Miranda had been wearing a deceptively demure pink outfit. I say "deceptively" because she wasn't one bit demure. No, she was a bitch, and I mean with a capital B. Now she was bare-ass, her pale form squirming against the white rope that bound her to the wooden desk chair. The points of her nipples were tilted slightly upward, as if daring me to take them in my mouth. "Don't even dream of getting away with this," she hissed furiously.
I smiled and took the big red rubber ball gag out of my valise, then stuffed it firmly between her lips. She gasped and chomped down on the rubber, which I happen to know tastes horrible; her lips and teeth worked in a futile attempt to spit it out. But I buckled the straps behind her head so she couldn't, and since her hands were held firmly to her sides by the rope, all she could do was clench her hands into two tight fists. She was helpless to strike, helpless to get up. There wasn't a sound in the room except tiny gasps of struggle escaping from around the ball. Perfect.
It had been a long week at the paper. Hell, it had been a long year. Again and again, Miranda had gotten the plum assignments, while I was stuck with covering such hot-breaking news items as some CEO being awarded a golfing trophy. The editor's excuse was always the same: "This story means so much to Miranda." Meaning that she would have a shit fit if she wasn't given the good assignments, or as good as they get on a small-town weekly, while I could be relied on to be "understanding." Well, I was tired of being the nice guy who finished last.
Miranda was surprised when I invited her for a cocktail after work, but fortunately she wasn't really suspicious. After a few drinks, she was ready enough to accompany me to the local no-tell motel. We opened a bottle of wine in the room, and I made sure she thought I'd had as much as she had. It didn't take all that long for her to shed her clothes, and that's when I brought out the length of white rope.
At first, she'd just giggled as I tied her to the chair. It was only when she saw the look in my eyes after I tied the last knot that she started to worry. I sat there, unmoving, just watching her, for a long time, letting the worry build into real fear. Would I ever let her go? And that's where this story started.
I'd deliberately bound her with her legs open, each leg tied separately to a leg of the chair, leaving her juicy pink cunt fully open to my gaze. I knelt in front of her and smacked my lips ostentatiously. "Ah. Now you're my captive, and I can do anything I want to you," I said. "I can even make you come in bondage. Screaming."
