It's a quiet, hot day in my top floor apartment. The massive leather couch sits in the corner next to the balcony doors. They must be about 8 feet high and 12 feet wide, creating a massive window onto the buzzing city of Bangkok. The doors are open fully, letting in a delicious breeze and carrying in all the sounds of the megalopolis.
I bring my rope in from the bedroom and lay it out on the large white marble coffee table next to the couch. Sitting on the couch wearing your silky robe, you watch me, bemused. You know it means we're going to play, and rope is your favorite kind. You can't help but smile, while also making yourself small in anticipation and slight anxiety - never quite knowing what our play is going to consist of. You don't bother asking, as you know I would never tell you. Taking my time, I deliberately lay out coil after coil of the natural colored hemp from Paris. My favorite rope.
In a calm but firm voice I tell you to sit at the edge of the couch, facing the window. You must think I misspoke, because you slide forward to the edge, but remain facing the living room. I insist, making my voice more threatening this time. I see you becoming even smaller. You slowly shuffle the other way around, your legs dangling just slightly outside the apartment, onto the very narrow balcony that can't be more than 3 and a half feet deep.
Sliding my large body behind the small frame of yours, I grab you by the hips and stand you up, forcing you entirely outside onto the narrow ledge, until you are pressed into the massive steel rail that separates you from a giant drop into thin air. You turn your head to look at me in disbelief. Certainly, I can't intend to do anything here, where everyone can see, in full daylight? Down below, we can both see the people buzzing. They look like tiny ants. So many of them. The taxis turning into the soi opposite ours. The backpackers massing onto the train platform below. You know how well my balcony can be seen from that train platform; you've looked up to me from it several times in the past.
You want to recoil from all those eyes, all that light, but my strong body is right behind you, pressed into your back. You know that even using all of your strength you couldn't budge me. You sink a little, and feel your heart beating faster and faster. And you realize a coil of rope is in my right hand.
Grabbing your tiny left wrist, I flatten it against the heavy metal railing. I'm not brutal, I'm not hurting you, but I'm making it very clear that there is no escaping this. I start applying the hemp around your arm and the railing, slowly, secure in the fact that I have you exactly where I want you and I don't need to rush this. I make a lot of wraps, probably more than strictly necessary, until most of your forearm is swallowed by the fiber, forced to be parallel to the rail. I cinch it tightly, and lock it in an obscure and unusual hitch. I repeat the process with your other arm.
This has the effect of forcing you into a leaning position against the unyielding rail. Slightly afraid of the height, you instinctively pull your legs back further. Of course, I won't allow that, and more rope soon circles your ankles, first the left, then the right, and pushes you as close to the edge as you can possibly get. You have become an ornament on my balcony. If one of the thousands of passersby down below was to look up for a second, what would they see? A beautiful woman in a robe leaning out of her balcony taking in the majestic skyline? Or one being transformed into an object and tormented for my pleasure?
But of course, I don't stop there. To add to the outrage, I lift your robe at the back, and tucking it into a quickly formed lark's head, raise it up until your ass is completely accessible from the back, leaving enough of the robe hanging in the front to hide your pussy from view. You are now doubly exposed: to the crowd and the daylight on one side, to my private enjoyment from the darkness and privacy of the couch on the other. I can feel you trembling, starting to get drunk off the adrenaline pumping into your veins.
