Rope and Roses

They are a good match. The perfect mix of vanilla and kink. What's more, they are both switches: she submissive leaning and he dominant leaning. They each became the balance the other had sought. Most often, their evenings of D/s play are spontaneous with elaborate weekends alluded to and teased in advance. Sometimes though... sometimes one or the other would have a need to submit or dominate. In that event, they have their signals: cock rings for his submission, the cuffs for her submission.

Today, she knows what she needs. Before leaving for work, she leaves the cuffs on the table for him to find, next to the vase of flowers. She pauses to breathe in the heavy, exotic scent of the stargazer lilies, smirking when her eyes fell on the roses. "Screw the roses, send me the thorns" indeed, she thinks. With a smile, she withdraws one rose and slides the stem through the rings on the cuffs. She needs his dominance and discipline tonight. She needs his calm, his strength, the security of bondage. Submission serves to quiet the chaos and anxiety in a way nothing else does. So, she leaves the cuffs where he will see them, and she wonders. He plans.

He sends her teasing texts all day, mostly images. His hand holding the belt. An array of candles. The anchor point in the bedroom ceiling. The spanking bench he had made. The crop. The bouquet; the cuffs are the sign of her need, but it is the rose that captured his imagination. Rope and roses. They still have their thorns, of course. At work, she is distracted, which does not go unnoticed, her colleagues remark on her flushed cheeks (which only made her blush harder). Smiling, she brushes away their concerns. She is more than fine, despite having no idea what to expect. He rightfully expects her to arrive home dripping with need.

She strips on arrival, wearing only her heels. Shivering in the garage, she hangs up her clothes in the wardrobe placed for that purpose. A trail of flower petals marks her path. With a bemused smile at the romantic touch, she follows them to the playroom. The only sound is the clicking of her heels and the whisper of her full thighs brushing together. She doesn't mind the fullness; the brushing of them makes her clitoris thrum with every step. As she approaches the playroom, she notices the sultry sounds of one of their playlists. She casts her eyes down as she makes her way to the center of the canvas tarp in the middle of the room. Canvas tarp? Hmmm, perhaps wax play tonight?

"Remain standing."

His voice. That inflection. The calm, almost stern command. Her knees dip at the resonance. She steadies, parting her legs as required, and folds her arms behind her back, ready for his inspection. With her eyes down, she hasn't yet seen him but she feels the heat of his gaze. She hears the rasp of hemp rope, then feels the heat of his body behind her. He places a sweet kiss on her neck before brushing her hair aside to buckle the collar. His hands glide down her arms, unfolding them to fasten the leather cuffs around her wrists. As each heavy leather circle encloses her, she settles. Sinking to his knees he places her hands on his shoulders for balance. With a kiss on each foot he removes her heels; as sexy as they are, he knows that being physically unstable distracts her and makes her anxious. Rising, he smooths his hands up the outside of her thighs and along her sides, biting back a smile as she tries not to squirm over the ticklish bits. His hands continue up, raising her arms to secure them to the rope overhead.

Legs parted and firmly planted, arms stretched overhead, eyes forward, she feels herself sink deeper into submission. Her reverie breaks with the sharp sting of palm meeting flesh, once on each cheek, lightly pinking her fair skin. The air stirs as he moves into her line of sight at last. He is shirtless, wearing low-slung jeans. Her eyes devour him, smiling slightly when she sees his cock twitch. A snap of his fingers and that stern look has her eyes refocusing forward as he methodically continues his rigging. The rope slips through the ring in her collar and he expertly wraps the length around her body and between her thighs: the coils are tight around her breasts, applying enough pressure to engorge them. The length is passed about her hips and around her pussy, slightly opening her labia. She blushes as the liquid that had been dammed drips down her thighs. He laughs softly, "What a little slut."

After testing to make sure the bindings are not too tight, he moves behind her. Something soft brushes her skin. On a deep breath, the scent of the roses reaches her. He skims the petals over her back pausing to tuck a flower here and there among the ropes. The shutter sound of the camera on his phone is deliberately audible.

"Beautiful."

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of deep green seconds before feeling the sharp, tickling scratch along her arm. The other. Over her shoulders and along her back, over the pink of her cheeks. The sensation is similar to a pinwheel dragging, rather than being rolled. A thin tracery of lines marks her body as he traces the thorns along her twisting body.

"Squirming already? I haven't even started."

Wide-eyed, she watches as the thorns trace red lines over her swollen breast, poised over her nipple. So focused is she on the thorns that she gasps and jumps when the pinwheel rolls over the other breast, up the sensitive underside of her arm then down the other. He tap-tap-taps the stem and thorns against her breast and nipple, all the while rolling the Wartenburg wheel. Discarding the thorns, he smirks as the wheel runs agonizingly slowly. Lightly then firm, then light, in a meandering path down her belly. Her movements cease. She holds her breath for a moment, but she can't hold back a whimper as the wheel prickles over her labia before oh so lightly running over the tip of her clit.

