You'll be bound but you'll also start to fly."
Moving in front of her, he shook out the thicker rope and looped it over her neck. He didn't rush, but he didn't hesitate, tying the first knots as fluidly as if he was a spider spinning its web. Hence the Spiderman nickname, she assumed.
She was glad he didn't tell her to close her eyes, because she could watch the movement of his hands and arms, the shifts of his body, the concentrated expression. His gaze flicked up to hers periodically, a touch of flame that made her lips part, her body quiver harder and her brain cut loose to drift in a lust-filled haze. She'd expected something dramatic to propel her into this state. She hadn't realized all it required was him taking control, and her feeling the first brush of the rope. With every binding and loop, she was sinking deeper into an edgy, needy bliss.
If it hadn't had that effect, or if he'd allowed her to talk, she might have asked him more about what he was doing. She liked learning the 'hows' from her artists, but she understood the point of his earlier instruction. He wanted her immersed in it, not learning like a student sitting behind a desk.
With every knot he tied, every diamond shape he created between the knots, putting her body from throat to pussy in a net, heat spread through her. His nimble fingers caressed and manipulated her body so it melded with his work.
The high notes in "Ever After" heightened her reactions. On one drawn out note, she felt a spasm between her legs as if the range had plucked at her clit like a guitar string. Before creating the diamond shapes, Des had drawn the double strands of rope between her legs, split them around her labia and pulled that line up between her buttocks. As he created the net, the compression increased, so her bound sex throbbed. She dropped her head back as the lead singer screamed to fight for something. To face the music... Her knees quivered, but Des had her.
He was touching her incidentally, the sides of his hands, his fingertips, his knuckles, brushing her breasts, her nipples, her pussy. The casual stimulation was maddening, all the more because a glance down showed a steel bar of response against his jeans. Those flickers of eye contact between them were more weighted. When she licked her lips, his gaze followed the motion. He slid his fingertips over her hip as he bent and kissed her shoulder.
"You are fucking unforgettable, love. Time to make use of the hooks." He unbound her wrists, but left the hands in their closed state. Moving around her to retrieve one of the lines from the ceiling, he hooked it to the knot between her breasts, then hooked another down at her waist, and a third above her pubis. He left all three suspension lines slack. "Put your arm around my neck for this next part."
She did and he lifted her right leg, bending the knee and securing it so she was standing on one leg. Grasping her arm, he lifted it over her head, attaching it to a loop at the upper part of the rope that he'd secured between her breasts. He restrained the other hand to her upper thigh.
"You're safe, Julie. You can't fall. I have you at four points. When I go to the wall, I'm going to draw the ropes taut, let them lift you off the ground. I need you to completely relax. Just let the ropes take you. Don't fight them."
He reinforced the command with a caress of her hip as he moved away. She focused on doing as he'd commanded and, when the ropes slowly began to tighten, she let her body go limp. The rope holding her leg lifted her first, and she drew the other off the ground as she found herself tilted so she was at a forty-five degree angle to the stage, her hair spilling down toward it because her head was tipped back. That felt a little uncomfortable, because she couldn't figure out if she needed to strain to keep it lifted or let it drop back.
He was back in a blink, his hand cradling her skull as he wrapped rope over her forehead and nape, knotting and weaving them with the lines at her back, shoulders and breasts so that when he tied off the ends to the suspension rope above her breasts, her head was supported, no unbearable strain on her neck.
