Symon & Michelle: Binding Time

He thought she was perfect. She thought it was perfect too. She sighed deeply, settling into the restriction, cataloging the varying sensations. She noticed where individual ropes lay across her skin, and where tight collections of ropes felt like one larger binding. She noticed the warmth that flowed out of her and the ghostly sensations of Symon's hands on her while he'd worked.

She stared up at the ceiling, not seeing anything, just relishing the presence of the moment. She heard Symon moving around, and he sounded far more distant that she knew he was. She craved his contact.

Symon looked down at his handiwork. Michelle on her back, arms behind her, knees up, legs spread open. The bright red and black such a contrast to her creamy white skin, especially down her abdomen. The lighter tan ropes around her legs so as not to distract from the invitation that was her open pussy. She was a beautifully wrapped package for him to savor.

He went to the table, picked up his phone and pulled a chair close to the bed. He leaned over slightly, taking in her expression. Her eyes half lidded, serene, almost glassy. Her brow smooth as still water. Her mouth just slightly open, beckoning.

He took a picture of her, a close up just of her face. Then another of her face and her bound breasts, standing tall away from her chest even now. Then another, holding the phone higher, guessing really, at how to capture the whole scene. He sat back in the chair, gazing over her hills and valleys, mesmerized by the slow rhythm of her breathing. He held the phone lower, so that her exposed pussy was forefront, and the landscape of her torso filled the view.

Symon stood and took one last picture of his engorged cock laying in the cleft of her pussy, framed by her dark pink lips, and the red, black and tan of the ropes. He twisted to toss the phone back on the table, turned to focus on her. To focus on luxuriating in her form, her scent, and the silk of her skin. His fingertips grazed her inner thighs, below the ropes close in to her vulva. Michelle shifted, slightly, relaxing even more into their unyielding embrace and the soft mattress under her. As his hands grazed toward her center, she arched her back, pushing her head into the bed.

She whispered, "Come here." Her voice an octave lower than normal.

He leaned forward, leaned down, one hand braced in the corner formed by her shoulder and neck. His other hand traced the angles of her cheek, he brushed a tendril of hair back from her temple, smoothed her eyebrow. His thumb traced her lips as they parted further in a lazy, teasing show of pleasure.

"No," Michelle purred, her voice having lost another half octave somehow. She opened her eyes, meeting his tender gaze with her own filled with warmth and desire.

"I said 'come HERE'," she repeated.

Symon smiled. He marveled at her power over him. There she was, bound, unable to move, under him; supposedly at his mercy. But with the simple magic of a sultry smile and a murmured phrase, his heart pined to obey her.

So he did. As he leaned down further, she watched his eyes, looked him in until they are so close she couldn't focus. She drew him to her with nothing more than her chocolate irises and soft exhalation.

Their lips met in a slow, liquid kiss, languid and smoldering. Their mouths opened and closed in time with their seemingly synchronized heartbeats. Symon slid his tongue into her mouth, touching and tasting, as she opened wider. She tapped the bottom of his tongue with her own and then they danced together in her mouth.

Symon's hand glided over her cheek, down her neck, reached for her breast. He broke the kiss on her lips, and exchanged it for a dozen more lingering kisses across her chin, to the hollow of her throat, the hollows at her shoulders, and all around her breasts.

His hands traced the lines of the ropes, gliding along her skin, and the contrasts with the slightly rough hemp. His fingertips slipped under the strands which trapped her breasts up against her chest, they brushed across the ends of her nipples, down the sides, and along her ribs.

Meanwhile, he kissed down her sternum and in each of the diamonds created by the rope corset, down her center line. His tongue traced the edges of the diamonds. He tasted the salt from her skin. She shifted and rolled as his soft lips and the wet tip of his tongue teased her. Her breathing slowed, her mouth opened more, and she quit trying to keep her eyes open. As he went lower, he heard her sigh. It drifted out of her mouth, one small slightly more forceful exhalation.

