Some would feel the ties too much
The slap a form of torture,
But with trust,
Surrender is nothing like weakness,
In fact a gift,
The gasp, a form of rapture.
She would wind the rope herself,
Her wrists at the head of the bed,
Her body supine,
His palms upon her inner thighs, spreading her.
And then his shaft,
Thickly erect between the folds of her wetness, not inside her yet, but teasing her.
She bites her lip,
Turns her face to one side,
Pulls at her bonds,
To remind herself
That she has given herself to him,
And he is hers forever.
The act of flesh, sliding into flesh,
The sweat upon his brow,
(his palms pushing harder)
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