Symon & Michelle: Binding Time

I've written a bunch of stand alone stories that are all about the same couple. They are not in any particular order, and you don't need to know anything about the other stories to understand each one. Some stories are very short, just a few thousand words, and some are longer. Some stories are fairly tame, while others are more intense and explore fetishes, BDSM, and specifically S/m themes. I've put each in the appropriate category so people know what they're reading.

I think of them as 'scenes from a kinky marriage.' I hope you enjoy them.

This one is about rope bondage, and the emotional and energy exchange that can happen between partners during.

As always, I welcome any comments, feedback or constructive criticism from readers.

Thanks, Belle

*~~* *~~* *~~*

Michelle waited for Symon as he had requested, naked on the bed in their basement playroom. Michelle didn't know what Symon had in mind, she only knew that he needed her and that she needed him just as much.

He'd been away, on what was supposed to be a three day business trip to finalize a new account for his firm. But the potential clients had balked at the terms at the last minute, added something unreasonable to their requests, and the trip wound up being a week of tense marathon meetings. Every evening Symon had called her, and she heard his exasperation and exhaustion growing. She'd helped how she could, but nothing but the two of them together would really salve his mood.

The last insult had been an extremely delayed flight due to a bad storm. So it was a red-eye that would finally bring him home to her early Sunday morning. He'd called from the airport just before he boarded and told her that rather than coming to pick him up, he wanted her to just be ready for him.

There were no clocks in the basement. She didn't know what time it was. She wrapped up in a blanket, waiting, giddy and nervous. Horny and excited. A package had come for him while he was away, and she thought she recognized the company, but couldn't quite place it. She'd told him and left it in their home office. She'd just decided to get her phone to find out the time when she heard a door open. Her heart skipped a beat.

Symon yelled out, "It's me, doll. I'll be down in a few minutes."

She tried to yell back, but her voice was caught in her throat. She listened to the thuds of his footsteps as he walked into the kitchen, past the door to the basement. Then the sounds softened and she knew he was in their bedroom, directly above her. She tossed off the blanket, kneeling at the edge of the bed.

Michelle was trembling in anticipation by the time she heard the familiar squeak of the basement door closing and Symon's tread down the steps. He walked through the door to the room, clad only in his favorite boxer briefs, carrying a bag and the package that had been delivered. She jumped off the bed and Symon dumped his belongings on the nearest counter. She practically ran to him and he swept her up; he spun her around like they'd been apart for months. He put her back on her feet and hugged her to him; she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down for a long kiss.

His hand slipped down her back and grabbed her ass, then one arm held her waist while he spanked her forcefully. She wriggled her hips against him, into him and shoved her tongue in his mouth.

When they had to come up for air, he held her head in his hands.

"Has it only been a week?" he asked. "My god, I missed you."

She leaned into him, fitting her body against his.

"We've gotta stop doing this. We've each been gone for a week in the past two months. How the hell did that happen?"

"I don't know. Let's not let that happen again."

She reached around and smacked his ass, hard, once. "Deal."

His eyes widened for a second and then he laughed. "You're gonna pay for that."

She pushed away from him, stuck out a hip and put her hand there. "God, I hope so."

He turned and picked up the stuff from the counter, walking over to the dining table. He dumped out the bag, and Michelle saw a variety of snack food, the makings for sandwiches, and various bottled drinks. She helped him put the food away, shivering in delight that this meant an extended session of playing.

Then he picked up the box, took her hand, and walked over to the two armchairs with the table between them. He pulled out a utility knife and slit the tape on the box. He pulled out hanks of hemp rope, dyed in black and red. In all, Michelle counted four hanks of each color. That added to their already considerable collection of rope, and as Michelle watched, Symon went to that cabinet and selected several more bundles, putting them all together on the table. Each rope was twenty feet long, and they were prepared and sold by a reputable company, coming ready for use.

Michelle picked up one of the bundles of black rope, running it through her fingers, twisting an end around, and admiring the quality and the heft of it. She smiled broadly and looked at Symon. He sat in one of the armchairs, and when she really looked at his face she saw the tension still there. She felt the stress rolling off of him, the frustration. She took a step toward him and he pulled her onto his lap so she faced him, straddling his legs. She sunk down, scooting close to him, getting comfortable. He reached for her, wrapping his arms around her waist and back, and pulling her to him.

