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Sir ceased teasing my ass and ran the flat of his palm up my spine. The touch both soothed and aroused me and I quivered under his control. We both knew I would do anything… be everything… he required. I had no choice in the matter. The Club took every possible precaution, and Master Stewart expected to find me unharmed when he returned, but there was no guarantee. I was cuffed and blind, completely at Sir’s mercy.
“You’re not wearing a collar,” Sir observed. His hand now rested lightly on my nape, caressing my hair. The only collar around my neck was the red ribbon. “Why not?”
He was testing me. Everyone at the Club knew Master Stewart already had a submissive—and partner—he loved. Stewart had trained me, and I was submissive to him and called him Master, but he was not my Master and he had laid down two firm restrictions: I would not wear his collar and he would not have anal sex with me. No wonder I was so damn ready to be fucked.
“Respect, Sir,” I answered. “A collar isn’t a fashion accessory. It’s a badge of honor. A master’s gesture, not a slave’s ambition.”
“That sounds like Stewart. Now tell me what you think.”
I tried to keep disappointment out of my voice. “I haven’t earned one yet.”
Master Stewart had worked to correct flaws that made me desperate in the past. Fear of rejection. A deep belief in my own unworthiness. Part of why I so longed to take part in the Club's Holiday Auction was that gifts were wanted.
Sir took hold of the knob between my cheeks again and this time he meant business, gently working the plug out of my ass. I couldn’t help a grunt of discomfort as the bulge passed my opening, my anus releasing it while the rest of me wanted to hold it in. Master Stewart had been generous with the lube when inserting it and some of that leaked out now. Uncomfortable as the plug had been, I missed feeling filled, occupied. Though Sir had said he would not fuck me right away, I desperately hoped he would still do so.
“Stand up.” Sir put a hand under my right elbow and helped me stand once I had lifted my torso. I was facing the tree and flashes of multi-colored lights wrapped me in a hazy cocoon.
Sir stood at my back. He wrapped his left arm around my waist and pulled my body firmly against his. The backs of my legs rubbed leather and Sir’s erection pressed into my buttocks. My bound hands crushed against a body just a tiny bit soft, but with muscle underneath. I gasped and tilted my head to one side when I felt Sir’s mouth hot upon the junction of my neck and shoulder. God, that felt good! He sucked on my skin, tasting it. Pleasure rippled straight to my cock.
His erection pushed deeper into the crack of my ass, so damn near my hole I pushed back. He gave a soft chuckle and his right hand dropped down to grip my hard cock. The cock restraint had helped keep me erect at the party, but the fiberglass candy cane ring was no longer needed. I was so excited by the prospect of serving as a master’s toy I would have been hard just standing in Sir’s presence. What was he going to make me do to earn a fuck?
“Now this is a pretty present.” His fingers swept the wet, dripping head of my cock while his tongue massaged the one perfect spot on my neck that made me whimper. My legs went so weak they nearly buckled, and I welcomed his arm tightening just under my ribs.
He was tall, taller than I was, and solid. There was nothing tentative or delicate about the way he took control. He stroked my aching cock as leisurely as a man might pet his cat, coaxing more drops and spreading them over the already slick glans. My cock was cut and thick and he noted this by running his fingers with deliberate exploration around the flaring ridge where the head met the shaft. He did this until I was ready to explode—even though I couldn’t. Feeling his erection pressing thick and hot against my empty, begging ass was pure torture. And it was just starting.
It was only after I heard my own moans and whispered “Oh, God,” that Sir released my cock and pulled me by my cuffed hands away from the tree.
“You’re mine for the night, and I have some very special plans for you.”
He yanked me around and into his arms, then, against his chest. God, how I wished I could see him. But all my open eyes showed me was a shadow framed against the lights of the tree. His hand wound in my hair and pulled my head back even more.
“What is your safe word, toy?”
“You’re blushing. I take it there’s a story behind that word?” Amusement warmed his voice. His cock pushed against mine, its tip touching my belly with a smear of wetness. Had he not held me upright, my knees would have given way.
“I had a bad experience while driving through the state once, and I don’t want to go there again.”
His laugh surprised me, a deep baritone rumble—but it wasn’t mocking. I thought he liked my answer. He released my hair. “That being the case, if you say Mississippi neither of us will go there.”
Reaching around my body, he unsnapped the cuffs and pulled my arms from behind my back. Then he removed the cuffs. My heart dropped. I had liked bondage enough to star it. I had even checked off all the sub-categories. But if Sir was not into that…
“I want to you listen carefully. I chose you for some very specific reasons. You don’t need to know them all. But one is that I have a specialty—a fetish, if you will—and I am going to do some things to you that you may not fully appreciate until I have completed my preparations. It will involve strong red rope, secure knots, and suspension.” So what Sir wanted would include bondage after all. Extreme bondage. I breathed faster and nodded. His voice softened. “None of this will harm you. I am expert at what I do.”
Again I nodded, indicating consent. Sir had not asked me a question or said I should speak. And I had agreed to this beforehand, when I had checked off suspension as Nice. My only experience was having seen a few demonstrations at the Club. All of those had involved leather harnesses and big metal frames. Of course, I couldn’t bring even the Christmas tree into focus. For all I knew, there was a metal frame right behind me.
