They are a good match. The perfect mix of vanilla and kink. What's more, they are both switches: she submissive leaning and he dominant leaning. They each became the balance the other had sought. Most often, their evenings of D/s play are spontaneous with elaborate weekends alluded to and teased in advance. Sometimes though... sometimes one or the other would have a need to submit or dominate. In that event, they have their signals: cock rings for his submission, the cuffs for her submission.
Today, she knows what she needs. Before leaving for work, she leaves the cuffs on the table for him to find, next to the vase of flowers. She pauses to breathe in the heavy, exotic scent of the stargazer lilies, smirking when her eyes fell on the roses. "Screw the roses, send me the thorns" indeed, she thinks. With a smile, she withdraws one rose and slides the stem through the rings on the cuffs. She needs his dominance and discipline tonight. She needs his calm, his strength, the security of bondage. Submission serves to quiet the chaos and anxiety in a way nothing else does. So, she leaves the cuffs where he will see them, and she wonders. He plans.
He sends her teasing texts all day, mostly images. His hand holding the belt. An array of candles. The anchor point in the bedroom ceiling. The spanking bench he had made. The crop. The bouquet; the cuffs are the sign of her need, but it is the rose that captured his imagination. Rope and roses. They still have their thorns, of course. At work, she is distracted, which does not go unnoticed, her colleagues remark on her flushed cheeks (which only made her blush harder). Smiling, she brushes away their concerns. She is more than fine, despite having no idea what to expect. He rightfully expects her to arrive home dripping with need.
She strips on arrival, wearing only her heels. Shivering in the garage, she hangs up her clothes in the wardrobe placed for that purpose. A trail of flower petals marks her path. With a bemused smile at the romantic touch, she follows them to the playroom. The only sound is the clicking of her heels and the whisper of her full thighs brushing together. She doesn't mind the fullness; the brushing of them makes her clitoris thrum with every step. As she approaches the playroom, she notices the sultry sounds of one of their playlists. She casts her eyes down as she makes her way to the center of the canvas tarp in the middle of the room. Canvas tarp? Hmmm, perhaps wax play tonight?
"Remain standing."
His voice. That inflection. The calm, almost stern command. Her knees dip at the resonance. She steadies, parting her legs as required, and folds her arms behind her back, ready for his inspection. With her eyes down, she hasn't yet seen him but she feels the heat of his gaze. She hears the rasp of hemp rope, then feels the heat of his body behind her. He places a sweet kiss on her neck before brushing her hair aside to buckle the collar. His hands glide down her arms, unfolding them to fasten the leather cuffs around her wrists. As each heavy leather circle encloses her, she settles. Sinking to his knees he places her hands on his shoulders for balance. With a kiss on each foot he removes her heels; as sexy as they are, he knows that being physically unstable distracts her and makes her anxious. Rising, he smooths his hands up the outside of her thighs and along her sides, biting back a smile as she tries not to squirm over the ticklish bits. His hands continue up, raising her arms to secure them to the rope overhead.
Legs parted and firmly planted, arms stretched overhead, eyes forward, she feels herself sink deeper into submission. Her reverie breaks with the sharp sting of palm meeting flesh, once on each cheek, lightly pinking her fair skin. The air stirs as he moves into her line of sight at last. He is shirtless, wearing low-slung jeans. Her eyes devour him, smiling slightly when she sees his cock twitch. A snap of his fingers and that stern look has her eyes refocusing forward as he methodically continues his rigging. The rope slips through the ring in her collar and he expertly wraps the length around her body and between her thighs: the coils are tight around her breasts, applying enough pressure to engorge them. The length is passed about her hips and around her pussy, slightly opening her labia. She blushes as the liquid that had been dammed drips down her thighs. He laughs softly, "What a little slut."
After testing to make sure the bindings are not too tight, he moves behind her. Something soft brushes her skin. On a deep breath, the scent of the roses reaches her. He skims the petals over her back pausing to tuck a flower here and there among the ropes. The shutter sound of the camera on his phone is deliberately audible.
"Beautiful."
Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of deep green seconds before feeling the sharp, tickling scratch along her arm. The other. Over her shoulders and along her back, over the pink of her cheeks. The sensation is similar to a pinwheel dragging, rather than being rolled. A thin tracery of lines marks her body as he traces the thorns along her twisting body.