"I want to feel your tits," he declared, simply. She knew he didn't mean with his hands.

She arranged herself so that her breasts were pushed up and compressed between their two torsos. He wrapped his hands higher, behind her shoulders, and pulled her more closely to him. She scooted forward more, pressing her pelvis into his as well and stretching her arms around his neck. His head fell back resting on her forearms and he closed his eyes. But she didn't feel him relax; his arms and hands continued to shift and move around, never quite settling comfortably anywhere.

He opened his eyes again, staring at the ceiling. She brushed her fingers through his hair, and he shook his head as though irritated. Then he sighed, squeezed her into a hug and said, "Sorry."

Michelle stopped moving, hoping that her own easy breathing would help him relax. Then she thought about the rope; she thought about the careful and methodical way he'd bind her. She waited him out, saying nothing, enjoying the heat off his skin, the faint musk of his sweat, the feel of his chest hair on her flesh. They sat there, still, for some unknown amount of time. He squeezed her to him again, then patted her butt. He slipped his hands up her shoulder and gently pulled her back.

He reached for the nearest bundle of rope and cut off a few inches.

"What's that thing you do with your hair?" he asked. "A braid, but it's attached to the back of your head?"

She stared at him for a second. "You mean a French braid?"

She mimed parting her hair and twisting sections over each other.

"Yeah. That, I guess." He put his hands loosely on her thighs. "Can you sit here and fix your hair like that? Or do you, I dunno, need a mirror?"

Michelle shook her head. "No mirror. You want just one braid, straight down the back? Or something—"

Symon was already nodding. "One braid is fine. I want to watch while you do it."

She shrugged, "Ok. But I always wind up closing my eyes."

"That's fine. I just never get to watch."

She canted her head even as she reached up and slipped her fingers under the hair at her crown. "It never occurred to me that you'd want to."

She kept working the sections, over and under each other. She closed her eyes, and heard him say, earnestly. "Sometimes I think it's magic, how you make all that hair of yours disappear."

"No magic. Just a skill a woman needs, if she's got as much hair as I do."

It didn't take long, and soon Michelle was weaving the main section of the plait, the tail that would hang down her back. When she got to the end, Symon handed her the piece of rope, and she had him help her tie it securely so it was fastened. Even tightly braided, the tail of her hair hung down almost to her waist. Symon reached for it and tugged, watching Michelle's head turn the other way.

"Two of these," he mused. "They'd be like reins."

"Don't get any ideas."

He laughed. "Too late."

He glanced over at the other table. "Let's eat, I just realized I'm starving."

*~~*

While Michelle prepared sandwiches and drinks, Symon's hands rarely left her. His fingers traced patterns on her skin, up and down her spine, around her ribs. He stood close, pressed himself to her. She leaned into him, opened herself to his touch, allowed his exploration, his rediscovery of the topography of her body. She moved with him, helping him reacquaint himself with her curves and crevices. His eyes never left her either, drinking her in, filling up with the shadow at the hollow of her throat, or the way her hip curved to join her thigh.

She observed him, listened to his tone of voice, the look in his eye. She felt the tension underneath the laughter. She heard the frustration, even in the jokes. She stayed close, touched him. Her fingers sought his skin, his lips, brushed the waistband of his boxers. She traced the topography of his body, the planes of his chest, the curve of his spine, his round firm ass.

They ate fast, laughing, joking about his horrible trip and the interminable flight. He regaled her with his unvarnished opinion of the new clients. When they were done eating she put the dishes away. They each used the bathroom and met in the open area near the table. She stood before him, presenting herself to him. Her hands clasped behind her back, her feet spread just past shoulder width. She stood with her shoulders back, her spine straight, and her gaze meeting his dark blue eyes.

He smiled down at her and drew himself up tall, emphasizing the fifteen inch height advantage he had over her barely five foot frame. He stood close enough that she had to incline her head to see him. He circled her, traced his hand around her, stopped behind her and wrapped his long fingers around her neck.

