Page 67 of Cruel Pleasures
I’m not sure whether to be flattered or worried—he’s fastened the rope quite intricately between my breasts. A few deft moves, and soon my heavy, D cup breasts are completely bound.
I’m stuck on how it feels and if I even like it. The braided material scratches against the soft skin and prompts a flutter inside me. Strange and unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant. Sensation that makes me hyperaware of the rest of my body.
There’s something acutely sensuous even in the way the rope pulls and squeezes sensuously around my breasts. I bite down on my bottom lip and revel in how it tightens the more complicated the Warden makes the pattern.
The rope passes over my left shoulder, then winds between my breasts only to make it to the right shoulder. Though I can’t see the pattern he’s making on my naked torso, I can gauge how it would form a star shape.
I’m hot all over, practically burning on the spot. The room hasn’t ceased its spinning and my sex pulses at the peculiar situation I’ve found myself in.
Naked, tied up in rope.
All by a man whose face I’ve never seen and whose real name I don’t know.
There’s something so dangerous, so darkly erotic about it that I’m wetter the more I think about it.
He loops the rope at the center of my spine and then flings it around the curve of my hip. “The harness will extend across your body. Over your hips. And between your thighs like so.”
“Oh!” I squeak as the braided rope chafes against my inner thigh. Taut enough for friction but not yet enough for pain.
“Both hips,” he clarifies sternly. “Both thighs.”
Another sound emits from my throat. He’s kicked my legs open to make room for the second run of the rope. If I were to close my legs again, I’d feel the abrasive material between my thighs.
Inches from my pussy.
I’m holding my breath again as he ties another expert knot and his presence dominates the space. My mind’s running wild with all the possibilities of what he could do to me in this room. The things I’ve never considered if I’d want done to me.
But, somehow, I’ve come to trust him, even in the short amount of time we’ve spent together.
He speaks with such confidence and moves with such fluidity that he’s asserted himself as the authority.
The Warden.
“I control the binding at all times,” he says as if reading my mind. “I can give you pleasure. I can grant you the ability to move freely. Or I can take it away. I can make you suffer. Will you obey me?”
“Yes,” I find myself whispering.
“Yes, what?” He pulls on the intricate, knotted pattern at my back.
The rope tightens against my skin and creates another layer of friction. I suck in some air and sputter out, “Yes, Warden.”
“Good, bunny. You can be trained yet.”
His hands slide down my forearms ’til he’s taking my hands in his. His fingers so much longer than mine, his palm wider, I feel small and strangely… safe.
I trust in him.
The thought pierces the fog inhabiting my brain over and over again.
“I’m about to bind your arms,” he warns. “Many amateurs struggle with that freedom being taken away. But it’s important that you give up all control. It’s important that I know you’ll obey.”
Both of my arms are twisted behind my back and then tied with more rope. I’m not sure how he can possibly make the binding any more complex, but he finds a way. My arms are secured and immovable, folded in place at the small of my back.
He steps in front of me to admire his work. His eyes scan the length of me through the cutout of his mask. It’s a prolonged stare that could trigger insecurity, yet it has the opposite effect on me—I stand taller, my shoulders pushed back, my bound breasts thrust out.
His first real emotion flickers in and out. The briefest glint of amusement.
“Just as I imagined you would look,” he says. “And the reason I practice shibari. I hold an appreciation for witnessing such soft skin against rough binds. Beautiful curves bound by hard lines. If only you could see yourself, bunny.”
