Talkin Stella

Stella sits under a bare bulb. Blonde hair sticks to her damp shoulders. She tells Sam about the last time someone left her in rope until her legs went numb. Sam listens, nods, then starts. He winds coarse hemp around her wrists, crosses the lines over her chest, cinches until her nipples harden from the bite. Stella keeps talking, voice thin. Sam knots off the last loop, then slides a leather halter over her face. The blindfold drops. The gag settles between her teeth. He buckles it tight. Stella’s words turn to wet grunts. Topless, bound from waist to wrists, she twists hard, shoulders rolling, heels digging at the floor. The rope creaks. She pulls until her biceps shake, but the knots hold. She keeps testing them, breath loud behind the gag, every tug making the harness pull tighter across her mouth.