Vacillation

She swears she’s a total sub. Only a handful of shoots under her belt since college, yet she wants the rope so tight it’ll pin her down and strip every shred of control. I take her at her word. Her elbows slam together, wrists yanked high into a merciless strappado until her shoulders scream and the tendons in her arms stand out like cables. The same rope snakes around her ankles, hauling them back until her body bows into an impossible arch. Sweat beads on her spine; every breath is a ragged rasp behind the thick rubber of the gag. It’s more than she bargained for and she knows it now, eyes wide, fear mixing with the heat that’s flooding her cunt. I roll her onto her side, knees jerked up until she’s trussed like meat ready for the spit. Drool spills around the gag, soaking the floor while I push thick toys into both holes, switch them on, and leave her twisting, helpless, every twitch of muscle driving the vibrations deeper. She wanted tight. She got owned.