Bound Romance

A rather young looking woman lay motionless on her side as a man walked very softly around her almost languid form. He paused for a moment and then moved around her again in increment as if he were attached to the hand of a clock centered upon her.

Beneath her was a large vintage Persian Baluch carpet, actually believed hand woven in Afghanistan from an unusually very fine and very soft wool and silk that was so thick and plush it seemed more like a deep red blanket beneath her. Her body actually sank visibly into the thick nap as did his slipper clad feet.

Her eyes were closed as if she were asleep. The room was dimly lit as if only by candles and a fire, yet they were all unlit, only the warm glow of the old incandescent bulbs of a table lamp tacked back into a corner of the space.

The hair of her head was almost purple black and neatly laced in an elaborate French braided knotting that looked like the glossy firm back of a posed Raven. She wore a sparse yet still lovely looking application of almost Gothic appearing make-up. Her eyes were darkly done and very dramatic appearing. Her cheekbones were high and naturally dusted with a seductive color as were her lips that looked stained the color of a fine Clairet.

She looked as if she might have just come from an evening at the Opera. The hour was late enough for that and a romantic dinner after. This was the premier season and the cool winter night lay beyond the black window behind him. It was how he preferred to enjoy her company in public.

The man wore the almost black dark navy blue trousers and white suspenders of a black tie ensemble. His still almost freshly pressed looking white shirt was unbuttoned at his cuffs and rolled up his bared forearms to the elbow. It was also undone at the top button and his untied bowtie hung casually loose at his neck. He wore neither his waist coat nor jacket. These hung neatly in the hall closet with his Chesterfield and a Homburg and silver handled ebony walking stick.

After a few moments she stretched inside the cage of rope that wrapped her lovely body and snuggled around her graceful curves. It was a rough looking rope like harsh sisal but was actually very supple and delicately soft. It was a specially groomed cotton rope dyed an elegant burgundy color that complimented the almost pale white of her literally cream toned skin.

The length of this rope looped and twisted over her body from her shoulders down her torso to her waist. It was knotted in front down her chest and belly many times and more rope wrapped between her legs and looped over her thighs just below her hips. A last separate band wrapped at her ankles and she pulled her bound feet towards her like a child sleeping on its blanket.

The room was silent but for the faint sounds of his steps, a soft melody of chamber string music far in the background and a small sigh of contentment that escaped her lips as each knot caressed her with tender confinement.

The twin lines that wrapped over her beautifully smallish breasts captured her firm nipples and lifted her flesh to give her bosom prominence. Her aroused nipples were a deep reddish-pink and looked like plump cherries squeezed between the twin pairs of ropes beside them. Hidden between her closed legs were more knots that strategically rested over her sensitive places and her motion tugged them into these with firm stimulation.

Her arms were snug behind her back. The rope held them in bondage and made her look more helpless. Yet her body seemed to move very fluid within the rope work that encapsulated her and her motions as well as those of ropes brought her audible pleasure as her sighs continued every so often during the moments that lapsed.

The man moved away from her as if to take in her image like a landscape portrait. In the background was his cigar cooling from neglect as it sat within a large solid silver Art Deco motif ashtray, its fire a forgotten distraction along with his digestif that also warmed in an antique Paris tasting Goblet.

It was such a fine tawny vintage Port too, the color of the Mahogany that paneled the walls and similar to the dark wood floor that peeked out around the border of the rug. He had only taken a few sips as she had stood before him earlier when he sat upon the sofa. Her floor length black faux Russian sable fur coat was open then and revealed her bare bosom.

She had dressed as he had requested in the handwritten note he left on her bed that morning. He had specified her attire to be all in black with the silver and black pearl jewelry, her make-up done spartanly like an old-time Hollywood star going to her latest premier, the coat over her woolen Pencil skirt, stockings of course and no other underwear.

