Prolonged Suffering

She stays trussed up for hours. Rope bites into her ass as the hook drags her backward every time she twitches. A thick gag presses her tongue flat and muffles whatever sounds she tries to make. Blonde hair sticks to her face while the rest of her stays stretched out, open, waiting. He takes his time. Adjusts a knot here. Adds tension there. She can’t move, can’t complain, can only ride the ache that keeps growing with each slow adjustment. This isn’t the quick, brutal kind. It’s the long game. The kind that makes her endurance the real test and her helplessness the toy he keeps winding tighter.