by Eden Bradley
He came to stand behind her so she couldn’t see him. She could only feel his presence, the faint heat of his body. And his scent, warm and enigmatic, filling her senses.
“Do you know what this is, Ava?”
She nodded her head. “I think so. It looks like the bondage frames I’ve seen at some of the clubs.”
“Yes, that’s right. I can do complex web work here, full harnessing, suspension. Anything.” A short beat. “And I will.” Oh, she was going to sink to her knees right now, right here! “Ava, take your clothes off. All of them.”
She paused, opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. Everything he was asking of her was well within the boundaries she was used to, but for some reason she felt startled.
She wasn’t going to argue. She didn’t want to. But she was trembling all over with excitement, and with a little fear still. She wasn’t afraid of him exactly. It was how he made her feel.
But she was doing it, slipping out of her dress, her bra, her high heels, and finally her damp, white lace panties, which he took from her. He held the small scrap of fabric in his fingers, stroking the lace with his thumb.
“I love this, that you would wear something so sweet-looking. That’s one of the first things I noticed about you,” he told her as he set her clothing down on the dark suede coverlet on the end of the bed. “That aura of innocence.”
She could hardly believe he was talking to her so calmly while she stood naked in front of him!
“And this,” he said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. “This incredible skin.” He drew one finger between her breasts, and her nipples went hard immediately. She shivered all over. Moving in closer, he spread his fingers wide, his entire palm covering the skin between her breasts.
“I can feel your heart beating, Ava. I don’t mind telling you mine is beating just as hard, just as fast.”
He took her hand, placed it on his firm, muscled chest, and she could feel his thudding heartbeat beneath his black cotton shirt.
God.
She was melting all over, into his heat, into her own.
“This is why we’re here together right now,” he said.
He took a step back and she saw him pull in a deep breath. She was unable to speak, her mind beginning that lovely slip and slide, filled with nothing but his rugged beauty, his command, her own sense of submission. And overcome, she clasped her hands behind her back, bowed her head.
“Ah, good girl.”
Hot flash of pleasure at those words, at his tone.
“Stay just as you are while I get set up,” he told her.
She waited. Breathless. Dizzy with need, anticipation.
Then that familiar whisper of rope smoothing over rope, and in a moment he was in front of her again, taking her hands from her back, leading her forward.
“We begin now, Ava.”
Her body was loose all over, pliant, as he placed her in the center of the wooden frame. Her mind was absolutely emptying out.
Desmond.
It was only him. Desmond, the ropes, the sensations assaulting her body even before the first rope touched her.
And when it did, she shook, hard, her muscles tensing, then releasing, her sex filling, going wet. And Desmond working so silently as he pulled that first loop around her waist.
He leaned in and asked her, “Do you know anything of Taoist philosophy?”
“No, Desmond,” she whispered.
“I’ll tell you, then, although I’m going to have you read more about it later.” He wound the loop across her back, around the front of her body, crossed the rope over itself; she could feel the motion against her skin like cool silk. But firmer. Lovely. “The main concept, as it seems to me, anyway, is to learn to cease the inherent human struggle against the inevitable. To let go. When I first read of this, it immediately translated into what we do in this lifestyle. Do you see where I’m going with this, Ava?”
“I … I think so. Yes. You mean to give myself over to you. To the process. To yield.”
“Yes, exactly,” he went on, his voice quiet, soothing. “Because the freedom you’re seeking lies within that act of submission. Of total submission. I don’t mean it in the sense of complete slave mentality; that sort of thing doesn’t interest me. When you are not in the ropes I want to be able to have an intelligent conversation with you. I want you to be a thinking, functioning individual being, not some mindless piece of furniture. But now … when you are under my hand, you must learn not to struggle against what is happening, what you yourself have asked for, what you desire. And what I desire, if that makes it easier for you. This is what you and I will work on together. And we will utilize some tools to get you there. We’re going to start with some meditative breathing. If you’ve done yoga before, you may be familiar with this kind of practice. But I want you to put all of that out of your mind. Focus only on my voice. On what the ropes make you feel.”
Oh, she could do that easily enough. Nothing else existed for her already.
“Breathe in, Ava,” he said. “In through your mouth, into your diaphragm, then push the air down into your stomach. Good. Now let it out slowly. And as you do, focus. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”
She felt the silken pull of the rope against her skin as he wound another length of it over her shoulders, beginning what she knew would be a body harness of some sort. And she let herself sink into the ropes, into the brushing of his fingertips, his knuckles, against her skin as he worked.
If only he would really touch me …
But she was getting ahead of herself.
Focus. Breathe.
Yes, just let herself sink in, give it all over …
“Another deep breath, Ava. Take your time, slowly … yes, that’s it. And again. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”
Desmond could not believe how easily this girl went down, into that space. He watched as her eyes glazed, then closed. She was still following his instructions: breathing in, out. He would almost think she was asleep, except that her nipples were two hard, dusky points. Swollen. Unbelievably luscious.
