“Put the shoes back on,” he says, his voice a low rasp.
I obey.
I’m naked except for the black platform stilettos.
He sucks in a breath. “Fuck, you’re sexy. Take a seat on the table.” He gestures to the leather-covered table in one corner of the room.
I walk to the table and comply.
Braden bends over the chest of rope, pulls out some dark-red pieces, and returns to me. “We’ll start slowly. You’re not ready to be completely bound.”
The image of the woman tied from neck to toes forms in my mind. I am ready. Please. Bind my neck. Make me yours.
I say nothing, though he hasn’t ordered me not to speak.
“Lie facedown,” he says, “with your arms behind your back.”
I obey, placing my face in the cradle.
Though I can only see the floor in front of me, I feel the texture of the rope as he pulls my wrists together and binds them. It’s soft, which surprises me. But of course. This is meant to be pleasurable for both of us. Scratchy twine wouldn’t be pleasurable.
He pulls my arms and binds my forearms together, stretching me. “Okay?” he asks. “Any discomfort?”
“Just a stretch.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Is this it? Just my arms?
“I’m going to remove the bottom half of the table now,” he says. “Drop your feet to the floor with your legs spread.”
The table releases, and my feet end up on the floor. Braden adjusts the height so my legs are spread the way he wants them.
“Keep your face down,” he says.
A few seconds pass, and then I feel the head of his cock nudging at my ass.
“So tempting,” he says. “But not tonight.” Then he pushes his cock into my pussy.
I tense at the sweet invasion, and the ropes binding me pull, adding more tension. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable, either.
“Feel it all, Skye,” he says. “Not just me fucking you but how the binding enhances it.” He pushes into me again and then again. “God, you’re so wet. So wet and still so tight. The perfect pussy for me.”
His words spur me on, and with each subsequent thrust, he pushes my clit against the leather table, the friction delicious.
I’m ready. So ready. I’m climbing, running toward the peak…but I don’t get there.
Don’t get there.
Until he says, “Come, Skye.”
I shatter, pulling at my bindings, trying to reach to touch him.
But I can’t. Can’t touch him. I’m bound. At his mercy as I break into a million shards.
And it’s fucking thrilling.
“That’s it,” he says, his voice so low, it’s almost a growl. “You’re so hot, Skye.” He pumps again and again, until he locks himself inside me, releasing.
As I come down from my own climax, I feel every contraction of his.
Every single one.
We’re joined as bodies. As hearts. As souls.
And this is only the beginning.
Minutes later, he pulls out. My face is still buried in the table. I can’t see, but I feel. He’s touching me. His fingers trail lightly over my warm flesh—over the cheeks of my ass, over my back and shoulders. Then over my upper arms. He helps me roll to my side, and then he pushes my legs upward so I’m in a makeshift fetal position. I close my eyes, letting the nirvana from my recent orgasm wash over me. A few seconds—or minutes, I’m not sure which—later, Braden rolls me faceup so my arms are now underneath me, forcing my back to arch.
I’m awash in a dreamy haze. Are my eyes open or closed? Braden is a blur moving above me. What’s he doing? I’m not sure. All I know is the utter peace I’m feeling.
Finally, he pulls me into a sitting position, loosens the rope, and removes it slowly.
Then he massages my forearms. “Okay?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Was the stretch too much?”
“No.”
“Good. You’ll be able to take more next time.”
“Are there other places like this?” I ask. “I mean, I know there are, but…”
“This is tame compared to most,” he says. “I couldn’t find a place that suited me perfectly, so I built this one.”
“When did you…you know?”
“Get interested in bondage?”
“Yeah. Bondage, and the rest of it.”
“I’ve always been interested in it. It’s part of who I am.”
His need to be in charge. I get it.
What I don’t get is why I’m so interested in the other side of it, given my own need for control.
And I am interested.
The image of the woman bound at her neck still titillates me.
Why? I don’t know.
But it does.
“Braden?”
“Yes?”
“This is all…normal, right?”
“Normal? Depends, I guess. If normal is what the majority of people like, then no, this probably isn’t normal. But if normal is whatever consenting adults choose to do without harming anyone or breaking any laws, then yes, this is perfectly normal.”
“Do you always look at both sides of everything?” I ask.
“Always. And you should, too. It’s how you make a success in business.”