Yin and Yang.

I held the passenger side car door open for Chiara and extended my hand for her to hold on to as she exited my vehicle. Her manicured, delicate and slender hand looked obscenely unbefitting wrapped in my leathery, rugged hand. My cock twitched as I admired her toned, slender legs as she turned in the SUV’s seat, placed her stiletto clad feet on the underground parking lot cement floor, and with the grace of a ballerina exited my vehicle.

Chiara placed her hands on my chest, turned me around and pushed me against the vehicle. She leaned into me and seductively smiled as she pressed her breasts against my torso.

“I love the gentleman in you, Gil. It makes me weak in the knees,” she purred and nipped at my lower lip with her teeth.

I smiled and replied, “I appreciate that you are well versed in how to behave in the presence of a gentleman, Chiara.”

She pouted and whispered, “It,” she paused to slowly trace her tongue over my whiskered chin and across my lips, “misses your brutal touch. It’s been weeks since you made me come.” Her pout turned in to a mischievous grin when she referred to the smooth, plump, hairless slit between her long, slender legs as ‘It.’ She turned around, stood on her toes and wiggled her ass against my cock. “Slap my cunt. It won’t take any time at all for me to cum. I’ll be quiet, I promise. I’m so fucking horny, Gil. Please?” she cooed like a wildcat in heat.

I slid my right hand around her neck, gripped her throat, and pulled her tight against my body. Chiara gasped, slid both her hands between our bodies and clawed at my growing cock.

I softly growled in her ear, “I also appreciate that you are well versed in how to behave in the presence of a wolf, Chiara.”

She growled in a breathy voice, “I love the wolf in you, too. It makes me weak in my pussy.” She gasped and begged, “Hit my cunt, please!” The quiver in her voice gave credence to the urgency of her plight. She needed me to exorcise the burning demon between her legs.

Chiara possesses impeccable social graces when she is in public. She prides herself in being able to be the most charming and perfect hostess or the most charming and perfect guest. She also takes great pride in being the perfect submissive in a private setting. She will be as twisted and dirty as any man or woman she’s with desires her to be.

With the meaty part of her ear trapped between my teeth, I softly growled, “My beautiful whore needs to come?”

She snaked her tongue across her lips and shivered in anticipation. Chiara pulled the hem of her body-hugging dress up over her hips and spread her quivering legs. She offered me her bare, throbbing slit to strike. “Please, Gil, I need to come. I’m so fucking horny. Don’t make me beg. I haven’t seen you in five weeks.”

I grinned to myself. I could feel the goosebumps rise on her scented flesh as I brushed my nose and lips slowly across the side of her neck.

“Please,” she panted. The word fluttered in the air for a fleeting second after it had left her lips.

Chiara is a masochist with a very high pain threshold. She is the ideal Yang to compliment the Yin sadist in me.

I grunted and pushed her away from me. Chiara snapped her head around and glared at me from over her shoulder. I grinned at her, lowered my head, and growled long and low. Compared to the demon that possessed her dripping pussy at that instant, it is by far the lesser of two evils compared to things I do to her - Or that I won’t do to her.

Acts of inflicting intense sensations, creating the perfect medley of agony and ecstasy, keeping a woman in a state of extreme arousal, anticipation, and not knowing what and when the next sensation she will be made to feel, arouses me just as much as it arouses the lovely lady I hold at my mercy - Or at the lack of my mercy.

My lust is fueled by the way a woman reacts to intense sensations, both physically and mentally. I get off on knowing that I control what emotions and sensations she will be made to experience or denied to experience. Nothing is more beautiful or satisfying to me than holding a woman shuddering with a combination of sexual nervousness, anticipation and heightened sexual arousal.

I love to look a woman in the eye and read her body language as their arousal increases. The height of my arousal occurs when the line between pain and pleasure is blurred. The place that exists in their body and mind where they cannot differentiate which sensation is which. The headspace they enter where the brain interprets fingertips gently caressing her inner thigh, or the sting of my belt across her breasts as pure, sexual stimulation inching her closer to an orgasm.

The mere thought of a woman surrendering her entire self to me, allowing me to inflict pain and pleasure in creative ways makes my cock grow hard as blue steel. I am a sadist - a very skilled sadist. I am also very skilled at the art of Kinbaku. I am unapologetic in what I put women through to sate my sexual desires and get off. I make it clear to a potential play partner that I will push them to limits they have never approached before. I want them to experience familiar sensations with an intensity they never knew existed.

