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Yes. Already I feel it as if it’s against her flesh, binding her.
“We’ll start slowly. You’re not ready to be completely bound.”
She says nothing, though I haven’t ordered her not to speak.
“Lie facedown,” I say, “with your arms behind your back.”
She obeys, placing her face in the cradle.
I pull her wrists together and bind them.
I pull her arms and bind her forearms together, stretching her. “Okay?” I ask. “Any discomfort?”
“Just a stretch.”
“Good. That’s good. I’m going to remove the bottom half of the table now,” I say. “Drop your feet to the floor with your legs spread.”
The table releases, and her feet end up on the floor. I adjust the height so her legs are spread the way I want them.
“Keep your face down,” I say.
I unbuckle my belt and remove it. Unzip…
I groan as I free my cock.
The pink cheeks of Skye’s ass beckon. They’re beautifully spread, and her rosy asshole puckers at me. I can’t help myself. I nudge the head of my cock against the forbidden entrance. Fuck. I close my eyes, imagine the sweet tightness of that dark tunnel.
“So tempting,” I say. “But not tonight.” Then I push my cock into her pussy.
She tenses, and the ropes binding her pull, adding more tension.
As her wetness gloves my dick, I feel it all. All the pull against the ropes.
All of what Skye feels.
I want to make sure she feels it too.
“Feel it all, Skye,” I say. “Not just me fucking you but how the binding enhances it.” I push into her again and then again. “God, you’re so wet. So wet and still so tight. The perfect pussy for me.”
With each thrust, her clit hits the table.
I can feel the friction.
I feel her trying to get there—to that pinnacle that she’s so ready to jump from.
But she won’t.
She won’t get there until—
“Come, Skye.”
She shatters, pulling at her bindings, trying to reach to touch me.
Part of me—a part of me I don’t indulge frequently—yearns for her touch.
Yearns for every part of her to be touching every part of me.
It’s a part of me I keep in check. I have my reasons.
“That’s it,” I say, my voice so low, it’s almost a growl. “You’re so hot, Skye.”
I pump again and again until I lock myself inside her, releasing.
Fuck. Every pulse. Every ridge inside her pussy. Every molecule inside her and every molecule inside me. We’re joined as bodies. As hearts. As souls. And this is only the beginning.
Minutes later, I pull out. Her face is still buried in the table. I trail my fingers lightly over her warm flesh—over the cheeks of her ass, over her back and shoulders. Then over her upper arms.
She’s so delicate, so soft.
This touch is for her, to help her come down from the orgasm.
But it’s for me as well.
It’s far from the closeness I ache for, but it will suffice for now.
I help her roll to her side, and then I push her legs upward so she’s in a makeshift fetal position. She closes her eyes.
Satisfaction laces her features. Her eyes are closed, and her flesh is rosy gold. Her hair is disheveled and fanned out in a sable curtain. The knot work is simple but beautiful, and the color of the rope against her white skin is lovely in its contrast. And the black stilettos…
Sheer beauty.
I pick up my pants and pull the phone out of my pocket as quietly as I can.
A simple smartphone camera to capture the pureness before me. It’s not enough. Not nearly enough. For a moment, I wish I were an artist with a palette of colors so I could transfer this image of Skye to canvas. Or better yet, watercolor. The sheerness of watercolor would add a layer of innocence.
For that’s what I see. Yes, Skye is bound. And naked. But her image conveys a certain innocence, and that’s part of what makes it so intriguing.
Dark innocence.
Forbidden innocence.
And my God, it’s captivating.
But I have no oils and canvas. I have no watercolors. And even if I did, I don’t possess the artistic talent to do Skye justice.
All I have is my phone.
I breathe in the loveliness before me once more, and then I snap a quick photo.
A few seconds later, I roll her face up so her arms are now underneath her, forcing her back to arch.
Finally, I pull her into a sitting position, loosen the rope, and remove it slowly.
Then I massage her forearms. My duty as her Dominant is to make sure she’s cared for, and I’m happy to do it.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Was the stretch too much?”
“No.”
“Good. You’ll be able to take more next time.”
“Are there other places like this?” she asks. “I mean, I know there are, but…”
“This is tame compared to most,” I say. “I couldn’t find a place that suited me perfectly, so I built this one.”