He used that hand to pull her back toward him, calculating her resistance and finding none. He rewarded her with a long deep kiss. He walked back to the table and picked up one of the hanks of red rope. He unspooled it, found the midpoint, and she knew what would happen next.

She grinned, spread her legs a little farther and moved her hands to the top of her head.

"It's been a while," she said. "Too long, since you did something nice and restrictive."

He nodded, silently measuring her, glad that they are so instantly in agreement.

He walked behind her, with the middle of the rope in one hand. As he passed the rope around her, sliding the ends through the loop, he kissed her shoulder. His body heat warmed the air between them and she resisted the urge to lean back into him. He cinched the first loop around her chest, above her breasts. He pulled taut, watching her. He wrapped the rope around, catching the end in the loop of the previous wrap.

"Tighter," she said. "Make it stay."

"Patience. I'm just getting started."

She grinned, delighted.

"Yes, sir," she said, not abashed at all.

He pulled on the rope, and she felt the two windings cinch down more, felt him making another pass below her breasts. When that pass snugged down she sighed, relaxing. He bound her, shibari style, in a chest harness with extra vertical passes. She helped him by holding her large breasts up, pressed to her chest wall. The rope captured them and held them aloft, compacted against her body.

Next he added a corset. The rope in the front with its knots then passed between her legs and behind. He separated the two halves of the rope, leaving her pussy exposed, leaving him access for later. He cinched that rope tight, pulled along her back and connected it to the back of the chest harness. Then passed more rope, back and forth, side to side, to create the diamonds in the front, and the lines of the corset around her ribs and stomach. Each winding tight enough to imbed slightly in her skin. She breathed deeply, sighing again, easing into the restriction.

With each pass of the rope, Symon felt himself relax. He had to concentrate on her, concentrate on what he was doing. He had to read her signs. He wrapped his arms around, holding her temporarily in his embrace. He squatted in front, kissed her mons and heard her low, sultry laugh. He leaned into her, their bodies passing close, touching briefly, dancing away as he clothed her in black, red and tan rope.

With each pass of the ropes, Michelle felt herself relax. The warmth of his body so near hers was better than any blanket. The care and concentration he took as he pulled the lengths along her body. The minute vibrations as the ropes caught against each other and then slipped. His hands roamed over her purposefully. She smiled, drunkenly, her eyes half closed, and a low purr joining every exhale.

"Don't drift off on me yet," said Symon, teasing. "There's more coming."

Michelle managed to make herself nod. Managed to say, "Not drifted. Jus' thinkin'."

"About what?"

"That dress you did, the blue and yellow one. It was like. I dunno. Like two corsets layered on each other, and it went to my knees. A hobble skirt, kinda."

He needed her to stay with him, needed her to adjust herself. He walked back to the table to get another hank of rope.

"Tell me about it."

"Huh?"

He stood behind her again, tapped her wrists and folded her arms behind her wrist to elbow.

He kissed her cheek, roughly. "Tell me about the dress. Why were you thinking about it?"

"Oh. Um. Cuz."

She lost her words for a moment as he started binding her forearms together. Starting with one elbow paired to a wrist, he made a series of chain knots that could be undone with one jerk. When she didn't speak, he nudged her.

"C'mon. Tell me."

"Oh. Cuz. You remember. I wore it here for a while, then you got that white sundress I have and we went out. Remember? I just had that and a pair of sandals, and we went to lunch in that outdoor café. And I kept thinking that everyone would know, could see. Cuz the color."

He'd finished with her arms, and pulled on the plait hanging down her back. When her chin was tilted up slightly, he tied the ends of the rope to it, securing it. He held her shoulders and turned her to face him. He cupped her cheeks with both his hands and stared into her heavy lidded eyes. She was halfway to dream land already.

He laughed to himself. He brushed her lips with his thumbs.

"What happened after lunch?"

She blinked, slowly, then faster. She looked up at him and smiled, wide. "We went to the park. We hid behind that big rock, down near the little pond, and I blew you."

"Tell me."

"You leaned against a tree. You unbuttoned the dress so it was hanging off of me. I knelt down in front of you and sucked your lovely cock until you told me to stop. Then you jerked off onto my tits."