But, I am not for everyone.

“Keep it in your panties a bit longer, Chiara. Besides, it was your idea to go see a play. I recall you mentioning that we never engage in ‘normal people’ stuff,” I grinned and winked at her.

Chiara tugged and pulled the hem of her dress down over her ass, and hissed, “Prick!”

“You are going to make us late for the play,” I chuckled and I offered her my arm.

Chiara gets great sexual satisfaction from being submissive, but she’s as tough as nails and has the spirit of a battle tested warrior. “Fuck you, Gil,” she snapped. Chiara slapped my bent arm away and headed for the exit to the street. “I am perfectly capable of walking without having to hold on to your arm.”

I tilted my head back and feigned shock. “Chiara, that wasn’t very lady like.”

She flipped back her hair with a shake of her head, raised her right arm, and gave me the finger.

“Neither is flipping me off,” I chuckled.

She stopped dead in her tracks, growled and raised both her arms in the air and extended both her middle fingers.

“You are so sexy when you are mad and horny,” I grinned.

“You are infuriating when you’re an asshole!” she snarled. Chiara stopped walking, turned around and waited for me to catch up to her. “I was going to invite you to watch Bob tie me at his salon tomorrow evening, but now you can forget about it.”

Her impromptu declaration caught me off guard. “Whispering Rope Bob, the con-artist?” I laughed to hide my distaste for the man. I never understood the need to, and why an adult would give themselves a moniker.

Chiara noticed the edge in my voice. “Yes,” she grinned. She was pleased with herself at successfully getting a rise out of me.

“He’s a flake, Chiara.” The words came out harsher than I had wanted them to.

“His approach to rope bondage isn’t sexual. Or, might I add, as perverted and twisted as yours. It’s designed to be therapeutic and artistic. I happen to find it endearing that he’s a sensitive soul,” she countered.

I chuckled, “Right, and by endearing and sensitive you surely mean that his fake crying as he gropes unsuspecting women whilst attempting to tie them isn’t sexual in the least to him. Rope bondage is all about sex. Yes, sex can be therapeutic at times; there is irrefutable scientific proof that it is.” I huffed as I tried to stop the images of Bob touching Chiara flashing in my mind. “When was the last time you were tied and didn’t get aroused?”

Chiara has a large sexual appetite and is the perfect rope bottom. She is athletic, flexible, strong, and always in near peak physical condition. Her exercise regimen is rigorous. At forty-five years of age, her tight, toned body is the envy of any woman half her age. She is also an accomplished Rope Top. Chiara teaches Japanese rope bondage in a small, second floor studio she rents. She charges a small fee per class that goes towards the rental of the unit.

“Stop picking on him, Gil. He is sensitive and very in-tune with his emotions and he isn’t afraid of talking about them. You should take notice; women are very attracted to men that aren’t afraid to show emotion.”

I cringed. “Now you’re just busting my balls. I am sure that a minute ago, when you spread your legs and begged me to hit your cunt, it had everything to do with how sensitive I am. I’m a man, and I won’t apologize for it.” I chuckled and asked, “Remind me of his philosophy as to why he refuses to suspend someone? He’s a flake.”

“He’s not a flake. He’s a master of the art of gentle rope bondage. He only teaches and practices floor-ties to keep everyone grounded,” she smiled like a cat that was about to pounce on an unsuspecting canary. “And” she paused a moment and stared me down to ensure she had my complete attention, “I find him charming and very cute. He’s asked me many times to rope bottom for him, and I finally said yes to his offer.” The next words she uttered were filled with venom. “I’m sure Bob would make me come any time I asked him to. I wouldn’t have to beg for it. A girl has to get it where she can, Mr. Renard.” Chiara turned and walked away from me with her head held high towards the exit to the street to emphasize her point.

I wanted to laugh but I couldn’t. “His non-existent rope skills are the equivalent to sleeping pills. If you’ve been having trouble falling asleep, by all means allow him to tie you.” I grunted and added, “Keep everyone grounded - My ass. A deceitful saying is still just a lie.”

“Jealousy is so unbecoming, Gil,” she stopped and turned around, batted her eyes and casually rolled the words off her tongue.

I chuckled, “Jealousy is not what I am feeling at this moment, Chiara. I should participate at Snoring Rope Bob’s open salon. It would be worth it to watch him faint from watching what I’d do to his students; the sensitive soul that he is.”

Chiara smirked and sarcastically asked, “Would you like me to ask Bob if he will allow you to participate?”

