by Christa Wick
Moving off the cushion, the man walked around the room. I heard drawers open and close and then he returned to the bench, this time in front of me. A narrow width of fabric touch my outer left knee. I jerked then silently cursed my over-reaction.
He was quickly getting the better of me, this rope master of mine.
My rope master...
No, I was only calling him that in my thoughts because I had no name for him, hadn't even seen his face or heard his voice. That unknown factor gave him too much power. I had to name him so I could claw back some power of my own.
My first thought was to call him "Bakushi," which was just another way to call him a rope master but in another language. It was also a mouthful and the only thing I wanted my mouth full of at that second was the rock hard cock he had pressed against my spine.
So not "Bakushi," something shorter but similar.
Baku!
Some of my vulnerability slipped away as I settled on the name. "Baku" was light, pleasant, almost comical. I didn't need to worry about a man named Baku, even if he only called himself that in my head. Baku was a little monkey with a piece of rope, not a man with muscular thighs and rough hands.
More of the material slid across the top of my knees, bringing my thoughts to a screeching halt. I could feel the twists that braided through the silky fabric. Silk was strong. Once braided, it was even stronger. If I used my safe word and he didn't stop, I wouldn't be able to wiggle out of it. The fabric would only tighten the more I struggled, especially once I began to sweat from the effort.
Baku stepped closer, his legs brushing against mine as he draped the rope over my shoulders. Sensing the man circling the bench, I moved my head to track him.
"Face forward," Rick ordered.
Reluctantly, I turned back to my original position. From behind, the rope drew closer until it rested against my throat in a soft threat. Hands threaded through my hair, gathering all the loose, dark strands, twisting the thick mass and winding it into a bun that Baku secured with a long pin through the middle.
Warmth spread through me. As utilitarian as the act might have been for Baku, it had been a long time since a male had done anything so domestically intimate as to fashion my hair. My stylists were all women, which meant the last male to do so would have been Jake or Dylan making me presentable when my father's maids were all off preparing the house for guests.
Taking up the rope, Baku -- big cock and all -- pressed against my back as he leaned forward and lifted my breasts. He tucked the first length of the material beneath their fold. Together, our bodies bobbed backward, separated, together again and then forward as the rope circled my torso another time at the fold and then several circles across the top swell. Each time the rope went around me, he paused to make small adjustments so that my breasts were squeezed more mercilessly by the fabric.
My nipples, already erect and responsive, became exquisitely sensitive from the mounting pressure. That sensitivity shot like an arrow from my nipples to my clit, where my flesh was every bit as swollen -- swollen like the sea in a rough storm, moisture beading the air and slickening every surface.
I squared my shoulders to keep my ass from squirming along the cushion. I was getting very, very wet between my legs. If I wiggled even a little, my fluids would darken the fabric beneath me.
Oblivious to my arousal, Baku looped one end of the rope over and under the top three strands, then a straight line between my breasts to run the end under the bottom strands. Kneeling next to me on the cushion, he wrapped one arm around my side then pushed me in that direction with his other hand. With both of my arms bound by the same rope squeezing my breasts, I couldn't do anything other than fall on my side.
His firm hold kept me from hitting hard or bouncing. His body moved with mine. From our first contact, I had the sense that he was muscular. Not hulking, but tall and packed with lean muscle. The way his body slid against mine as he placed me on my side confirmed those impressions. A thick thigh pressed against one of my plump, soft ass cheeks. The other leg crowded the underside of my bottom and upper thighs.
Bracing his torso over mine, his lips paused against my ear to mock me with another pant, pant, pant.
My breathing froze. My bottom lip and chin quivered as I refused to take another breath until I brought my body under control. My ego felt bruised even as another push of warm cream escaped my pussy and seeped between the folds of my tightly pressed labia.
Why would he do that -- mimic the uncontrolled rush of air in and out of my body? If he wanted me to stop so I didn't risk passing out, he could have just told me. Or maybe he didn't speak English...or he was mute.
A hand slid down my body. Its thumb brushed along my bottom then parted the seal of my labia. In the tip went, slick and fat, my juices accumulating in the callused ridges. He brought the hand up to my face, the thumb smearing my cream against my lips.
Tensing, I moaned, the sound unrecognizable as coming from my throat.
He groaned with me then nipped my earlobe. The quiver left my lip to overtake my body. Another small bite from him, this time against my throat, and I almost came on the spot. I dug my nails into my flesh to stop the surge of pleasure.
A hand smacked my ass, the sensation pushing me another inch closer to release.
"You always have your safe word, Riona," Rick reminded me, his voice raw and sensual in a way I had never heard it. I had all but forgotten about the photographer, his presence reduced to the click-whirr-click of his camera.
I said nothing. I hadn't bargained for this, but I wouldn't back out. I had never been so awake down there. The rope master knew it because he chuckled at my tight lipped silence.
