3 weeks

[ja****]

What was he doing?
She asked herself, heart racing. How could he sit there so relaxed, glass in hand, while she trembled on the floor right in front of him? Didn’t he feel it ..the same heat that burned through her veins? Wasn’t he caught in the same ache that left her restless, barely able to breathe?

Her chest rose and fell, her body alive with anticipation, but still he sat steady, calm, sipping the whiskey she had poured for him earlier.

She shifted on the floor, unable to hold back. “Sir, can I”

His eyes cut to hers, and the low hush of his voice silenced her instantly.
“Shhh. I didn’t give you permission to speak.”
Her breath caught. “Yes, Sir.”

At last, he turned fully toward her. One finger traced her chin, lifting her face until her eyes met his. His tone softened, almost indulgent.
“Would you hand me the ropes, my dear?”

A smile, shy but knowing, touched her lips. “Yes, Sir. Right away.”

“Good girl.”

She rose, her steps quiet, and returned from the closet with the ropes folded neatly in her hands. She offered them as though they were something sacred.

He accepted them with a smile. His voice dropped, warm and deliberate.
“Thank you.”

Then, handing her the half-empty glass of whiskey, he waited. She took it without question, she had been trained well.

“Stay still,” he commanded softly. “Don’t move. Be patient. A long night is waiting for you… don’t unravel too soon.”

Her eyes shone, hesitant, eager, burning.
“Yes, Sir.”

He worked slowly, deliberately, as though tying her body was as important as tasting her. Her left arm was drawn high above her head, rope tightening with each pull. The motion arched her chest, the silk of her dress sliding to reveal the soft curve of bare skin, no bra, just as he had required.

Her right arm followed, secured behind her back, his fingers grazing, lingering. Two firm wraps across her chest locked her posture in place.

He crouched, tying her ankle, lifting her leg so she balanced precariously on the other. She swayed, but her body held, trained, waiting, obedient. The exposure was shameless, her body offering itself without concealment.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

The last rope tightened around her left leg, and he whispered close to her ear:
“On your tiptoes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Her voice was soft, breathy, trembling with the effort of holding herself exactly as he wanted.

He stepped back, admiring the way the ropes shaped her body, how every curve seemed drawn toward him.
“Perfect. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She held her breath until he returned. In his hand, a single egg. He placed it delicately beneath her raised foot.

“That’s my favorite,” he said, his voice smooth, intimate. “Don’t you dare break it.”

Her pulse raced. The weight of her body trembled over the fragile shell.

He returned to his chair, sipping his drink, his eyes never leaving her. “Now… tell me, dear. How long did you make me wait before you finally gave me your number?”

Her voice wavered. “Uhmm… three weeks, I think. Since we started talking.”

He smiled, slow and knowing. “Three weeks… then thirty minutes. If the egg breaks, you’ll give me thirty minutes of ***, to repay my patience. But if it doesn’t…” He leaned back, savoring both his drink and the sight of her straining body. His words dripped like honey. “…then I’ll give you thirty minutes of pleasure. Pure, aching pleasure.”

[Pr****]

Thank you for this... I actually think I can visualize it.

[ja****]

4 hours ago, PrincessLu80 said:

Thank you for this... I actually think I can visualize it.

You are welcome 🙏