A Dream of a Red Door Ch. 02

"Open," he said as he held out his hand.

She obediently spat out the cloth. The flavor of her own excitement still filled her mouth.

"Do you need to use the chamber pot," he asked.

The question surprised her, and not in a pleasant way.

Despite her husband's seemingly endless inventiveness, they had never experimented with pleasures along those lines. She couldn't help but look away from the fire and at him with trepidation, punishment be damned. "Jon ..."

He caught her meaning immediately and gave her a firm, but not overly painful, smack on the rump. "Ugh, not for that, just, do you need to go?"

"No," she promptly informed him.

"Put your legs together and stand still."

Putting her legs together was not at all what she had in mind, but she did as he bid. Jon grabbed the enormous coil of rope, and shockingly, knelt down at her feet. When he had satisfied himself with something, he instructed her to rotate towards the mirror. She obliged, and then he began to work.

The first loops went around her ankles, multiple bands to spread the tension around, as he once described it to her, and then Jon cinched them tight ... very tight ... by winding a loop of rope around the center of the bindings to form the cinch. Daenerys had an expectation as to what would come next, but, instead, Jon surprised her by looping another band halfway between knee and ankle, and this one was then cinched quite tight as well. When the third band was placed only at her upper calves, she began to wonder what he was about, and it wasn't until he'd repeated the process enough times that the loops and hitches had reached her upper thighs that she realized what he was doing.

He's weaving a net.

It was certainly an interesting notion, and she had always admired watching him work in and around her body, intent, focused, and ... masculine, but she couldn't help but wonder what the end purpose might be. With how closely he'd bound her legs together, there'd be little opportunity for pleasure for either of them.

However, she'd been surprised in such things before, so she resolved to wait and see.

The loops he placed around her waist mirrored the ones on her legs, but from there the process diverged. In some clever fashion he hitched the rope at the small of her back, then ran a double strand through her legs until the remainder of the long rope was in front of her. If not for his hand on her body, she would have fallen over as he rasped the braided cords through her crotch.

What is he doing?

She had already been sweating, but as he worked, she realized she would soon be drenched.

She watched in the mirror as Jon measured something off on the rope, then he proceeded to tie four or five overhand knots in the double strand of rope he'd passed through her legs. Satisfied with the result, he threaded the rope through the loop around her hips, near her belly button, and carefully, so as not to abrade or burn her skin, pulled the rope through.

Oh, no.

His intent became apparent when the rope pulled taut. The knots he'd made lined up perfectly with the groove of her sex, and although she was standing quite still, she could tell that every motion of her legs would provoke the damn things into rubbing along the center of slit, right on top of the already-sensitive bud Jon had antagonized and then abandoned earlier. Jon tied off the rope near her belly button, and Daenerys realized the knots were there to stay.

She bit her lip and watched, fascinated and horrified, as Jon deftly looped yet another hitch, then reversed course with the rope strands and threaded them back through her crotch and around again to her back. He positioned these reversed strands carefully and pulled them tight so that they settled into the outer edges of her sex.

In mute shock, she examined the sight of what her husband had done. The end result of his efforts was that a knotted rope pulled very tightly through the center of her slit rubbed continuously at her bud, while two other ropes pressed into the sides of her sex to pull it open. If she hadn't been shaved so closely, she might have had some protection, but the Volantene woman's visit had only been a few days ago ... her shaved sex felt vulnerable, exposed, and sensitive.

The ropes were already excruciatingly arousing ...

Next, he pulled her hands behind her back. When they were settled near her waist, he proceeded to quickly wind the rope up her wrists, not stopping until he had covered five or six inches of wrist above her hands. She likened to the sensation to wearing vambraces made of cables. Jon cinched the binds around her wrists, tightening them off, then looped the rope through the one around her waist.

