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He didn't tie it. He let it coil and uncoil around her with the force of gravity, turning it into a living thing gliding over her curves. Over her breasts, under her arms, dropping to her hips, slithering between her legs. There he caught and tugged it through, tightening it so she swayed in his grip, the tension putting pressure on labia and clit. Then it loosened and fell away. He wrapped it diagonally over her, back under the thong, securing it there as he took up the other end and wrapped it around her eyes, into her mouth like a gentle bit, and around her throat. He put his fingers beneath it to twist like he'd done with the collar.
She was a swaying flower, a rose whose petals he compressed into a tightly furled bud before he allowed her to bloom and breathe with the loosening of his bindings. He took her down into a folded over position, cinching the rope around the back of her neck and thighs, holding her that way on the floor as he stroked her legs, her buttocks, the framed shape of her damp sex. He had his fingers hooked in the wraps he'd done across her back, so she felt in no danger of toppling.
The bands loosened and he straightened her again, to position her beneath the hooks. She was already in a half trance state. He would tangle and hold her in his web a million different ways while she floated in the euphoria created by the dance between his hands and the jute rope he favored. He'd left the rope tied around her mouth, a way to relieve her of the need to talk, but she was glad he hadn't left the wrap over her eyes. She wanted to see him.
He boxed her arms behind her, forearms tied together beneath her shoulder blades. He took down her hair, combing his fingers through it. Once again, he took his time, stroking deep, tugging on her scalp, letting her feel his care along with his strength. When at last he bound her hair into a tail and attached the rope from that to her boxed arms, he left her enough slack she could look down and see what he was doing next. She was captivated by the concentrated look on his face, the energy that poured off of him as he made her his creation.
He'd secured the wraps over her arm
s to two of the hooks to hold her upright while he was otherwise occupied. He did a diamond harness on her body, but this time the stopper knots were elaborate, Escher-looking creations that also reminded her of the Celtic knots of his sleeve studs. He didn't stop at her hips. He left her sex unencumbered, a promising decision, splitting the doubled rope over her hips and then bringing in more rope to start a lattice-looking design that ran from the juncture of her thigh and hip to her feet, looping a double strand under the soles.
He tilted his head up. "If I tie the rope under your feet, you can't get away from me, can you? Can't outrun me."
Her heart thudded hard in her chest. He had an edge to his tone and a light in his eyes that said he meant it. The primitive side summoned for both of them. All the debris of the civilized world fallen away to make things simple and in sharp relief.
She loved the way he looked when he did this. His focus was brilliant, encompassing her and the whole creative miasma around her. She suspected he could see so many possibilities there, an aura he read to decide what he wanted to do.
Many performers used interesting ways to tap into creative energy, but regardless of the method, it always involved a focus somehow very present and yet also in an entirely different realm, the contrast the connecting link.
She loved being in proximity to that process, drinking it in. Now she was part of that live connection, in the center of the flow. It wasn't an ego thing. Being in the center wasn't about that. It was a safe feeling, a balanced one, since there could be nothing more solid than standing at the center of a circle. At the center of someone's soul, feeling as if everything around her was welcoming her, capturing her, cherishing her, taking everything from her. Bliss was the reward for her surrender.
He trailed his fingers up her torso, along the cage he'd created around her body. "I'll do this to you one weekend when we're off by ourselves together. Only I'll do a similar lattice work over your arms instead of boxing them. You'll be free to move your limbs, but this is all you'll wear. With this net tied over you, I can bind you in endless ways. Turn you into any kind of orchid I want. Hook you to my bed with your limbs spread out like a daisy, and fuck and eat your pussy, suckle your nipples. Coat you in wax or chocolate."
He cocked his head, considering, as a soft moan of reaction slipped from her lips. "I can put you down all tucked up, your forehead to the ground, arms threaded under you, between your folded-up legs. I'd bind your wrists between your ankles, so you're like a seed in the ground, not ready to split open until I cut the ties. I'd slide my cock into your tight opening, fuck you so slow, killing us both with that sweet friction, even as you'd be making those little pleading noises because you couldn't move, your climax completely at my whim."
He lifted his gaze to her face. "Ah, love, your eyes get so hungry for all of it when I talk to you like this. Stretched lips over my rope making me think of what you'll do for my cock later. That you were willing to do here in front of everyone, sweet, wanton woman."
He rose. "I'm going to put you in flight. Let your body move with what I'm doing. Don't tense and don't worry that I won't support you. Can you do that?"
She nodded.
"All right. This will help." He unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off with an unselfconscious shrug of his shoulders that sent the green spotlight shimmering over his tanned shoulders and the dragon and rope tattoos. She anticipated a Des-scented blindfold, but first he ran the soft cloth over her arms and legs, her torso, an intriguing caress and marking at once. Then he tied it over her eyes and cheekbones, across the bridge of her nose over her flaring nostrils.
"Remember what I said," he reminded her, body close to hers. "Relax. You're water, just flowing with me."
That sense of isolation with just the two of them increased, any other noise becoming the crash of ocean waves. Truth, she hadn't thought of any of the watching eyes in some time.
He removed all the rope and started anew. Around her neck, shoulders, breast and legs. She let out a breath, remembering just in time not to tense as she was suddenly airborne, hooks attached to wraps at key support points, well distributed so nothing cut into her or put uncomfortable pressures or strain on her body. Des had supported her through the lift. She'd felt his tough arm muscles and hard body against her until she evened out.
However, she knew her Dom. He relished certain types of discomfort, those that goaded desire, so she wasn't surprised he had some of that in mind for her.
She was bent mostly in half, like a diver in a modified pike position. Her thighs were tied to her abdomen, her toes pointed down. Her elbows were bound to her knees, her wrists to her ankles. She was supported by the ropes under her hips and thighs and the wraps above and below her breasts, all of the lines meeting above her back to hold her suspended and keep her back straight, parallel to the floor. He'd tied her hair in the way he favored to keep her chin up and her face lifted.
In this position he could stab into her with his jutting cock, if he moved the soaked crotch of the thong. Instead, he kept his hands running over her, reassuring, caressing, testing her muscles, tension. She wondered what she looked like and hoped he'd taken a picture. She wanted to see if he'd done something with her body she wasn't even sure she could pull off in her yoga class. But in yoga she wasn't in a daze of arousal and trance created by his touch, her muscles loose and flexible to his demands.
He kissed her mouth, caressing her cheek, her throat. He walked around her, sliding a hand along her flank. She strangled on a breath as he put his mouth between her legs. He licked her cunt on the outside of the panties, sending a jolt of reaction through her that had her trying to squirm in her bonds. The sensation was indescribable, excruciating.
"Would you come like this, my sweet sub?" he crooned at her. "Give your Master everything he wants?"
"Yes," she rasped. God yes.
"Good." He paused, though, something odd in his voice. He was standing again, because his fingers passed over her mouth, thumb sliding along her carotid, the thumping blood pulsing there.
He put his forehead against hers like he had at the beginning. Then, that had been to center her. She had a feeling this was to center himself, find level ground in an unstable firmament.
"Des?" she whispered. His pure, hard need pierced through everything else, took her back to that quiet place inhabited by the two of them, where she was as aware of the type of energy pulsing around him as he was of hers.
"I've never wanted to keep someone. I've never let myself...want that." His voice was thick. The clamp of his fingers on her shoulder seemed capable of piercing muscle and bone. It hurt, but she didn't think he was even aware of it. She refused to flinch, to do anything to interrupt wherever he was in his head.