Symon glanced up, as though he could see the sigh float in the air above her. As though the pleasure and utter calm he felt from her might be made manifest in the room, if only he knew where to look. He sat back in the chair. She lay spread before him, a magnificent meal, or maybe an altar. He kissed her inner thigh, first to his right, then to his left, alternating closer and closer to his goal.

He took his cock in his hand, gripped himself firmly and chose a slow pace. He wrapped his left hand over her leg, sliding it up her torso, to brush the underside of her breast. He leaned in, leaned down, focused on her wide open labia, her proud clit.

Then, like a true acolyte, Symon bowed his head, and worshipped at her cunt.

His first lick was long and slow, a deliberate and thorough swipe up the entirety of her slit. The tip of his tongue dipped into her perineum, pressed there, and brought her taste into him. Then, using the flat of his tongue, he wet her all the way to her clit. He took a slow circuit around her clit, finally dancing the tip of his tongue on the most prominent point of that tender flesh.

Michelle rewarded him by sighing deeply again, her utterance transformed into a sibilant "yessss".

He repeated the touch of his tongue, deep into her crevice, fully pressed to her. She imagined the feel of his taste buds, and wondered how his mouth was processing all her different flavors. He was slow and solemn, then fast and mischievous. He teased as he worshipped, preying on her desires as much as desiring to fulfill them.

He licked long and deep again, pushing into her entrance with his tongue, darting in and out, and once again moving up to dance around her clit. He tapped and shimmied; he shook and rolled her around the very end of his most flexible and strong muscle. He enjoyed himself as much as she did, maybe more. With every touch he felt more connected to her, felt her relaxation flowing into him, felt his tension draining and his heart lifting.

Michelle's only option was to focus on Symon's mouth, to focus on his breath, his wet tongue, his lips teasing her. She was stretched and bound, immobile, but not inert. She contracted her stomach to press her pelvis closer to him. She arched her back around her arms, feeling her breasts shift and strain in the ropes, feeling the barest brush of his fingertips.

Michelle moaned, an exhortation, and lost herself. She closed her eyes, her breathing was deep and steady, her mind gradually faded into the sensations her husband gave her. There was nothing frantic or frenetic. She drifted along the currents of his motion at her core, and of the emotions he was drawing from her. The week had been long for both of them; she'd missed him acutely. Now here he was, claiming her, renewing and reigniting her.

She breathed out again, a low throaty moan as Symon's tongue continued his exploration and dance around her clit, her labia and the entrance to her vagina. He licked and tapped the tip at the base of her clit, then closed his mouth around her and sucked. He drew out another, louder, longer moan and a gasp as he lightly touched his teeth to her.

"Oh. Oh!" Michelle exclaimed as he sucked her into his mouth again.

"Oh, please," she moaned as he tapped her clit and then flicked the very end across her.

Michelle's breathing was no longer slow or relaxed, and Symon's ardor was rising. He still had a firm grip on his cock, stroking himself in concert with her responses, biding his time, reveling in his command over her now. His other hand was gliding over her torso and breasts, tugging at her ropes, pulling her closer to him, and then brushing his fingertips along her skin where it was trapped. He paid special attention to her breasts. Those large, pillowy, pendulous tits were confined, compressed and pushed up proudly away from her chest. They deserved his adoration, too.

Symon shifted in his chair, letting go of his prick and resting his chin on Michelle's mound. He reached with both hands to massage and tease her breasts. He slid his fingers under the ropes, pulled and pushed on her, pressed his palms into her areolas, pinched her nipples. She groaned. She whimpered. She begged him to put his mouth where his hands were, or at least put his mouth back where it had been.

He laughed low in his throat and she shuddered under his arms. Her thighs twitched involuntarily and her toes brushed against his shoulders lightly. He watched her arch her back again, trying to press her arms into the mattress so that her chest could rise up. But he'd done too good a job binding her. Her forearms were attached to the back of the corset and she didn't have the purchase to press herself into him.

He continued his slow, almost lazy ministrations of her breasts, but did turn his face to meet her pussy again. He kissed down the exposed part of one thigh across her vulva and up the opposite leg. He pulled away and kissed her toes, causing a surprised giggle to peal out of her.