His purpose immediately became apparent. Not only were her wrists now locked together ... she'd have better luck picking up Drogon than getting her hands apart ... but they were firmly welded to the small of her back and every attempt to move them would result in the ropes through her womanhood being jostled, disturbed, and tightened. She twisted her hands, and while her wrists stayed exactly where they had been placed, as she had feared, the knots slid against the center of sex. Sweat dripped from erect nipples, from her face, and something that wasn't sweat steadily dripped down her thighs.

Jon's progress went much more quickly now. More bands followed around her upper stomach, then slightly above that, then just below her breasts, then just above. All the while Jon's hand brushed against her skin, and the rope worked to frustrate her, and she wanted, no she needed him to kiss her so badly, and he wasn't even finished tying her and she felt like she was coming apart.

With every loop around her torso, he welded her arms against her body and then, after he'd finished tightening each cinch, he began to pull her elbows together. Once they were in the spot he wanted, he counter-cinched the ropes on her torso to ensure she would be unable to move or flex her elbows in either direction. The positioning was evidence of Jon's cunning knowledge of the limits of her endurance, as even though her elbows were helplessly linked together behind her back, they were far enough apart that he knew it wouldn't become painful over time.

She might not be able to move her arms, but at least they wouldn't hurt.

With her arms now essentially useless, Jon looped the rope casually under one of her shoulders, over her neck, and back down the other shoulder, all the while winding them in and out of the two rope strands above and below her breasts. When he was done, her chest was framed by tight bindings and rather pleasantly squeezed within a harness of rope. Jon tied the rope off at the base of her neck, and he looked quite well pleased with himself, if rather tired, when he stepped back to admire the sight.

Daenerys stared in shock at her image in the mirror. A neatly woven web of rope covered her from her neck all the way to her ankles. She dared not move, because she could not catch herself if she lost her balance, nor did she wish to move as every motion would disturb and oscillate the ropes wound through her crotch. In her opinion, her arms being pulled back while her breasts were uplifted and squeezed in their little harness created a rather impressive sight.

Jon, as if also enjoying the view of her chest thus presented, stood behind her and reached his hands around to caress her body. She moaned and leaned back against him.

"Jon ..." she whispered.

"Struggle," he whispered back as he tweaked nipples rendered particularly sensitive by the squeezing pressure of the ropes.

Daenerys squirmed in her rope cocoon at his request even though she desperately did not want to struggle, because any movement, most particularly of her hands, sawed the rope through her sex and set off a torrent of sensations through her body. Struggling was pointless anyway. Her legs were stuck, her arms were more than stuck, and her womanhood was trapped within its cruel nest of ropes. She had never in her life felt so completely, totally, and utterly helpless.

Paradoxically, when Jon picked her up, she also wasn't sure if she'd ever in her life felt more safe.

He laid her on the bed, then proceeded to blow out all the candles in the room, leaving them lit only by the hearth and the light streaming in through the un-curtained balcony. She watched Jon with perplexed curiosity as he undressed down to his smallclothes and then yawned. If she was not mistaken, he very much appeared to be going to bed.

"What are you doing?" she finally dared to ask.

He reached down and she squeaked when he squeezed her nipple. "No talking," he grumbled. "I'm terrible at magic, and it took a lot out of me. I need my sleep."

I don't believe you.

Daenerys concluded that this was a test of her patience, so she waited silently to see what Jon might do next, but all he proceeded to do was to crawl into bed next to her. He bent over her and the eyes that had looked so dead earlier were tender as he gazed into hers, and then he kissed her long and deeply while he ran a hand lovingly on the collar around her neck. She returned the kiss and waited to see if his hand might sneak lower, but when the kiss was finished, she was left wanting.

He rolled her on her side away from him, which was not what she desired, then he positioned himself next to her. Jon seemed to care not at all that she was coated with sweat as he pulled the blanket over them and draped his arm across her protectively. Daenerys found herself wondering if her husband had forgotten that his wife was very, very much still in need of the release he'd denied her earlier in the evening.

Is he teasing me?

While variety was to be expected, Daenerys's body had become rather attuned to the various methods her husband employed ... but tonight was entirely different. Jon had seemed to loathe to cause her any pain, which she didn't mind, but he also didn't appear to be interested in seeing to any of her body's needs, which wasn't fine.