Sir’s expertise became clear as soon as he began tying his rope. By the pressure on my skin, I could tell the rope was thick and had a nice flat weave and smooth finish. Sir had said it was red and I could envision the scarlet strands against my fair skin. He wrapped the rope securely—neither too loosely nor too tightly—three or four times around my hip bones, and then another three or four times right below my buttocks to create a kind of sling. He also worked it around my chest, creating wide bands which he knotted into a harness that would support my upper back and torso. After that, he wound rope around my upper thighs one by one, then my ankles and, lastly, my wrists.
It took him a few minutes. Not that I counted. As a matter of fact, I lost myself within a swirl of new sensations, of rope pulling snug and fingers sliding under, against my skin, to create knots. What helped me relax were Sir’s movements. Every pass of the rope and tug on a knot felt crisp, experienced, telling me he was in command of his craft.
The shivers traveling up my spine were not of fear at all, but of pleasure. I loved how the rope informed my body of Sir’s intentions. It was Sir’s will that I be rendered helpless, become a plaything of pretty red rope and hard, aroused male flesh. His Christmas toy.
“Very nice,” he said. I hadn’t realized he had stopped working with the rope and stepped away. “Now lie on the floor, on your back.”
He helped me, and I gingerly lowered my upper body. He took a moment to fashion something like stirrups for my feet. His shadow fell across me again and that’s when I heard a mechanical hum. I must have stiffened, because Sir placed his palm on my belly and pressed down slightly. The touch calmed me. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel him. Sir knew what he was doing. I trusted him, and in emotional terms I was nowhere near Mississippi. Just thinking that made me smile.
“I’m attaching the harness and lines to a hoist. It’s safer than trusting me to haul you up. I had this room constructed to my specifications. The overhead beams could hold a semi-truck, and this equipment could lift a football team with ease.” He was done within another minute and again he stepped away. I saw his shadow rise.
The mechanical sound returned. Sir stood at my side, somehow controlling the rate of my ascension, checking the ropes, making adjustments—I couldn’t exactly tell and my mind was too swamped to sort out anything except the sensations of the ropes lifting my ass and torso from the ground, gravity pulling my head backward as my arms and legs dangled. Only rope supported my weight. If I resembled anything, it was some kind of puppet. My body hung upon strings, completely at Sir’s mercy. My safety depended on the ropes he had tied and the accuracy of his calculations. If he had tied them poorly, or miscalculated, I could fall.
I hoped Sir would be careful with me. I didn’t say it, wouldn’t dare. But I thought this was what it must feel like to be caught in a predator’s well-laid trap. Even if I tried to escape, it was too late. I was truly Sir’s toy now, an ornament upon his very special tree.
“You should see yourself, the way you look. Such a beautiful present.” Sir caressed me, his hand skimming my skin, admiring either his handiwork or me. More likely it was the combination of the two. From time to time his touch would linger on an expanse of skin, or test a knot. As I lay on my back, supported by strands of rope and with only air beneath me, he took position between my legs. I could not tell if it was because of the ropes, or my innate submissiveness—or simply gravity—but my thighs had fallen open in a kind of invitation.
I gasped when he took hold of my balls and cradled them. He flicked open the catch on the fiberglass ring, freeing my genitals from their candy-cane striped prison. My cock flooded with pain but remained engorged and stiff as it filled his hand. I groaned as Sir tightened his grip and began to stroke.
No… oh, no… I was too hard! I was going to come.
“Sir!” I warned. Or begged. It was a little of both. All I knew for certain was I could do nothing to stop my orgasm.
“It’s what I want, little toy. Give yourself to me. Do it now.”
My pre-come welled so copiously, Sir’s hand was slick with it. Blind and bound, I tried to buck and couldn’t even manage that very well. All I succeeded at doing was cause my body to sway a little. The one anchored thing in my world was this man with my cock in his hand, celebrating his power over me. He fisted me with a powerful down stroke and I was done. On the upstroke I howled like a rock star and my cock erupted in his fist. I continued to come in spurts, and then dribbles, as Sir gently milked me dry.
“Well, I would say you are officially my Christmas gift… and I just popped the cork on a nice bottle of champagne.” He did something with the ropes and my torso tilted so my pelvis and thighs were higher than my head. Sir released my wrists and eased my arms down, then I felt him loop my wrists to my ankles. My fingers and thumbs brushed my calves. Bent over backward like that, suspended in mid-air, I had to look like a fallen angel. My head dropped and my spine arched, presenting my chest. Sir removed the gumdrop nipple jewelry.
“I’m going to be giving you some new ornaments,” Sir said. “I believe you would welcome new decorations.”
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
My head was at the level of his groin now and Sir’s erection was hot and rigid against my cheek. It was all I could do to resist mouthing it. He had not given me permission. I yearned for him anyway. His cock felt thick and long, and he smelled of male arousal and leather, the most arousing scents in the world. I saw a lot of black silhouetted against the tree light and figured the black to be leather. Leather with an open crotch, which meant he would want attention to his cock.
My mouth watered at the thought of sucking him.
Sir rolled my nipples between his fingers and I wanted to push my chest toward him, but the ropes continued to thwart me. Moving in any meaningful way was impossible. I could do nothing to achieve my own ends.
I really was his puppet.
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(Continue to the next part...)
photo credit: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jessibot/354794417/">jessibot</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">cc</a>
UNWRAPPED © 2012 by Tali Spencer. No reproduction without permission.