Ropes

The following contains sexual situations and ideas that may not be suitable for minors.  As always, click at your own risk.



You look at me with curiosity, easily reading my body language. "What are you thinking about?" You ask. For some reason it takes me a long time to answer, but the longer I wait to speak, the more I can feel them, coiling around my wrists and ankles.
"Ropes." I whisper, and you stare at me, amused.
"Is that all?"
I'm breathing a little harder now. "Not exactly."
"Hmmm." You think a moment while staring at something I can't see, then say, "Show me.
Show me."
Oh my god.
I'm already naked, sittting on the bed in that position you seem to like, with my legs spread wide but my knees bent so that I can keep the bottoms of my feet pressed together. Normally I keep my hands in front of me, but now the ropes around my wrists are tightening and pulling my hands behind me. The ropes at my ankles are dragging my feet into a new position as well, back and under my ass so that I'm on my knees but still with my legs wide apart and my feet together. My arms straighten and my body leans back as the bonds around my wrists merge and then start moving closer to those around my ankles. I end up with my body arched backward, trying to divide the strain by holding myself up between my shoulders and my knees, unable to see anything but the headboard of my bed and the inside of my eyelids. I know you are staring at my exposed sex, the position of my legs opening me up so that you can see every inch of me. I get wetter and wetter, feeling your eyes on me, right on the edge of panic and passion, too scared to say anything now for fear of what I may inspire you to do.
How long do you leave me like this? I can't keep time in this state. All I have to go on is the strain in my body, and I unconscioulsy start rocking back and forth to try and relieve the pressure on my shoulders and knees. I don't realize I'm doing it until your voice stops me.
"Freeze." You say. "And don't move again until I tell you that you may."
Oh my god.
I am frozen. The cold air of my room caresses my body, raising goose bumps even as I start to sweat a little from the strain of holding this position. I can feel my nipples go hard, the sensation of tightening spreading from the center and radiating outward. Cold air breathes past my pussy and I cry out loud as you slowly insert you fingers into me. Not very deep, knuckles bending over the curve of my pelvis. They feel like ice inside me and I cry again, deperately trying not to scream instead. Your fingers move and suddenly I am overwhelmed with pleasure. I can no longer discern what your fingers are doing and it doesn't matter. My pelvis bucks involuntarily, my knees are somehow spreading even wider, and the pleasure knives through the center of my body over and over. I can no longer control the distribution of my weight, my shoulders are now taking all the strain and I can't keep myself from lunging my pelvis higher into the air. I am covered in sweat, no longer cold at all, and your fingers are the hottest cold inside of me.
I don't know how long I can survive this.
I don't know if you can see my face or not, I'm still looking back at the headboard of my bed, but I'm silently begging for release, unable to get the air to beg aloud. You must notice, because the movement of your fingers changes a tiny little bit and suddenly I am orgasming so hard that I'm afraid I'm going to take your fingers off. My whole consciousness revolves around pleasure and pain as my muscles spasm again and again.
The world greys out a little, and when I come to my senses again the ropes are gone and I'm stretched out on my side breathing like I've just run a marathon. My arms and legs are tingling as normal sensation returns and eventually I manage to drag myself upright to look at you again.
Sitting there, smiling in delight at me from the depths of my computer screen, enjoying the show from 700 miles away.
"Ooh," You say. "That gives me an idea..."