She was on the brink of inquiring as to his intentions, punishment be damned, when he spoke. "Daenerys, if your hands start to go numb, you wake me." He pulled her tightly against him, as if to drive home that he was serious. "Do you understand?"

"Jon, I understand, but what are you ..."

"Go to sleep," he interrupted her in a firm tone that brooked no disagreement. "Tomorrow morning will be here before you know it."

Her mouth flopped open as she considered his words. With the ropes and his arm around her, she couldn't do anything. Just for curiosity's sake, she gently, so as not to overly jostle the ropes between her legs, tried to move her arms. They were utterly and completely fixed behind her back. She moved her legs around, and while she could somewhat flop them back and forth, she had no way to try to create the necessary friction in the area that needed it.

Sleep?

Jon, aggravatingly enough, was snoring within minutes, but she found sleep slow in coming, though she did try to lie still and rest.

Minute by minute, the pressure continued to build in her sex. The arousal was pitiless, and every time she shifted the knots would grind against the center of her pleasure. Slowly and steadily, she leaked into the cords imprisoning her warmth, and that only made the situation worse, as the liquid made it easier for the knots to slide back and forth. Even if she stopped breathing, the knots continued their insidious, slow, tortuous work.

A large lock of hair had drifted across her face and glued itself via sweat across her eye. She tried to blow it out of the way, but much like everything else about her situation, she was powerless to do anything about it.

She flexed her wrists a few times, attempting to see if possibly she could move the ropes away from regions that were growing too sensitive for her to tolerate any further stimulation. At the movement, Jon snuffled, pulled her a bit more closely, then went back to sleep. Daenerys bit her lower lip to keep from whimpering when the motion of her wrists pulled the knots even tighter against her slit. The thought occurred to her that maybe she could stimulate herself to release. Jon would be angry, but hopefully not too angry.

She moved her hands back and forth while simultaneously trying to bend and then stretch her legs. This increased the intensity of the knot movement, and for a moment, she thought it might be enough, but it wasn't ... it wasn't enough, and no matter what she did, she realized, she was simply bound too tightly.

The realization that she would not be able to climax on her own didn't provide any form of catharsis. The brutal knots just kept sliding and slithering through defenseless folds and over the indignant kernel of need which all the while grew ever more sensitive. After perhaps an hour, maybe two, Daenerys was quite certain that she was now able to individually identify each tormenting fiber of the knotted rope. When she was on the verge of assigning them names to keep from losing her mind, she decided that Jon could not possibly have intended for her to suffer in this way, and even if he had, she couldn't take it any longer.

She tried not to sound hysterical when she finally spoke. "Jon," she said into the night, and she wondered if her voice was as frenzied to his ears as they were to hers.

He murmured softly in reply.

"Jon!" she said more loudly, and this time the fever pitch in her voice was unmistakable.

Ever the warrior, he woke up quickly. He raised himself on one arm and looked at her. "Are you alright?" He reached down and roughly grasped her hands, which made the situation with the knots nestled like twisting demons in the groove of her sex even worse. "Have your hands gone numb?"

She twisted her wrists the few inches the rope vambraces allowed and grabbed at his hands. If she hadn't been such a sweaty, pathetic ball of lusty need, she might have commented on how touching his concern for her safety was. Instead, in a shrill, warbling tone, she informed him, "My hands are fine."

He sat up further and the light of the moon was sufficient for her to see the puzzled look on his face.

"What then?" he asked.

"Jon, it's too much," she said, and she couldn't help but keep a plaintive, feeble whine from her voice. "Really, I'm serious. Please."

He laughed, and she felt like strangling him for being amused at her sweat-soaked, frothy, writhing frustration.

"Jon, really, please ... please ..." She wriggled as much as she could. "I can't take it anymore. If you want me to beg, I'll beg, anything ... please."

He laughed again and laid back down. "Fine," he said as he draped his arm back over her. "You don't need to beg. Go ahead."