Her eyes are glassy now, pupils dilated. Submission, bondage, and pleasurable pain are addictive cocktails that she would never dream of quitting. He drops the wheel and falls to his knees and cradles her hips. Inhaling deeply, he takes in the heady scent of her arousal before plunging two fingers into her dripping cunt.

"Needy, greedy, little cat!"

The exclamation is both praise and admonishment; the light degradation deepens her blush. Overcome with the need to taste her, his teeth close on the flesh at her hip, sucking, knowing he will leave a lovely purple mark. All the while he keeps fucking her hard, two fingers just right, and she rocks in the restraints. Just as she is about to cum, he withdraws. Her moan at the thwarted orgasm is a delight. He could swear he saw her clit throb. Standing before her, he tastes one finger. Watching his sucking mouth avidly, she leans toward him for a kiss when he backs away. "Oh no, little cat. Not yet", he says with a grin, wiping the second finger above her lip.

She takes a deep breath as he moves away, scenting the evidence of her pleading pussy. The intermission pulls her from the subspace and pre-orgasmic glow. She starts to wonder what is next when he brings her back to the moment. Back to her submission. She groans and throws her head back as the flogger strikes her ass. She yelps as the crop falls in a sharp counterpoint. Over and over, the flogger is countered with the crop. The falls swirl in figure eights across the tops of her shoulders and the fullness of her ass, then a pop of the crop makes her cry out. Thudding and popping and stinging, making her cunt drip and her mind float. This is what she needed: her entire being focused on him and sensation. He suddenly steps close and she dimly registers rough denim against her burning ass. His arm slips around her, cupping her drenched pussy and circling her clit. His mouth against her ear, he growls one word: "Cum."

A litany of 'thank yous' spill from her mouth as she shakes in his arms. "More, more, one more please", she begs as his other hand tweaks and pinches her nipples hard. The simple "Yes" makes her keen and she spills her honey into his palm. Sagging into the restraints, pleasure and residual pain throbbing, she is suspended in bliss. He holds her securely, swiftly releasing her arms, lowering them. Kissing her neck, he rubs her shoulders before pressing firmly, guiding her to her knees. Growling, his arousal is barely leashed as he commands her to present.

She lowers her chest to the floor, arms allowed to be folded on either side of her face. The light pressure on her bound breasts causes her pussy to clench and thrum. He has not had his release and she is still hungry. His hands smooth down her back, fingers curling into a light scratch, and she arches like the little cat he names her, purring as his nails score her welts. Even with that added burn, she can't help but wag her ass when she hears the whisper of leather sliding through denim when he removes his belt. Crouching before her, he lifts her head with a gentle finger under her chin. She kisses the presented belt and as she does so, she can smell the leather and him. She moans, dreading and relishing the additional thrashing.

SLAP

SLAP

She howls and tears leak from her eyes even as her pussy drips.

"Who does this ass belong to?" As he lands a third spank.

"You, Sir", she gasped.

"Yes, mine" His voice is momentarily tender as he caresses her welting flesh gently. She sways, then stills, mewling when she feels the cold lube and the steady pressure of the plug pressing in.

Who's cunt is this?" His fingers trace her swollen lips as she moans "Yours, Sir."

"Damn right it is."

Without further preamble, he grips the rope on her back and fills her cunt with his cock. "Don't you dare cum until I say so."

As expected, she can barely hold the orgasm at bay; he knows the demand that she not cum is a trigger that will send her into orbit. He fucks her hard. Demanding. Taking his pleasure from her willing body, giving them both exactly what they needed. He feels her tighten, hears her keen, and knows she can hold back no longer. Neither can he.

"Cream my cock while I fill you. You will coat my cock. My balls. And I am going to fill you to overflowing. I want our cum dripping from your cunt."

They cry out in unison as they climax, shuddering, but she is still rocking back. The head of his cock grazes her clit when he withdraws and he feels it pulsing. She needs more, she always needs one more. He moves in front of her, presenting his dripping cock with the simple words, "Clean me." She greedily sucks his cock, hungry for their flavor, swallowing their mingled essence. Burying his softening cock in her mouth, he reaches forward, tugging the plug and fingering her messy cunt to another orgasm. She smiles, licking his fingers clean before he raises her face to his for a long, slow, deep kiss.

Finally sated, he removes the ropes, soothing the marks left behind. She gazes at them, loving the pattern so briefly embedded in her skin. Unlike the fading rope marks, she can tell that her ass will bear the evidence of their play for a few days. They cuddle each other, murmuring. His praise and gratitude for her submission are as much a balm for her as the lotion he will gently massage into her skin after their shower. Likewise, she thanks him for his dominance, for his control, for calming her storms. They are both at peace and utterly content. Until a stomach rumbles, and they realize snacks are in order. He helps her up, laughing at the rose petals scattered on the floor, thrashed apart from the flogging. Tonight has been one for the books.