A rather young looking woman lay motionless on her side as a man walked very softly around her almost languid form. He paused for a moment and then moved around her again in increment as if he were attached to the hand of a clock centered upon her.
Beneath her was a large vintage Persian Baluch carpet, actually believed hand woven in Afghanistan from an unusually very fine and very soft wool and silk that was so thick and plush it seemed more like a deep red blanket beneath her. Her body actually sank visibly into the thick nap as did his slipper clad feet.
Her eyes were closed as if she were asleep. The room was dimly lit as if only by candles and a fire, yet they were all unlit, only the warm glow of the old incandescent bulbs of a table lamp tacked back into a corner of the space.
The hair of her head was almost purple black and neatly laced in an elaborate French braided knotting that looked like the glossy firm back of a posed Raven. She wore a sparse yet still lovely looking application of almost Gothic appearing make-up. Her eyes were darkly done and very dramatic appearing. Her cheekbones were high and naturally dusted with a seductive color as were her lips that looked stained the color of a fine Clairet.
She looked as if she might have just come from an evening at the Opera. The hour was late enough for that and a romantic dinner after. This was the premier season and the cool winter night lay beyond the black window behind him. It was how he preferred to enjoy her company in public.
The man wore the almost black dark navy blue trousers and white suspenders of a black tie ensemble. His still almost freshly pressed looking white shirt was unbuttoned at his cuffs and rolled up his bared forearms to the elbow. It was also undone at the top button and his untied bowtie hung casually loose at his neck. He wore neither his waist coat nor jacket. These hung neatly in the hall closet with his Chesterfield and a Homburg and silver handled ebony walking stick.
After a few moments she stretched inside the cage of rope that wrapped her lovely body and snuggled around her graceful curves. It was a rough looking rope like harsh sisal but was actually very supple and delicately soft. It was a specially groomed cotton rope dyed an elegant burgundy color that complimented the almost pale white of her literally cream toned skin.
The length of this rope looped and twisted over her body from her shoulders down her torso to her waist. It was knotted in front down her chest and belly many times and more rope wrapped between her legs and looped over her thighs just below her hips. A last separate band wrapped at her ankles and she pulled her bound feet towards her like a child sleeping on its blanket.
The room was silent but for the faint sounds of his steps, a soft melody of chamber string music far in the background and a small sigh of contentment that escaped her lips as each knot caressed her with tender confinement.
The twin lines that wrapped over her beautifully smallish breasts captured her firm nipples and lifted her flesh to give her bosom prominence. Her aroused nipples were a deep reddish-pink and looked like plump cherries squeezed between the twin pairs of ropes beside them. Hidden between her closed legs were more knots that strategically rested over her sensitive places and her motion tugged them into these with firm stimulation.
Her arms were snug behind her back. The rope held them in bondage and made her look more helpless. Yet her body seemed to move very fluid within the rope work that encapsulated her and her motions as well as those of ropes brought her audible pleasure as her sighs continued every so often during the moments that lapsed.
The man moved away from her as if to take in her image like a landscape portrait. In the background was his cigar cooling from neglect as it sat within a large solid silver Art Deco motif ashtray, its fire a forgotten distraction along with his digestif that also warmed in an antique Paris tasting Goblet.
It was such a fine tawny vintage Port too, the color of the Mahogany that paneled the walls and similar to the dark wood floor that peeked out around the border of the rug. He had only taken a few sips as she had stood before him earlier when he sat upon the sofa. Her floor length black faux Russian sable fur coat was open then and revealed her bare bosom.
She had dressed as he had requested in the handwritten note he left on her bed that morning. He had specified her attire to be all in black with the silver and black pearl jewelry, her make-up done spartanly like an old-time Hollywood star going to her latest premier, the coat over her woolen Pencil skirt, stockings of course and no other underwear.
Behind him over his head where he sat on the ornate antique French sofa hung a hand painted near genuine reproduction of the "The Pose" by Falero. A painting he admired because it reminded him of her physical beauty.
Her heels were tucked neatly beside the chair where she had taken them off. Over its back lay her coat, her skirt in a corona at its feet, where, with her stockings rolled like rings near it, she had sat to undress for him. Her garter belt lay beside her skirt where she had tossed it last after standing.
Her string of elegant black pearls were wrapped around his ashtray where he had set them with her other jewelry after she had removed it after she had undressed. She had worn her antique silver set, a bracelet and necklace with pearls, matching earrings, and a simple chain anklet. It matched her wedding band in silver with its larger center diamond and smaller surrounding stones.
