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He uses it to bind me, letting the slightly rough surface run over my skin before wrapping it around my wrists, securing them together above my head so I lose control of the rest of my body in an instant.
The truth is, I have never been in control when it comes to King Tyrant. He has dominated me completely from the very first moment we met. There is something ineffably ephemeral about him. No matter how solid, muscular, and aggressive he may be, he does not follow the rules of what I imagine to be important.
Any other client facing seven years of back taxes would be consumed with nerves, demanding frequent updates, asking about potential consequences. I have read the DICK code, and the consequences are many and severe. But Tyrant does not care about them. He focuses all his regal attention on me, on pleasuring me, and taking his pleasure in me.
The path of the red tape continues down between my breasts, down between my thighs, snugging up tight on one side of my lips and then the other. He is putting my sex on display, making it the center of my attention and his. I feel the tape holding me close, containing me, describing the edges of my body and my experience.
When he is done with me, I can barely move. I can wriggle a little, but all that does is make me feel the limits of my experience now that he has secured my feet too, my ankles each tied to one corner of the bed, my sex exposed to him and completely vulnerable to his wicked intentions.
I never understood bondage before. I thought it was something twisted and kinky and kind of weird, but it’s not about that all. It’s about being secure, and it’s about feeling safe. I am entirely contained by this king and his bonds. I can no longer make decisions for myself, not even the little ones.
“I like you like this,” he says, his glowing gaze running up and down my captive, bound body. I can feel my breasts held high by the tape, my nipples pointing toward the ceiling, two pink-tipped little sentinels which he salutes with his tongue until I wail.
“Why?” I gasp as my toes curl. I am so fucking wet. I can feel my desire slicking my inner lips and making the fabric beneath me damp.
“Why what, my perfect little human?”
He drifts his fingers down my midsection, his claws making me tingle, especially the closer he gets to the curls at the top of my thighs. I tighten, every muscle in my lower body getting excited.
“Why are you doing this, when…” It is so hard to form the question in this state where I just want him inside me. It’s too complex for my lust riddled brain. I feel as though I could come right now. I am so close to the verge of climax merely from being bound and tied, touched and licked.
“When you could be doing work? We could be finishing our papers? Submitting to DICK? Does this seem like we are being sinfully unproductive?”
I nod and moan as his claws brush perilously close to my clit. Sinfully unproductive is the perfect term for how I feel whenever I’m not working. It’s as if it is wrong to ever stop.
“Every bit of pleasure, happiness, or joy is stolen from the void from which we escaped, and to which we must inevitably return,” he purrs. “Do not ever think of your enjoyment as being something wasteful. It is the only weapon you have against eternity.”
His big hand clasps my bound wrists, his muscular body rises over mine, and I am treated to the sight of this alien king’s rampant cock trailing down my stomach and then against my soaked lower lips, and then plunging inside me in a powerful stroke which fills me not only all the way to my core, but to my fucking soul.
He takes me slowly, sweetly, with more care than I thought he was capable of. The alien ravaging I expected from him turns into something more passionate, a lengthy caressing of tongue and claw.
My orgasms come one after the other, given by the lapping of his tongue and the thrusting of his cock, first one then the other. He licks me between rounds of copulation, his mouth hot and his tongue agile against my sensitive lips. I have never come this hard or this long before. He has made himself my carnal hero, he has turned my body into a writhing vehicle for pure pleasure.
In the end, I find myself back where I began, lying in his arms, so deeply satisfied and sated I feel as though all existence could end in this moment and I would not care.
“What did we just do?” The question rises to my lips of its own accord. There is something in the human animal which does not allow me to simply take the pleasure for what it was.