Baku chuckled...
Right -- a little monkey, not a big, strong hairless ape that smelled good enough to eat.
Standing alongside the bench once more, he bent my top leg. Placing his palm against the side of my calf, he measured down about seven inches from my knee and wrapped the rope thrice round so that thigh and calf were bound together. He worked the end between my firmly pressed flesh so that the circle of rope wouldn't slide off my knee.
The room went quiet and then I heard the snik-snik of Rick changing lenses. My heart, already pounding hard and fast against the back of my ribcage, kicked like a jack hammer as Baku secured the rope somewhere above my body and pulled on the end. My bound leg went up and up until my pussy was splayed open.
Hearing Rick with his camera and certain the lens was directed at the moist pulse of my cunt, I lifted my lower leg to block the view. The position lasted all of two seconds. Baku tied off part of the rope above me then pushed down on my bottom leg.
Finding the other end of the rope, he looped it through the top five strands squeezing just below my shoulder blades. Then he bound my bottom leg just as he had the top, my calf pressing against the back of my thigh, three loops around and then two between.
I no longer tried to control my breathing and he no longer mocked it. He brought the loose end behind me, made another loop then ran the rope between the cheeks of my ass. He stopped, tied a thick knot then slid the rope across my perineum, over my gaping cunt and atop my clit. He paused again, tying two more knots with only an inch and a half or so of distance between them. From there, he ran the end up and looped it beneath and then over just one of the circles beneath the fold of my breast.
I was thoroughly trussed up -- arms bound against my sides, legs folded and splayed, breasts squeezed mercilessly top and bottom and the rope tight against my clit and the quivering pucker of my ass.
Baku touched my fingers, pinched each tip one at a time on each hand to check their circulation. He tested my nipples after that, harder pinches that had me squirming with greater need. My restless movements caused the knots that pressed against my genitals to rub up and down.
A rough moan gripped my vocal chords until I had to cry out, my shoulder and hips jerking.
He pinched my toes next and then I heard and felt him crouch behind me
. One hand took the loose end of rope and the other wrapped around the back of my head to control me. He see-sawed the rope between my legs. The way he had it looped, it lifted and pulled at the knots between my legs in a fast, relentless rhythm.
Trembling with need, I bit at my lips. He had me close, at the limits of my control, but each time I found myself perched at the edge, he eased off.
"Now," Rick said.
I didn't know what "now" meant. I thought it might be the end of the teasing, that Baku would tug at the rope faster and faster until my climax overtook me. That didn't happen, at least not at the photographer's raspy command.
Baku unknotted the blindfold and brushed the fabric from my face. Before I could look over my shoulder at him, his hand seized the back of my skull and forced me to face forward.
The rope tugging renewed. He had a way of twisting it as he pulled that caused the knot over my ass to burrow against me. The two knots at my clit pressed and pinched, the alternating waves of pain and pleasure causing my eyes to roll back in my head. With the blindfold removed, I could see, but I could barely keep my eyes open and not once could I focus.
My body squeezed, my face contorted, I moved with the rope master so that the harder pinches and rubs came from my own uncontrollable need. I gasped, groaned, murmured my pleas for just a little more something, that last thing that would make me pop.
Insensible to the camera, I started to cry my frustration, fat salty tears falling onto the bench's surface.
The rope went slack. Baku's hand replaced it against my clit. His thumb ran a soft, stroking line until I crumbled in release.
His lips glossed over my shoulder before resting against the curve of my neck, his hand slowly bringing me back down to earth with a sweet rubbing. After the last quiver left me, the hand at my pussy moved up to pull the blindfold across my eyes and secure it.
From there, Baku proceeded to unbind my legs, his strong hands massaging the flesh to encourage the blood to flow into my lower limbs. He loosened the rest of the rope enough that I could bring my arms around front but not reach up for the blindfold.
The last touch from him was a gentle thumbing of my nipples that made the ravenous burn of need return to my cunt.
Less than five minutes later, my rope master was gone. Rick removed the blindfold and enough of the remaining binding that I could free myself. I ducked into the bathroom, quickly washed up and fumbled my clothes back onto my body. Reaching into my pocket for my cell phone to check the time, I felt the brush of a small piece of folded paper.
I pulled the note out and read the typewritten text.
Next time, no limits.
#####THE END#####
Sign up for the Wicked Reads newsletter by visiting christawick.com/wickedreads. It's the best way to find out about the next installment in Training Her Curves and discover new book boyfriends to devour!
Pesky Legal Junk
Copyright content © 2014 by Christa Wick
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. All persons and entities are fictional or fictitiously used. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the express written permission from the author/publisher.
Table of Contents
About THC-Kinbaku
Training Her Curves - Kinbaku
Pesky Legal Junk