…and I stumbled forward, falling to my knees, my body twisted around. He pulled my hair more, bringing me back up, dragging me to under the wooden arch.
He placed his arm around my neck, choking me, keeping me close. He pulled out rope from somewhere, either in his pocket or simply in his free hand. He immediately secured my arms behind my back. As soon as he cinched, I recognized the feel: 4mm, hojo rope.
What had I gotten myself into?
He was not kind with his tying. He didn’t care if it pinched or was pretty. As he drew the rope across my body, it bit into my skin. I felt the burn of his rope as he pulled through my arms and cinched tight against my torso.
As he worked, whipping me around like a rag doll, I struggled to keep balance. There were two blue mats under the arch, too big to fit side-by-side. At the center was a small peek.
As he moved me about, my unsteadiness in the heels showed. Thankfully I was able to lean my body against the side of the arch, trying to keep myself off the ground.
This only lasted a minute before he pulled me to the center, lifting the line up and securing it above. I was trapped, my arms behind my back, my legs unsteady, my torso bound, unable to flee.
He grabbed my left leg, threw a quick cuff around my thigh, and raised it up, securing the rope above again.
“Yes, that is your support leg.” This was getting better and better.
I heard and saw his flourish with the knife, his butterfly knife, so pretty in its possibility for pain. He trailed the blade over my leg, and then stepped behind me.
I felt and heard the rip. He pulled off a piece of my shirt and fashioned a make shift gag, tying the fabric tight. No cheating with this one.
He cut at my shirt and skirt randomly, the pieces of fabric hanging off of me. And then he went for a bra strap.
“What happened to full destroyables?”
“Fuck it, just do it.” And he did, slicing through my bra.
“The wrong time to tell me to not cut your bra is in the middle of the scene.”
I paid dearly for my mistake as he pinched my now exposed nipples in punishment.
With my outfit in tatters, he pulled the pieces of fabric through his chest tie, burning as his wrenched it all off. Note to self: Listen, remember, and NEVER wear an underwire bra when you’re going to have your clothes riped off.
Now naked, save for his ropes, Gray decided to add some adornment. Strutting back to his bag, he lifted a glinting piece of metal. Stepping behind me again, his hand caressed my very wet pussy.
Using my own juices as lube, he slipped the ass hook into me. With yet another piece of hojo rope, where he pulled it from I do not know, he grabbed my curls and cinched tight. Tracing the rope down my back and through his chest tie, he secured my hair to my ass hook and then back up to my hair again.
This was not to be a pretty scene, or a sensual scene, or even a service scene. With my head now sitting up, my eyes were wide open.
I had never been in a scene such as this, with Gray or anyone else. So far, though, I was enjoying the ride.
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