I huffed and replied, “I’d rather ask a cannibal for a blow job.” I slipped my arm around Chiara’s waist as she snickered, and I said, “Let’s enjoy the play.”

Poetry in motion.

Just before noon, on Sunday, Chiara called my cellular phone. “Good morning, Chiara,” I greeted her.

“Good morning to you, too, Gil,” she replied. “I met a most delightful young lady at the demonstration last night. I had to call and let you know. She is beautiful to watch as she weaves rope around a body. It’s poetry in motion. Would you like to meet her? I took the liberty of mentioning you to her. She is very interested in meeting you to talk about the not so gentle things you do to women.”

I chuckled, “A student of the Sleeping Rope School wants to meet me? I find that impossible to believe. Anytime I have had the misfortune of running into a group of the flake’s students at an event, I get nothing but icy stares, huffs, puffs and whispers behind my back about that nonsense of toxic masculinity. But, I will admit that I do get a kick out of scaring them whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

Chiara replied in a very uncharacteristic, overly cheerful and passive voice, “Aww, don’t take it personally, Gil. You are a very handsome man that is imposing and sexually threatening. It reasons that some people will have that kind of reaction to you.” Chiara paused and waited for a reply from me. She wanted to gauge if I was aware of her ploy to deflect the conversation from being steered towards her session with Bob. When I didn’t reply to her complimentary remarks, she said, “Back to Megan, she's not a student of Bob's. She is in town for two weeks visiting a friend of hers that takes classes with Bob. She is very cute and incredibly sharp, Gil. I think you'd like her.”

I ignored her offer to meet with the young lady, fought the urge to laugh and asked, “How did you sleep last night, Chiara?”

It took a moment for Chiara to reply. I could clearly picture her jaw clench and her eyes close as she counted silently to ten in her head. “Say it, Gil. I know that smug tone in your voice. Go on; tell me you told me so,” she hissed.

I snickered and replied, “Where would the fun be in that? I want to hear you say the words. That's where all the entertainment is.”

Chiara huffed and hissed, “You are a sadistic prick! Alright, I'll say it. You were right.” Gone was the passive tone in Chiara's voice.

I wasn't going to let Chiara get off that easy. I wanted to wind her up tighter. “What was I right about, Chiara? Please refresh my memory.”

Chiara sighed out loud. “Bob is a flake. He can't tie for shit. He spent more time groping me than handling the rope. There, are you satisfied?”

I snickered, “I am more than satisfied. Thank you.”

Chiara chuckled, “His hands are disgustingly sweaty all the time.”

I laughed out loud, “It just gets better!”

“Are you done now?” Chiara snapped. “Are you interested in meeting Megan, or not?”

“Tell me he cried. Please tell me that he cried while he groped you with his sweaty hands. If he didn't cry, you were denied his full bullshit experience, Chiara.”

“Ugh! You're worse than a child!” Chiara shrieked.

I continued laughing long after Chiara had hung up on me. My thoughts turned to the young lady she had mentioned. Chiara obviously recognized a talent, or something unique in her. She has an eye for picking out the 'out of the ordinary' in people. She is usually right in sensing if an individual has a penchant for sexual acts that veer off the path of the norm. I texted Chiara that I trusted her judgement, thanked her for thinking of me, and that I was indeed interested in meeting Megan.

A few minutes before noon, Chiara called me again. She informed me that Megan could meet me at three that afternoon, at a pub in the downtown core.

I chuckled, “Only if she’s smoking hot.”

“Keep it in your pants, Gil. Megan is looking for a mentor,” she laughed. “She’s sweet. Don’t you dare scare her with your ‘Big Bad Wolf’ routine!”

“Not even just a little fright?” I grinned. “You are well aware it’s not a routine, Chiara. The Big Bad Wolf is a vital component of my charm.”

“No, you may not, Gil!” Chiara scolded me. “I’ll remind you that my grandmother on my father’s side was a gypsy. I’ll put a curse on you if I find out you so much as looked at her sideways. I’m dead serious, Gil.”

I smiled and rubbed my goatee as I asked, “What kind of curse? It might be worth it if I get to scare your sweet and innocent Megan.”

Chiara replied, “The kind of curse that’ll shrivel your cock and balls and turn them to dust. Are we clear?”

“Loud and clear, Ma’am. You are a scary lady, Chiara,” I laughed. “I’m not superstitious but, just to be on the safe side, you have my word that Megan will be introduced only to the gentleman in me.”

“Good boy,” Chiara chuckled.