Bonds of lust

  Chapter 3: Crimson Web The vibrator is still pressed deep inside you, humming at full power, and your whole body is trembling on the edge. Your hips strain against the ropes, trying to lift, trying to chase the release that's so close you can taste it. He watches you. Studies you. The warm smile is still there, but something else flickers behind his eyes. A calculation. He pulls the vibrator out. The sound that escapes you is almost a sob. Your legs fall open, limp, and you lie there panting, your chest heaving against the rope harness. "I know," he says softly. "I know." He sets the vibrator aside and reaches for his bag. You watch through half-lidded eyes as he pulls out another length of rope. This one is longer, a deep crimson that stands out against the dark gray sheets. He holds it up so you can see it. "Crotch rope," he says. "You've worn one before." You have. Twice. Both times during scenes that left you trembling and soaked, t...

Chapter 3: Blindfolded Surrender The command hangs in the air, and for a long moment you don't move. The wool rug is rough against your knees, your skin still burning from the flogger, your wrists sore from the rope. But the word crawl does something to you. It reaches past the performance, past the brat, past every wall you've built tonight, and finds the part of you that has always wanted to surrender. You lower your hands to the floor. The wood is cool against your palms. You move slowly at first, the muscles in your thighs protesting, your body still trembling from the impact play. He walks beside you, not rushing, just watching. You can feel his gaze on your back like a physical weight. The bedroom doorway looms ahead. You cross the threshold, and the air changes—cooler, softer, scented with the faint trace of his cologne on the sheets. The bed is large, dressed in dark gray linen, and you stop at the foot of it, unsure whether to rise. "Stay." His voice is quie...

  Chapter 3: Surrender in Darkness The command hangs in the air, and for a moment you're frozen there, knees pressed into the wool, wrists still bound behind you. Crawling. He's never asked you to crawl before. The indignity of it should make your stomach sour with resentment. Instead, something warm and liquid blooms low in your pelvis. Your heart is a wild, trapped thing. Every nerve in your body is a live wire, still humming from the flogging, the skin across your ass and thighs a bright map of heat. The wool is rough against your knees. The air is cool on your bare back. You lean forward. Your bound hands shift, fingers curling into loose fists. The first movement is awkward, your balance thrown by the lack of arms to steady yourself. You manage it anyway—right knee forward, then left, the rug abrading your skin with each controlled shuffle. His footsteps move behind you, slow and measured. Following. "Good," he says, that low voice scoring its way through the sil...

  Chapter 2: Tied Open and Teased His hand stays on your lower back for a long, terrible moment. You’ve done it now. The words hang in the air, and you feel the shift in the room like a change in pressure before a storm. His fingers press deeper into your skin, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he could . “That’s a bold thing to say,” he says quietly. You don’t answer. Your heart is slamming against your ribs, and the rope harness feels tighter than it did a minute ago. The velvet beneath your cheek is damp where your breath has misted it. He steps away. You hear his footsteps cross the room, the soft thud of his bag being opened, the rustle of materials being sorted. You strain to listen, to guess what he’s reaching for, but he’s deliberate in his silence. “You wanted to earn it,” he says from somewhere behind you. “I think you’re about to.” His footsteps return. He stops at your bound hands, and you feel his fingers working at the cinch between your wrists. T...