Most Definitely Knot

Hanging there bound allows me plenty of time to ruminate upon the meaningless of all the stress that had been controlling my body recently. The tight secure knots my Mistress secures me in are the antidote to the anxieties surrounding my current state of unemployment, I feel so useless. Therefore I am deeply grateful that I have such a caring, skilful and dominant girlfriend. Being dutiful and diligent she has constantly been committed to building her skill set so as to be dominant in the bedroom and because of this I willingly submit.

Leaving me alone for a few minutes to take a comfort break, she was working very hard to masterfully run this session topping me with ropes and her trusty whip. The intersections of the rope keeping me in the air were digging into my skin, burning pressure points. Humbling me as I was thinking of her majesty as she relieved herself. Everything she does reinforces her perfection and my conviction in feminine superiority. The current position I am in is allowing me to be wholly present, thoughtlessly, breathing in my body.

The door creaked open and her heels clacked into the playroom. My eyes opened and she looked as beautiful as the first time I saw her, stunning body, but once I took in her face my whole being melted into captivity. Every part of my essence yearned to be hers, tied up and used forever. The expression on her face; stony and expressionless, exudes charisma simply by existing, formed the way it is. When I see her all of the pain that I feel ceases to be painful and is transformed into a burning passion that urges from my heart to my loins. Like an itch that fervently begs attention of the one feeling it. Tension crescendos through the room as our eyes meet and my passion is accompanied by a powerlessness.

She allows me to look at her and appreciate her return from the bathroom taking in her slender waist, toned arms, delicious thighs, round bottom and perky tits. He was enraptured with her. Engrossed in her beauty, his mind ached to be untied so that he could ravish her and make love to her. Unfortunately that was not the lesson being reinforced, being the ice queen she was she felt the sting of his gaze on her as he examined her from his suspension. This displeased her - he was there to manipulate not stare.

As he took her in, fantasising about what lies beneath her lingerie, he had not observed the chain she held. She glares at his as he hangs. No longer can she take the absorption of her form in his pupils. Wishing that the physical was not an aspect of existence, her lovely body begins to shake, the chain followed suit and an inexplicable rage causes her to strike him.

Thwacking him, he became alert. No longer observing his experience was brutally dragged into the present by the cutting assault. His Mistress smiles as she creates a collage of gashes on what she perceives to be his pathetic casing. Karmic balance restored in her mind glad to see him wince.

He pants at the torture being inflicted by this woman he thought of so often. Pain building upon pain, climaxing he emits a lowish squeak that creaks out his jaw. The adrenaline impregnates his eyeball sockets, blacking out his brain. The metal fully forces him to abandon his brain and react animalistic ally. This she enjoys watching. Restoring him to his natural beta position - not a thinking being, simply an animal.

Once her frustrations were exercised she smacked a kiss on his still quivering lips. He kissed her back as though electricity was being sent through him reinvigorating his life force. Like her kiss was all he needed and instantly he was healed. Magic rushed inside of him and his soul broke free of the ties in which he was kept, as he imagined himself melting into her even after she pulled away. Keeping his eyes shut he tried to sustain the aforementioned magic. She looked at his soppiness feeling superior. Loving the power she held over him and laughing to herself she decided to switch up the sensations she inflicted.

Reaching for her feather, tickling was about to commence. A way to play with and alleviate his brutalised nerves. Taking in the light excitement the bound slave could not decide whether his experience called for laughter or tears. So given that he was convicted of neither he determined that he should attempt to conceal any reaction.

'You like that, don't you my slut' she whispered naughtily dusting him with tickles.

'yes mum' He realised what he said. His face turned even redder and he knew now that he wanted to cry. Deeply embarrassed.

'Call me that if you want darling'. Placing her prop on the table she sighed knowing that he probably needed her more than she needed him. She slapped his arse announcing 'Lets get you down from there. So high isn't it?'

More blood than was usual filled his brain so stupid with love and pressure he went to answer the question. She stops him 'don't speak. Show me what you can do with that pretty little mouth of yours and I'll see about getting something for those wounds. But first things first, let's get you down.'

Remembering he was tied up he nodded. And she went about her method of unrigging him, thinking of the relief her itching pussy would receive as he went down on her.

The offer of help was an incentive to do a good job. If she didn't come she decided she'd rub salt into his wounds and laugh as he moaned about it. She loved to see how he responded to her.

So far her resounding observation is that men are pussies.