She craned her neck towards him in confusion. "Go ahead what?" she spat out.

He lifted his head again. "Your hands are tied that way so you can amuse yourself with the knots, so go ahead. I don't mind. He put his head down and snuggled against her. "I'm sure it won't take you long."

If I could do it myself, I would have by now!

"I can't!" she trilled at him. "The ropes are too tight and if I try it just makes things worse!

He immediately sat back up. "You tried without asking? What did I tell you about that?" She wanted to shriek at him to shut up and help her.

He reached across her hip, plucked at one of the demonic strands that held her slit open for the knots to do their work, and she realized she was on the verge of breaking down into tears and gibbering. He continued, "You don't get to be out there playing tickle the valley when I'm not watching, it ruins all our fun."

"JON," she howled as she thrashed in the ropes, "please, I think I'm going mad."

Her intentional and calculated use of that particular adjective provoked the reaction she sought. He drew the blanket away, sat up, and rolled her onto her back. The effect of the ropes on her sex as her hands were trapped beneath her hips was yet another level of hell for her to endure. She knew she had to look a sight, entire body drenched in sweat, hair soaked, and she could feel her eyes red and bulging in their sockets. She breathed heavily, gasping to get enough air as her need strangled her.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes!" she said as she nodded vehemently. Tears began to run from her eyes as she looked up at him. His eyes, which had been amused, seemed more caring now. "Please, Jon."

He laid a hand on her belly and if she could, she would have grabbed it and jammed his fingers against her groin.

"The simmering seems to have softened you up a bit," Jon observed. "Now, would my little queen like some help?"

He knew she hated that nickname with a fiery passion, and that she hated even more the response he expected when he used that phrase.

She didn't care as she nodded wildly. "Yes! Yes, please, your little queen would like your help!" She bucked her hips towards him as her tears began to flow more freely.

He didn't bother to untie her, that would have taken too long, instead he grabbed a small, sharp knife he kept in a cupboard below a table set near his side of the bed. He'd used it a few times in emergencies, when something went numb or cramped unexpectedly, and then he carefully ... very carefully ... cut loose the strands he'd used to trap her sex.

Jon manipulating the knots was almost enough, all by itself, to trigger her release. Her hips arched off the bed and she moaned and sobbed as the hideous ropes were plucked free, and as soon they were gone, she felt as though her nub and lips were bristling with outrage at their prior confinement.

He laid his right leg over her knees to pin her down, then shifted slightly so his hand had a better angle to the destination she prayed it would be seeking soon. As much as she could, which wasn't much, she forced her thighs apart so that he could work more quickly. Her sex leaked and pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

"Daenerys, you don't need to let it get this bad before you say something," he said softly as he gently began to stroke the center of her shaved cleft.

Shut up and keep going!

A single whining mewl left her throat when Jon, immediately after he touched her, looked down in surprise, pulled his hand back, and held it up. Her well-churned, silky secretions glistened thickly from where they clung to the entire side of his palm.

"Don't stop!" she pleaded.

He obliged her by lowering his hand again, and this time more vigorously focused on the small, tension filled spot that was screaming to her entire body that it would be ignored no longer.

Every limb strained involuntarily against the ropes and her eyes rolled back in her head while her eyelids began to flutter. "oh ... oH ... OH!" she said, with the final word a near shriek.

When Jon realized how much noise she was about to make, he clamped his other hand firmly over her mouth and pressed her head against the bed. He stroked harder with the fingers massaging the center of her groove, and then Daenerys felt the excruciating pressure finally give way.

She tried to scream, but the hand against her mouth reduced the sound to a muffled wheeze, and then dimly, through the convulsions that had just begun to wrack her body, she realized she couldn't possibly get enough air through her nose, which undoubtedly Jon did not realize, or he wouldn't have covered her mouth. Her husband was fiendishly inventive, always finding new and interesting ... games ... as he sometimes called them, for her to participate in, but he had seen men hanged, and Jon did not consider denying breath to the woman he loved to represent an enjoyable pastime.