He drew the rope over her pale flesh, fighting to maintain his focus.
Control.
It was all he could do not to shake all over with need for her.
Soon enough.
Yes, once he had her bound, once he had done all he could to take her down into subspace, once he did his job with her …
His cock went hard as rock, pushing against the fabric of his trousers.
Control!
Christ, but she was too gorgeous. And the black rope looked every bit as good against her fair skin as he’d imagined. Hell, it was better than he’d imagined, in every way. The way she looked naked … almost more than he could stand, she was so damn beautiful, those large breasts on that tiny frame. Yes, doll porn.
His cock gave a sharp jerk, and he reached out and brushed the underside of one perfect breast with the back of his fingers.
She sighed, a small breath of sweet air escaping her lips, and she squirmed.
“Still, Ava.”
He had to still himself. Steel himself.
Get it together.
She pulled in a deep breath, and he did the same. He moved the rope over her body, and soon he found his rhythm, with the music, with her breath, with his own. Around her torso, between her beautiful breasts. Her flesh was like satin. Babyskin.
No, don’t think too much about it.
He was there now, into the languorous pacing of the ropes, really taking his time, drawing it out. And the body harness was beginning to take shape, the ropes crossing over themselves in a herringbone pattern, leaving only her breasts bare. He stayed there for a long while, their breathing in tune, his hand on the deliciously silken skin at the back of her neck, his cock rock-hard. But he maintained his focus on the process, on her, as she slipped further and further into subspace, her body going slack all over as she leaned her weight into him.
It must have been nearly an hour l
ater when he slipped the rope between her thighs, the back of his hand brushing against her sex. Christ, she was wet. Soaked. She moaned, her hips arching. Suppressing a groan, he slid the rope behind her, moving around her body as he worked.
“Ava, still with me?”
“Yes, Desmond,” she murmured, her eyes still closed. He could see the delicate blue veins beneath the skin of her lids, which touched him in some odd way he didn’t want to analyze.
“Very good. Continue. My voice. Your breath. The ropes.”
She nodded almost imperceptibly. Oh, yes, she was there, in that floating space. Now to find a way to take her deeper, to take her all the way.
He pulled another length of rope from his wall rack and moved behind her once more, pulled her arms back, and began to bind them, working carefully, checking the tension of the rope for evenness as he went. Even a small error could cause a lack of circulation, or a visual disturbance in the perfect symmetry, which was as important to Shibari as the ropes themselves, the act of being bound.
He could feel her shivering, just a small tremor running through her, over and over. The heat coming off her was incredible. He wove the rope over and between her biceps, her forearms, until they were bound together, from upper arms to wrists, pulling her shoulders back tightly, making her breasts thrust forward. She held perfectly still.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You are so beautiful, Ava. Impossible for me not to tell you that.”
“Ah, Desmond …”
She let her head drop back, and he could smell the fresh scent of her hair. He reached up then, buried his fingers in the silky, twining strands, pulling her head back. And she went with him, her body bowing, arching, her response filling him with that sense of absolute power over her. And even more, with the awe-inspiring sense of her submission to him.
She was giving in. But he could feel some underlying tension in her even now. She was holding something back. But Marina had told him to expect it.
With one hand still in her hair, he moved the other down the front of her body, in between her breasts. He hesitated one brief moment before sliding his palm across the ropes, filling it with that plump flesh.
“Oh …” Her soft sigh, her panting breath, and he was hard as iron now, if he hadn’t been before. Nearly bursting.
He slid his hand to the other breast, over her smooth skin, and finally he brushed one tip with his fingers.
“Oh, Desmond …”
She was writhing now. He should make her hold still, but her gently undulating body was too beautiful to make her stop. Instead, he took her nipple between his fingers and tugged.
She grunted, her hips arching, and he did it again, tugged, pinched, twisted. She was panting hard, all rhythm gone. But he could see over her shoulder that her eyes were still shut tight in dream mode.
He let her hair go so he could use both his hands, sliding them over her breasts, then torturing her nipples again. He loved the idea of simply throwing her down and fucking her, just plowing right into her body, and he could do it. But he wanted to wait. The anticipation, seeing her like this, was too good. And he always loved these long sessions, the exquisite torture of the waiting, the desire itself a meditative force.
He kept his hands on her nipples, twisting, flicking, stroking softly. He sank into the experience, her labored breath, her lovely little gasps when he squeezed hard, the pulsing of his cock. Only the fatigued muscles in his legs finally reminded him that he’d been playing her for several hours already. That and the almost unbearable ache in his cock.
He shifted, drew her up against him, one palm flat and firm against her rope-covered torso, her sinuous back against his chest, his stomach. His erection pressed against the top of her bare, rounded buttocks. And he moved his hand down over the ropes until he reached the apex of her thighs.
“Ava …” His voice was ragged in his own ears.
“Yes … yes, Desmond.”
“Are you wet, Ava?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Do you want me to touch you? To put my hand between your legs? To make you come?”