Behind him over his head where he sat on the ornate antique French sofa hung a hand painted near genuine reproduction of the "The Pose" by Falero. A painting he admired because it reminded him of her physical beauty.

Her heels were tucked neatly beside the chair where she had taken them off. Over its back lay her coat, her skirt in a corona at its feet, where, with her stockings rolled like rings near it, she had sat to undress for him. Her garter belt lay beside her skirt where she had tossed it last after standing.

Her string of elegant black pearls were wrapped around his ashtray where he had set them with her other jewelry after she had removed it after she had undressed. She had worn her antique silver set, a bracelet and necklace with pearls, matching earrings, and a simple chain anklet. It matched her wedding band in silver with its larger center diamond and smaller surrounding stones.

The man still watched her as intently as he had when she had stood as if on offer earlier.

Even earlier, with her hair done up and in a tight compact bun, she had felt very elegantly dressed. She adored the coat he had presented her with only the prior evening for this night's date. It was not a real fur of course, as that is now considered crass. Instead it is a perfect feeling artificial one, just as warm and elegant for her, not as cruel for the Sable she thought each time she wore it.

She had then waited on the curb for him to arrive. Even in the dark and with a light drizzle of rain she wished to be no where further from him. She could then imagine the distinct look of his car's headlights, the flash of chrome from the leaping cat on its long rakish hood.

She had held the coat tight against the cold with her gloved hands. They were full Opera length gloves in black satin that he enjoyed she wear out. She stood with her legs close together over her shiny black high-heels inappropriate for the conditions.

She still felt how hard her nipples were as if only the cold night air seeped under the coat. They were wired to her other point of sensitive flesh and it was more her passion than the cold that had stiffened them. The silk of her blouse rubbed them as she moved to keep warm.

They had dined and attended the theater this night. When they returned to the car to drive here, once nestled in the leather of his car's seat, he had asked her to remove her blouse and her camisole and her brassiere. These sat on the back seat of his car.

Part of her dreaded that he would make her remove the coat and bare her naked chest, part of her was anxious to obey this request. She had ridden home bared that way and once more bared herself when she stood before him. It was a ritual he often asked her to agree to indulge him.

Her lover crouched down now and gazed over her entire length from the top of her head to her now curled under toes. Her toes were painted a similar deep red like the ropes and her fingertips matched.

He appeared as mesmerized in thought as she looked pleased in slumber. The silence at the end of the music broke the solitude of the moment.

The woman opened her eyes slowly, as if she were awakening from a dream filled sleep, still caught in the net between the conscious and unconscious. Her mind still intoxicated with pleasures of her night with this man who gazed over her. He had acted as her Master in seeking pleasure tonight. She had behaved as his slave.

Her eyes were dark, almost black, but bright with the luster of polished Hematite. They were gentle and searching as she sought for her lover. Finding his figure over her near her head she turned her neck and her eyes looked for his. Her lips widened to form an unabashed smile of erotic self-awareness.

The man reached out with his left hand and brushed her eyebrow smooth. She bent her neck back and his hand moved closer to her cheek. He brushed her cheek and his fingertips pointed to her lips.

She kissed the very tips of his fore finger, middle finger and ring finger as they passed over her lips. His last finger wore an antique silver signet that matched in its more masculine appearance the ring she still wore upon her left ring finger behind her back. Each an homage to the story of submission and passion they often read from.

"Let me know when you wish to be free," he said in a nearly silent yet clear deep voice.

"Never," her lips moved to silently form her response.

"Be careful what you wish for?" He replied with a subtly devious grin.

"Do you wish to kiss me or slap me?" Her voice now filling her words formed by her lips as her exhale animated her thought.

He could be so very kind and so very cruel. She pondered such idiosyncrasies about him that both disturbed and attracted her to him. His depth of tenderness when he kissed her and capacity for sadism as he simultaneously pinched her flesh. She pondered his ability to challenge her and support her as they explored. Her eyes looked only into his as she pondered which he might choose.