Bound

Outside temperatures soared into triple digits as the promised heatwave finally took hold of the city, leaving the basement bedroom the only suitable, habitable place in the entire house. It was dark and cool, smelling of antique furniture and laundry detergent, but it was the kind of place where, when the lights were out, things could get oppressive.

This was where he'd taken her that night, under cover of twilight, through the still-sweltering backyard, between notes of night birds and cicadas floating on heated zephyrs around their bodies. She was slung in his arms, passed out cold.

Good and quiet, he thought as he swung open the door to the house, careful not to let the neighbours see.

Now, what seemed like an eternity later, he surveyed his handiwork. She lay on her side, panting and out of breath, sweat drenching her hairline and the collar of her silk blouse to run down between her heavy breasts. She was, in a word, beautiful now that she was bound and gagged, helpless in his presence.

He'd started where he always started: with her hands. She was still out of it when he flipped her on her stomach and took her by the wrists, wrenching them behind her back to twist and wind a very long coil of thick white nylon rope around her. He made five loops around before finishing it off, making sure it was nice and tight, with no possible chance of escape.

Taking a short spreader bar from the drawer beneath the bed, he quickly fastened it between her arms, just above her elbows, drawing her arms back and forcing her delicious breasts up and out, straining against the fabric of her top and the constrictive bra underneath.

Jesus Christ, those tits! he thought as he felt his cock twitch. Watched her bound form taking shape, he had an idea. Using some of the length of rope still dangling from her tethered wrists, he began to wrap it around and around her body just above her elbows in the back and underneath her breasts in the front. Twice around the body was just enough; he crossed over and up and ran them around over the top of her breasts, sandwiching them pendulously between the bands of white nylon.

Immensely satisfied with the sight, he tied a secure knot to hold the long length of rope in place and brought it straight down her back, leaving it there in a pile behind her until he needed it again.

Arms fixed behind her, he decided to work on her legs. For this, he enjoyed using his standby roll of black electrical tape; the shiny, wet-look kind that made him think of PVC and latex and all kinds of kinky, fetishistic things. The mere thought of it made his cock twitch again, trapped as it was within the button fly of his 501s. He unrolled a length as long as his arm, groaning lightly at the sight of it glistening in the dim light from the small window in the corner, and fastened it firmly to her knee, pressing his palm hard against her flesh to ensure adequate contact. He had finished two loops around both knees, coupling them as tightly as he felt he could, when Sleeping Beauty finally awoke.

The great thing about the basement was that it was virtually soundproof. He had been doing this for so long down there and never once had he been suspected of anything. Now, as his supine beauty began to panic and squirm, he knew her weak cries for help would do her no good.

Still, it wasn't doing him any good to have her thrashing about on the bed. Even in her restrictive position, she would be impossible to control. He had to do something. He threw himself on top of her, effectively flattening her against the bed, and held his hand over her mouth to silence her cries.

"You're going to shut up, do you understand?" he menaced.

She mewled against his palm, and he pressed it tighter.

"Do you understand me?" he asked again.

Tears began to run from her eyes, smearing her dark mascara. He loved it when that happened. His hips pressed into the tightly-bound juncture of her thighs, just above the knee bind he'd just fixed; his fully erect cock pulsed against her, sheathed not only within its denim prison but also between those plump thighs. He groaned inwardly and, with his free hand, reached into the same drawer from which he'd produced the spreader bar and brought up a long strip of fine black lace. He scrunched it up into a ball, smiling into her crying eyes as he showed her the wad, nearly two inches in diameter. She fretted, trying to twist her head away from his grasp. But with swiftness he barely knew he possessed, he lifted his hand away and shoved the fabric within her mouth, muffling her cries. In an instant, he'd peeled away another strip of tape and was binding it over her lips, left to right, not stopping until he'd made two trips around her head, but careful enough to not catch her hair under it.

He liked it when the hair was free. All the more to grab on to.

He patted the slight bulge where the fabric stuck out of her tiny mouth, pressing down just enough that she gagged a little. He chuckled. "Good girl," he whispered while she struggled to make any sound at all beneath her muzzle.

