Page 100 of Resist

My body is heavy, held down by the taut ropes stretched across my skin. I’ve been cuffed and tied down before, but never like this. I’ve always watched Slade’s rope demos with fascination. He’s so skilled with the rope, what he does is art, but I’ve never been a volunteer, or subject of his work.

The helplessness doesn’t breed fear in my bones, in fact, it’s spreading peace through my limbs. I don’t have to think, or act, or be anything to anyone, I just have to sit here. That’s quite... freeing.

Warmth next to my head tells me she’s close to my ear. “I’m going to start pouring on you now, okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I nod in case the words aren’t as loud as they feel.

It’s a fraction of a second before the first warm droplet of wax touches my skin, and I hiss. It’s not too hot, or burning me, it’s simply the fact that it’s warm wax falling onto parts of my body without me knowing where or how much there’s going to be.

“Feel okay?” Her voice is tight, like she’s concerned.

“I’m good.”

She cradles my face. “Let’s make sure you don’t react.” She kisses me again while we both wait to make sure there’s no visible reaction on my skin from the wax.

“All good,” she declares eventually, and the drips of warm liquid continue, across my chest, down my stomach, and along my inner thighs.

Every few minutes Corabelle checks in with me, making sure I’m still okay, making sure I haven’t fallen asleep—if I wasn’t so brutally horny right now it could be a real concern. I can tell from how the wax hits me that she’s experimenting. Sometimes there’s a tiny dribble of wax from fairly close to myskin, others she waits for a larger pool of wax and drops it from a height.

“Can I take a picture of your chest? It’s so pretty, Kajirus. You’re just so fucking beautiful.”

I nod. “Take as many pictures as you want.”

I trust her, she’s not going to plaster them on the internet. But at the same time, if she did, I’m not sure I’d care. I bet this looks badass as fuck right now. The rope, the blindfold, the wax. I get why she wants to take a picture.

“Doing okay?”

I don’t know how long has passed by the time Slade speaks, but his voice jolts me out of a kind of reverie.

“I’m okay.”

“Wiggle your fingers and toes for me.” He pokes at my skin to make sure I’m doing okay, and I guess nods or gives Corabelle a thumbs up because now there’s no more wax droplets, instead, she’s rolling a condom onto my still leaking dick, and sliding herself down my shaft.

From the way hair tickles my chest as she moves, I’m guessing her back is to me. She keeps her back away from me, but her hair swishes across my skin. The texture of the rope, the tightness of dried wax, and now the softness of her hair is almost an overwhelming combination.

Or it would be, if she wasn’t already riding me, reverse cowgirl, without mercy. She’s not going to stop until I blow my load, and I’ve been primed for what feels like hours.

My hands and feet are getting cold, my body still feels heavy against the chair, and the pulsing in my balls coupled with the electric shivers all over tell me it won’t be long.

Quiet grunts come from her as she pounds on my cock. I ache to wrap my arms around her, to hold her hips as she fucks me but all I can do is sit here and take it.

Fuck.

That’s so hot.

“Come for me, Sterling,” she pants as she bounces eagerly on my dick. “Don’t make me ask again.”

I almost swallow my tongue on a groan. Despite being blindfolded, my eyes roll back in my head, and there’s a chain reaction inside my body. Balls tighten, head lightens, stars appear in the darkness as a violent orgasm strikes like a bolt of lightning.

Incoherent mumbling falls out of my lips as I fill the condom inside my wife.

My head lolls forward when the last jets of cum are pumped into the condom by my wife’s velvety, hot pussy. I might doze off, or at least come close. Her warm hands are on my face, removing my blindfold as she peppers me with adoring kisses and whispers how good I was for her.

Slade starts working on the ropes as she kisses me. When the ropes are off, she presses against my chest. “Don’t move yet, we’re not finished cleaning up.” She glides a cold, metal ruler over my chest, and it’s only now I realize she’s probably got wax from my legs on her body too. But my limbs are too heavy to think about trying to help.

At some point, Slade drapes a blanket on me while Corabelle traces the indentations of rope on my skin with her fingers. “So fucking pretty.”

She rubs warmth back into my hands and feet, while Slade helps move them a little to make sure there’s no damage. Corabelle grabs a juice box from the small fridge next to the door and makes me drink.

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