“Please, Desmond,” she whispered between gasping breaths.
“Then tell me, Ava. Tell me you’re mine. Mine to do with as I please.” He was trying hard to ignore the edge of desperation in his voice.
“Yes! I’m yours, Desmond. Yours …”
His body went still, as though time had stopped.
Yours.
What was it about those words from her that made his head spin? He felt as though something inside him was unraveling, coming apart.
His. He had never wanted anything so damn much in his life. He didn’t understand what was happening to him, between them. But it was too good to stop.
All he knew was that he wanted to make this girl his.
Ava.
Something weird was happening in his head. Something that went beyond any sense of ownership, of being in control. And the truth was, the way he wanted her, needed her, meant he wasn’t entirely in command.
What did it all mean? He didn’t know. Right now, all that mattered was that she was here, she was his. He’d deal with the leftover mind-fuck later. He was pretty damn certain she’d be worth it.
Chapter Five
DESMOND’S HEAD was spinning, his pulse thrumming with a reckless, staccato beat.
Ava.
So beautiful.
Have to have her.
He slid his fingers down and right into the wet folds of her pussy. So swollen, so slick. He was going to lose his mind. He plunged his fingers into that wet, silky heat. And she went off like a shot, her sex clenching around his hand as he pumped into her. She was groaning, crying out.
His cock pulsed; he needed to come. But this was all about her.
Ava.
Christ.
She was still coming, quivering against him, moaning softly. Then shivering, leaning into him as he held her up. “Very good, Ava.”
Oh, yes, very good. Almost too good. He could barely stand himself, his painfully throbbing cock. And that other thing happening in his head …
Moving her over to the bed, he carefully laid her down on her stomach. He saw that her eyes were still closed, her hair falling all over her face, her shoulders, in a wild blond tangle. He knelt beside her, trying to ignore his aching cock. He concentrated on the lovely curve of her back beneath the ropes, on her buttocks, her perfectly formed legs.
“Ava.” Her eyes fluttered open, a blaze of bright blue. Glossy, her pupils enormous. Even now he was struck by that air of innocence about her. “I’m going to have you do some more breathing now.”
“Yes …”
He brushed her hair aside and laid his hand over the back of her neck, pressed down just enough so that she could feel him holding her still.
“Breathe in, into your stomach. Yes, and hold it for a moment. Good. Let it out slowly. And again.”
He took her through the breathing, talking to her softly, falling easily into a pattern with her, needing to relax, to focus, as much as he needed her to. In moments her body went loose beneath his hand.
His cock was pulsing as hard as ever.
But he noticed it now only as if it were something at the edge of his vision. He was in top mode, that space where his responsibilities to his bottom meant more than his own needs. And this was where he’d needed to take her, the climax meant to bring down her defenses so he could take her even deeper.
“Very good, Ava. I’m going to stop directing you now. But you are to keep breathing as I’ve told you, to feel my breath, to keep in sync with me. And let your mind go loose, as loose as your body is right now. To find that place.”
He stayed with her for maybe twenty minutes, his hand never leaving the silky flesh at the back of her neck. Her body was still, but he could feel the energy humming away inside her, in the air between them. It was sexual, yes. But there was something more, something even in the texture of her skin beneath his palm …
When
he checked her hands for circulation they were a bit paler than he liked. Time to bring her out of it.
His own body buzzing with that sensual, muted energy, hers and his own, he leaned over her, whispered, “I’m removing the ropes, Ava. Stay still.”
He untied the knot, carefully uncoiled the ropes from her arms, went to hang them on the wall rack. When he came back to the bed she was breathing evenly, but he felt the shift in her awareness even before he lifted her, sitting her upright on the end of the bed.
Her eyes were open, that spectacular blue, glowing as though her body were illuminated from within. He could feel the heat of her, coming off her in waves. And he was still rock-hard, needing her. Needing to fuck her. But not tonight.
Torture.
But this was his job: doing what was best for her.
He helped her to her feet. Almost too much to hold her up, his arm encircling her naked waist, with her bare breasts luscious and full only inches away. If he pressed her close, right up against him, he could have his hands on her breasts again in moments, in between her sweet thighs, in that slick heat …
She swayed, and he held her a little tighter.
“Are you steady, Ava? Can you stand?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
He untied knots, slipping the rope over her skin, enjoying the sensation of the soft nylon running across his palms, as he always did. And she stood so still, really like some sort of doll, with her big blue eyes, her pink pouting mouth. Her face was nearly expressionless. Except that her eyes were gleaming, alive, dynamic.
When he was finished he sat her down on the edge of the bed, seated himself next to her, wrapping a throw blanket around her narrow shoulders.
“What are you feeling, Ava?”
Why was he so desperate to know? In a way that went beyond his responsibilities as a top.
“I’m feeling … nothing, really. Just floating on the endorphins a little, still.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
He was quiet a moment. This, he thought, was the problem.