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Giving in, who is really in control?...
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,

The guilt

(his palms pushing harder)

The desire.

Her whisper,

Her pleading,

Her beauty,

Her control,

and finally;

Her surrender.


This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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