He looked again, to spy the laugh dancing in the air with her sighs and moans, her enjoyment a palpable force in the room. He waited, letting the feeling waft over him and dissipate the last of his stress. His irritation at the week now some kind of puddle on their floor, and his longing for her drawing him in.

His hands abandoned her tits, and he slid his middle and ring finger deep into her vagina. He twisted his hand around so that his palm was up and he tapped on her front wall, finding her g-spot.

She shuddered and cried out, "Yes, please."

He touched her inside again, now leaning down to match the touch on her outside. No longer satisfied with slow or lazy, he worked his tongue on and in her, pressing on all the points he knew. He read her reactions, her twisting in the confines of the rope, her closed eyes, her head pressing back in the bed. He used his other hand to trace the lines of the ropes, emphasizing their patterns in her skin, accentuating the sensations that they cause her.

His tongue and mouth moved faster on her. His lips kissed and suckled; his tongue tapped and rubbed. His fingers pressed, slid in and out of her, spread her walls apart. He added a third finger and she bore down on him, clenched around him. She tried to stave off the orgasm, tried to make him work for what she wanted. He'd been happy to play that game, but now his desire was to see and feel the fullness of her climax.

He licked her faster, short strokes centered on her clit. He rolled his tongue around her, over her, then dipped down into her. All the while his fingers pumped, tapped and rolled. All the while his free hand roamed, touching, pinching, caressing.

Michelle sang for him, at first softly in sighs and whispered instructions. Then louder in gasps and breathy moans. Then louder still in yearning exclamations of "please", "there", and "fuck". Then in wordless encouragement as her body shook, and the first waves of orgasm coursed through her.

Symon continued tasting and drinking her. He laved her clit and her lips with his saliva. He kissed and suckled. His fingers thrust and his tongue danced and rubbed. Her vagina clutched his fingers, sucking them in and holding on as she let out one last long shuddering sigh and all her muscles contracted in time. Her fluids gushed out into his mouth, onto his face, and as he pulled away he licked his lips greedily.

He stood up, pushing the chair away from him, and aiming his cock at her opening. He waited until she opened her eyes.

Michelle stared at the ceiling, oblivious for the moment; she was barely aware of her bondage, and blissfully unconcerned that she couldn't move her limbs. The last waves of her orgasm pulsed through her center, her heartbeat slowed, and she managed to tilt her head up. She beamed at the man standing between her legs. She pointed her toes, too spent for words, and unable to do much else.

She smiled broadly, and Symon fitted the head of his cock into her, pushing in just past her opening.

"Please," Michelle whispered. "Please."

He grinned. "You want my cock."

"Yes, yesss. Yessss. Always. Oh. Please."

He shifted his hip, propped one knee on the edge of the bedframe. He slid slowly into her, his pace an excruciating, pleasurable torture. Michelle's hands spasmed, gripped air. She wished she had his flesh under her fingers. Her feet flexed and pointed, her knees trembled. She wanted to close her legs around him, she wanted to trap him into her body. But his binding was too thorough.

He slipped another inch inside her, feeling her vagina clutch at his shaft, feeling her body trying to suck him in. He savored her wet heat, her tight walls claiming him. His eyes closed involuntarily as he concentrated on the exquisite warm satin of her sheath.

Michelle groaned, deeply, full throated. She inhaled and let out a sharp whine. He inched further into her, as slowly as he was able to move, and her body rewarded his patience by trembling and shaking. He fitted himself into her, fully, leaning his weight against her pelvis, seating his cock in her core, in its home.

Her eyes rolled in her head. She couldn't focus. She couldn't think. Her whole body one exposed nerve, her heartbeat matched to his.

He stopped moving. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes. Yes, no. More. Oh, god more, please."

When he cleared his throat, she said, "No. Oh god, again. Again again again."

She thrashed under him, and he responded by withdrawing as slowly as he'd entered her. She cried out, begging incoherently, her previous calm erased by his touch and the promise of more. He started moving in her, taking her, testing her depths. She met his rhythm, as best she could with the limited movements his bondage allowed her. She rocked her hips, down and up, as he pushed in and pulled out. His hands curled on her stomach, feeling the pulse of her muscles. He gripped the ropes, holding her to him.

