Bound to please ...

All around me is quiet.

I have been told to stay still.

I am kneeling. My eyes blinded by the soft purple silk. My body is naked except for the collar. I am not sure how long I have been waiting. In my darkness I cannot judge the passage of time. My other senses are heightened, I feel the slight change of temperature on my skin that signals that the door has opened before I hear the soft creak of the boards. He is moving slowly towards me. My heart beat quickens in anticipation. I do not know yet what He has planned for me, how He will stretch or test me. I can only wait...

He is close by now. I can feel the heat radiating from His body: hear His breathing. That heavy breathing that I love to hear. It brings a smile to my face, knowing that in His mind He has this evening planned; He is following a script that I am not a party too, although my role, my reactions, will be central to the play.

I become aware of a smell. He is standing in front of me. He has raised something to my nostrils. I inhale deeply...

Jute rope.

I do not have to see it. I know the smell, and my body will recognise that coarse texture soon enough. I have some clue as to where tonight is headed. The variations though are endless... my mind races, tearing snippets from my memories, the good and the bad, the pain and the pleasure. I know that I am growing wetter before He has even touched me. The ropes are Him. He is the ropes. The ropes are US. A shiver of anticipation runs down my spine.

His hands are on my arms, pulling them behind my back; crossing them so that my hands are against opposite elbows: He starts to weave.

I imagine the lines of rope as He binds my body. Each strand loving caressed into place, twisted, tightened and laid perfectly against the one before. I visualise the harness that He is creating around my torso, perfectly presenting my breasts so that they jut out provocatively. He deftly threads the rope, pulling a section vertically across the horizontal bands: a sharp tug and all the slack is removed, making me aware of the constriction that the jute is causing. The bonds are tight tonight.

His lips brush my ear, "You look beautiful" He breathes. I am grinning, ridiculously happy, all I want is to please Him.

My eyes are closed under the blinfold, but I know He is smiling. I visualise Him. I know He will be naked too. I know His cock will be proud and erect. I run my tongue over my lips, the memory of His flesh exciting my taste buds.

He continues to bind. The coarse rope is between my legs, the knots placed perfectly so that they are pressing on my sensitive bud. I sway my hips, feeling the delicious pressure.

A stinging slap bursts over my right buttock. "Did I tell you to move?"  His voice is gruff. I have forgotten myself for a moment, revelling in the pleasures of the ropes. Instantly I still my movements, bowing my head I tell Him that I am sorry.

I concentrate on keeping still. I am finding it so very difficult. From His heavy breathing I can hear how excited He is becoming. I want to move, to squirm, to show Him how much I love the ropes. All I can do is clench my muscles tightly, breathe slowly, try to relax. It heightens my submissiveness. Heightens every sensation; I cannot contain the arousal: moisure leaks on to my inner thighs.

He is binding my legs now, ankles to thighs. The weaver continues His art. With each twist, flick and pull of the rope He binds me closer to Him, binds us closer together. I cannot move now. He runs His hands over the ridges of the ropes. Runs them over the provocatively displayed flesh. The lightest of touches that sends shivers through my body. He tweaks my nipples. Pulls them, twists them till I bite my lip. He changes my position, turns me slowly onto my stomach, the rope between my legs tightens and reawakens my desires.

He moves away from me. Leaves me. I am sure He is still in the room watching me, I strain to hear the telltale sound of His breathing. I am alert: aware. I am His. I am open and displayed for Him. Living art for Him to feast His eyes upon. The control is His. Only He will decide what will happen next. In heightened sexual anticipation His toy waits...

Velvet <3