Tied & Tickled

Wenona walks in already wet from the walk to the studio. I smile, knowing she’s the type who’ll stay after dark if the ropes are right. I ask what she wants. She picks the tickling before she even hears the other option. Smart girl. We bind her wrists to the beam, feet off the floor, her body swinging like a hooked fish. Every brush of fingers makes her twist hard enough that the cuffs bite. I keep her right on the edge, breath catching, thighs quivering, until she stops laughing and just whimpers for air. When her eyes glaze over, I lower her and motion to the steel tank. Her nipples go tight at the sight. We rig the ankle suspension so her hair nearly brushes the water. Down she goes. One, two, three full dips, the surface breaking over her face each time she kicks. Water runs off her tits when I lift her back up, spit and mascara in streaks. By the fourth dunk, she stops fighting and just hangs, mouth open, waiting for whatever comes next.