Found Bound: Cloe Hart

Cloe steps out, half an hour late for nothing, and already bored. The air’s heavy and she can feel the ache for rope between her shoulders. She bends to drop change into a beggar’s cup, and the world changes. He moves fast—too fast for a street guy. A thick rope lashes her wrists, pulls them up behind her back, and her cheek hits the wall. She kicks once. He clips her ankles and she drops to her knees on the cold sidewalk. Another loop bites across her chest, crushing her shirt tight to her skin, nipples already stiff from the cold. A red ball gag forces her mouth wide, leather biting at the corners. She tries to curse and only drools. He drags her upright by the hair and marches her through a side door that shouldn’t open. Inside, concrete and pipe smell, footsteps echoing. He strips the shirt off her shoulders, leaves it hanging at her bound wrists, and walks around her with a strap. First stroke lands across her ass, white-hot and sharp. Second across the backs of her thighs. She twists, but every pull of the rope makes it worse and better. Sweat beads under the gag. The beggar is gone; now it’s only this stranger, calm and steady, timing each hit. She leans into the next swing instead of away. Her thighs shake. Her mind tries to decide if the chill in the room is real or if it’s all upstairs in her head, some fantasy she let get too loud. Either way the strap keeps landing, and every strike answers the exact want she stepped outside with.