Walking the Walk

He worked her like any patient handler works an animal that still thinks it runs the show. She pushed, flashed attitude, waited to see when he’d finally crack. He let her run until the moment suited him. Then he put her in rope. Once her wrists were cinched behind her back and her ankles spread, the drip started. Thick strands slid down her thigh before he even touched her. Every tug of the knots made her cunt clench and leak harder. She knew what came next: real pain, no warm-up, the kind only a mean son of a bitch can deliver. The helplessness hit her first. She tested the bonds, felt the give that wasn’t there, and her clit throbbed in answer. She could already feel the cane he hadn’t picked up yet. That thought alone kept her dripping, kept her coming back, kept her bratty little ass ready for whatever he decided to do to it.