She sighed, still smiling. "We walked home, but you only buttoned half the buttons. Your cum was dripping down my tits, and my dress was unbuttoned almost to my crotch. I was so embarrassed and so turned on by the time we got home."

He smiled down at her, the memory just as fresh in his mind. He stepped back, and pulled off his briefs. He sat in the armchair and spread his legs wide. She stared at his tumescent prick, and licked her lips.

"Is that what you want, baby?" she asked. "You want me to blow you?"

He crooked a finger and she walked to him, kneeling between his feet and licking his head.

He rested his hand on her head as she looked up at him.

"Just get me started. Use that talented mouth of yours and I'll tell you when to stop."

She leaned down, balancing herself carefully. She licked his balls, which he kept shaved for her. She sucked each egg gently into her mouth, and held on as he shifted, slouching lower in the chair. His legs fell open and his hands draped on the armrests. She licked up his length, coating him.

He rewarded her by thickening and hardening. His cock stood up, not fully erect but more than halfway there. She ducked her head, and caught his underside on her tongue. She stuck her tongue out, pressing on the thick vein and letting the bottom of his shaft drag. When she got to his tip, she enclosed it in her mouth, sealing her lips around and humming softly.

He sighed, contented, now drifting as much as she had been while he was wrapping her in the rope. He laid his head back on the chair, breathing deeply. The feel of her warm wet mouth was exquisite, as always, her gentle suction pulling him in deeper, and her tongue massaging his most tender flesh.

Symon relaxed into her, under her care, as her mouth went lower on his rod. Her heat covering him and drawing off the tension with her every move. He let out another long sigh, and she chuckled. That vibration, her laughter while her mouth was full of him, was one of his favorite experiences.

He partially opened his eyes, looking down his body at her head, moving on him. He watched her gliding up and down, her shoulders bobbing along. His tip hit the back of her mouth, and she swallowed around him. The suction was almost too intense. It was almost more than he wanted in that moment.

He groaned, and she paused. She looked up at him, her eyes also half open. She looked at him through her eyelashes, and he reached down, brushed her forehead with the backs of his fingers.

"Just a little more."

She smiled, still full of him, grinning as much with her eyes as her lips. She let him slip out to the very tip, balancing the end of his cock on her cheek as she snaked her tongue around. Then she slipped her lips sideways, down his length, back to his balls. She coated them again, licking and gently sucking, then slipped up his rod. When her mouth engulfed him again, he was as hard as he wanted. He was fully engorged, thickened, his balls filling. He knew if he let her keep going he would cum on her, and it was too soon for that. But he didn't want her to stop, didn't want to stop feeling this sensation.

Symon let his eyes close. He rested one hand on his thigh, where his fingers could brush her face as she worked. He let himself sink, deep into the chair, and deep into her warmth. When he felt his balls starting to twitch, he forced himself to sit up, and stroked the top of Michelle's head.

"That's enough. That's it right there," Symon said, his voice thick with desire. "Thank you."

Michelle pulled off of him. She pouted dramatically, pointedly looking at his erection as though he'd taken away her favorite toy. Her eyes glittered with mirth and arousal as she sat back on her heels.

Symon grasped her upper arms, and helped her to her feet. When she stood, he bent and kissed her deeply, pressing her to him, tasting himself on her. When he broke the kiss, she leaned into his chest, rubbing her cheek on his pectoral, like a cat marking her territory.

He hugged her to him, then held her away and turned her toward the bed.

"A little more," he said. "I've got more in mind."

They strolled the short distance to the bed and Symon helped her lie on her back. He helped her get centered in the bed and arranged a thin pillow so that her arms didn't press into her too much. He went back to the table and gathered up a few more hanks of the rope.

He tightly bound her calves to her thighs. Her legs bent sharply, with her ankle tied to her hip with coils that wound their way close to her knee. Each winding was then secured with a series of knots, and he affixed some extra rope to the loop closest to her knee. That extra rope he connected to the side of her chest harness. He pulled that rope so her leg was held out to the side, with her knees up. When the other leg was bound in the same way, she looked like she was sitting in a very deep squat.