That wasn’t a mistake! That of your hands finding themselves held against their will behind your back… tied together with a crimson colour strap forming constrictor knots that kept them from joining in the pleasure experienced by your body. You were bound to my needs, each and all of them, fitting or otherwise, you were bound to me.
The colour of the binding strap against your skin polarized my thoughts. The shape in which the strap wrapped around your wrists, the position in which your hands rested atop your buttocks, how I sought to untie them to allow you to escape, all alluded to the slavery you were about to endure. They filled me with temptation and begged of me to unleash all consequences upon you.
The length of your hair substantial in volume greeted my cuffed hand, tightly intertwined on my fingers enabling otherwise impossible maneuverability. Your hair trapping my hand was soft and light in touch. It soothed me, notifying that despite your enslaved state, this was a moment mutually shared. That you were there to give, as you were to receive. That while your body was void of rights, the enjoyment brought upon by my actions made it a welcomed event.
I laid face up on the floor, lazy in movement. Not all masters need to endure labor to be fulfilled, even if as a master I lacked vision. Yet, the vision I did have rested upon watching you. I wanted to see your body struggle to move, struggle to swallow me to an entirety. I wanted to view every detail crafted onto me as I became lost inside of you, all while I worked to a minimum. That work would also entail feeling you slide down and up on me. As it would pulling your hair to prevent you from fleeing if the need arose. Maybe even grasping your upper arms from time to time to violently pull down on you seeking to thrust farther in than deemed possible. I’m not sure if I did it seeking to cause you pain, or to feel the collision of your body against mine that would allude to my abuse of your body.
You stood squatting over me, feet planted flat on the floor, back to me. I could see where the low of your back curved outwards giving shape to your lower body, splitting down the middle, rounding out to the sides. Far, far apart each side was to the other, putting in splendor the details that are normally hidden. But down, right down at the very bottom, the alluring details were about to be met by the lure being drawn out of me. She stared down on me, I stared in return… intent to push in neglecting that she was not ready.
Her hair strands tight against my right hand. Slowly I lowered my arm, bring you with it. I watched as the very end of me, the very end right at the top joined you. You first words all night: “This position doesn’t often work easy on me”. I didn’t heed your warning, you were here to be had. I shifted my pelvis about, clenched my buttocks slightly raising my pelvis while slowly lowering your body. The entrance was slow, but not with ease. I continued to pull down on your hair. I felt that it might have been ill advised forgoing torrid actions that would have prepared you for me. Nevertheless, the pull against me arose a painful pleasure. The exertion proved to me that you resisted my advance, yet had no choice but to endure it.
I watched you consume me in a slow stumble, accompanied by that feeling for us both of skin tearing, then the struggle became effortless. Looking at your bound arms resting against your buttocks, hitting my navel upon full descent; there I held you, preventing your quick ascent. I wanted to watch the plush of your buttocks pressing against me, the slight dimples created on your butt as it moved on me.
I debated whether to concentrate on being inside of you, or watching the sights outside of you. But there you were, slowly raising to the top only to come violently crashing onto me with each pull of my hand. You slid with ease, moisture annotating your undeniable response to being bound. At this point I had released your hair, fixated straight down on our union as you squatted up and down on me, engulfing my crotch with your scent, your moisture, the slap of your buttocks against me. You hit me hard, fast and often. Your upper body leaned forward, just your hips moved. I watched as I pushed into you, moving aside the labia, orifice tight around me. I pulled on the red strap, bringing your buttocks down tightly onto me. The experience I now sought was that of seeing your buttocks react to swift impacts against me. The ones where the hips move back and forth in small sways without ever allowing distance between us. I wanted to watch as your lips seeped bliss on to us with each stroke. The movement of your bound hands against your buttocks swaying upon your buttocks. Your fingers, opening and closing, telling me that your nails resented the inability to draw pleasure on my skin. That they hated being unable to mark their passion against my thighs as customary… as too, the lines that run on my back are proof of that.
Your head hung down, moans spoke. Your body reacted with the shake created by impacting muscles. You tried to speak, but I hushed you. Told you to feel me, to feel me as I penetrated you. As my pelvis thrust against you body; to feel the effect of your saturation. There I held you… I reached down to touch myself, to feel your butt against my hand, to feel you seep onto my hand, to squeeze your buttocks just to expose more of what I wanted to see. I wanted to watch your skin trapped between my grasp while I you violently slapped my pelvis.
I had not wanted to work, but feeling you press hard against me, suffocating me in attempts to make me gasp for air, to make me climax, caused me to raise up. To see how far you would hold the contortion of your arms while abiding by my needs. The aroma exuded form us increased my need to have more of you. To want to not only have you, but taste you. I closed my eyes to concentrate on what was being done to me. To experience me trapped inside of you searching for peace, but I couldn’t. I had to place you down. Unable to hold yourself up with your hands, you found yourself face on the floor, rear on the air greeting me, awaiting my lips to become informed of what our union had created.