He stood up again, surveying his work thus far. The white silk shirt and black skirt she'd been wearing was a perfect, beautiful contrast to the white of the nylon, the black of the tape. Her black hair, even, fanning out against the white bedspread, reminded him of something he'd seen in an old erotica magazine. A Bettie Page type scene, shot in crisp black and white. Her arms trussed up so tight behind her, and her breasts jutting out between the rope, and the sight of her tightly bound mouth was enough right there to make him explode. But he wasn't through just yet.

Using the last of the rope dangling behind her wrists, he pulled on her torso, arching her back even more as he started lashing her delicate ankles together with the free end. He got ten wrap-arounds out of the rope, and even managed to get a few circles around the bottoms of her shiny black leather pumps and the tops of her feet, before he ran the end up and around the bind widthwise and hitched it together so securely he wasn't sure how he'd even be able to undo it.

And finally: there she was. Bound and gagged and at his mercy. He smiled in spite of himself as he admired his own handiwork.

The girl had rolled herself onto her stomach, her feet and calves lifted in the air by the improvised hogtie he'd rigged. He used one hand to push her back over so she rested on her side, looking up at him imploringly. He wanted to keep her that way, and she seemed far too energetic for his liking to just leave her like that without risking another turn-over.

Grabbing a shorter length of rope this time, he circled her waist once, tightly across her wrists behind her, before fastening the ends to an eye-hook in the wall adjacent to the mattress. Now, when she tried to roll away, she found herself unable to move; her panicked expression and the cries from her throat let him know she didn't like it one bit.

An added effect was that the tension in the rope leading to her ankles pulled on her legs, arching them back even further; she now made a lovely C-shape, pulled backward as she was.

There were only a few things left to do.

He straddled her waist, pressing his knee against the breast mound he'd created. She moaned underneath him, the sound incredibly sexier as it muffled against the gag in her mouth. He leaned forward, until his face hovered just above her cheekbone. Giving into temptation, he licked at the edge of the tape sealing her lips shut, letting his tongue flick over her skin just enough that she felt it.

"You have such beautiful hair," he whispered, combing his fingers through the strands on the bed. She squealed, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing out more tears, but her protestations fell on deaf ears. Producing two long coils of hemp rope, he wrapped the free ends around the hair he gathered in his fist, in a fashion imitating his favourite Japanese rope bondage techniques, until all but a foot of the rope was used up. Only an inch of hair lay free against her sweating back. He ran a hand down her spine, trapping the free rope between them as he soaked up her perspiration with his fingertips.

Then he yanked on the now-coiled hair, producing a muffled gasp and cries from deep within her throat so sexy, he nearly came. Breathing heavily He fastened the free end of the rope to her elbow bonds, finishing the scene.

Nearly, he thought. As he leaned back up and looked down into the terrified eyes of his captive, he pressed his thumbs against her eyes, drawing the eyelids closed. With a torturously slow, languid procession, he pulled his thumbs downward, smearing what was left of her mascara along her cheeks until he reached the shiny band of tape.

"You're perfect," he whispered, and the girl, unable to move, simply moaned against her gag.

He took dozens of photographs, from every angle—above, below, from the side, from the back, closeups of the binds, closeups of her face, the gag, her wet and stained cheeks. Some highly saturated, some overexposed by the old-fashioned flashbulb he insisted on using, the kind that popped and fizzed when he was done with it. All in black and white.

When it was all over, the sun had set, pitching the room in the kind of darkness that fosters what he'd done to the girl. He could still see her outline, the look on her face, as he curled up next to her and felt the way her body twisted and contorted in the binds he'd created for her. He knew she liked it. He knew because he'd always known, ever since the first time she'd let him do this to her. He knew that she would fall asleep like this, her hair pulled tight, her mouth full, because she'd done it countless times before. He knew, if he ran his hands between the valley of her breasts and underneath the waistband of her skirt and between her thighs that he'd find her soaked and ready for him, because he'd taken her like this—tearing at her skirt and panties, thrusting his pulsing cock into her from behind—so many times before he'd lost count.

But not tonight. Later, and often, looking at the photos of the art they shared, they would each have their turn to relive the night the heatwave started.