As the movement was established and maintained, she calmed again; her groans and sighs filled the room, competing for space with his grunts and moans. He took his time; he savored her and this moment. He brushed her clit with his fingers, teasing and twisting that nub to watch the cascade of sensation flow over her.

Her skin flushed, sweat beaded up on her brow, and down in the joints of her hips. Her eyes opened and fluttered closed, widened and narrowed. Her mouth moved soundlessly, and he saw her tongue darting.

Michelle was gone again, her mind blank, her body no longer under her control. Her head pressed hard into the mattress below her. The only things she could be aware of were his cock sliding in and out of her, and his fingers on her button. Her body shook, again, clutching around him again. She panted, her breathing the loudest sound in the room.

Still, Symon worked in her, worked on her. His hips pushing into her, buried balls deep in her warm, wet, center. He muttered to himself, a filthy incantation of love and lust as he rode along the waves of her most recent orgasm. He curled both hands around the ropes, holding the bottom of the chest harness and picking up his pace. His pelvis now shoving hard into her as she grunted and squealed and finally shouted his name.

His skin was flushed, sweat dripped from his brow and he leaned over. She opened her eyes, seeing nothing, and his gaze bored into her, pinning her to him as surely as his hands gripped her. With one last hard thrust, his heavy laden balls contracted and exploded into her. He arched his back and then contracted his stomach. He climaxed with a deep grunt and his hands slipped off her chest. He managed to collapse down at her side, rather than falling directly on her.

His torso partially covered her bound body, his legs braced only by the edge of the bedframe. One arm sprawled across her and his head landed near her shoulder. They both lay there, breathless. They both lay there, shaking. They both lay there, smiling and giddy, staring at each other, beyond words. The strongest tie now in the gaze each bestowed on the other.

Symon made himself rise, made himself move more fully onto the bed, so he could lay next to her. He brushed hair off Michelle's face. She blinked slowly, her face split wide in a beatific grin. His hand slipped down her cheek, across her neck, between her breasts, resting on her stomach. She twisted, as best she could, to face him more fully.

He reached down again, yanked loose the knot that held her far knee open and up. He moved his hand again, to undo the same knot on the other side. She used the freedom to close her legs and that momentum to roll to her side, facing him.

She was still his perfect package. She was still his favorite altar. He would worship her every day, every night. She would worship him. She remained curled, her shins on his thighs, her arms behind her back. He slid closer to her, his arm draped over her, finding her hands. He pressed his forehead to hers. She sighed deeply, and he peered up, looking for that sigh dancing with its sisters in the air above their bed. She kissed his cheek, and he nestled as close as he could.

He pulled on the rope binding her arms, the chain of loops loosening in quick succession. He helped her unfold her arm, rubbing the muscles as she flexed her wrists. They shifted around, long enough for her to move the other arm. He wrapped his around her, and she was able to return the embrace.

When he reached down to the leg bindings, she stopped him.

"No. I'm good. It's fine." She snuggled even more closely to him.

He kissed the top of her head. "You sure?" He reached for her foot, which was warm, and she wiggled it in his hand. "It's been a while?"

She shook her head, pressed into his chest. "Leave it. Really. I like it."

"Ok," he said. He collected as much of the loose rope as he could and tossed it off the bed. He shifted them around so his legs curled around her. She found the edge of the blanket and tugged it over them. In the warmth of her embrace he found that his tension and frustration were completely gone. Suffused with her trust and her calm, he was totally relaxed. He watched her face, saw her eyes close softly. She sighed once again.

When she was half asleep, he untied her legs. She stretched against him and he managed to loosen the harness and the corset. When he tried to take them off her, she stopped him. She would wear the rope proudly.

Just before they fell asleep, Symon told her, "By the way, I called in sick for you tomorrow."

"Oh yeah," she replied, too spent to care.

"Yeah." He nodded, his chin resting on her head. "We've got all that other rope to test out."

She wrapped herself more tightly around him. "Yep," she managed to say. "Sure do."