Façade  She walked in looking like that, and he could do nothing but smirk. A hand came

Façade  She walked in looking like that, and he could do nothing but smirk. A hand came to his chin, running a few fingers over stubble, and he let his eyes wander up and down. Frills and lace and everything in between, just as innocent and adorable as he knew she would never be. It was a façade, just more stage dressing for the theatre. She looked the part.  But things go off script very quickly. He’d planned on using the cuffs tonight, encasing her wrists in metal and letting her chafe, giving her something to remember him by as the days seeped past, coagulating into frustrated boredom and wistful thought. He wanted to remind her when he wasn’t around, but cuffs weren’t appropriate, not when she looked like that. It was too natural, too soft and fragile, for something so hard. At least, not that kind of hard. So he took out the rope, feeling the coarseness in his fingers, the way it frayed and twisted, imagined the sound, the slight creak of it, as he tied and tightened it. Her eyes watched it with all the interest of the paranoid prey. He smiled some more, and she bit her lip. Innocence. Bald faced, feigned innocence. For a moment, he could almost believe it, that she might have regressed, shrugged off all those experiences and slipped back into a role she hadn’t fit for a long time.  But then there was the flicker of the smile, excited expectation, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. She was there, the one he knew, and he was going to break her the way he’d broken her so many times before.  “Turn.” He stated, and she did it just as he knew she would. Arms already crossed, wrists pressed tight against one another. He started to bind, wrapping the rope over itself again and again, drawing it tighter and tighter until the rope locked against itself, and then he tied it off. There would be more, around her legs, her belly, maybe even her neck, but tying was as much about rhythm as it was construction; bursts of action interspersed among tranquillity, letting it all sink in, letting her appreciate it. Letting him. Savouring the way she’d squirm, eager for more but too embarrassed to ask for it. He could savour what little freedom she had left, too, revelling in the physicality of it, the freedom for his hands to wander, find every little soft spot that littered her body, and press, and push, and stroke. The rope would get in the way, restraining him almost as much as it restrained her. But there would be exposed patches, great swathes of vulnerable flesh. In time.  So, for now, he enjoyed her. Enjoyed the little sounds she made, the whimpers, the groans, the way she’d grin and then pout, in a split second, every little facet of her personality tapped and drawn out, triggered and trapped by his fingers. He kissed her, just this once, just to let her know. And she kissed back. Soft against his firm, and he smirked all over again.  He was looking forward to seeing that façade melt away, and getting to the truth of it. He always looked forward to that. -- source link

More pics about