Tied Up For Good

She was not the type of woman who wanted to waste the prime of her life by staying at home, ruining her body by having kids and spending her time on playgrounds. As soon as she had realized that men and women alike reacted quite positively to her attractive appearance, she began to use it as a means to get what she really wanted - travelling the world, having fun and lots of sex.

She was proud of her fit body, enjoyed presenting it publicly on her Instagram profile and relished the appreciation she got from her audience there, too. Many offered to sex-chat with her or suggested meeting somewhere, but most failed miserably on making a sufficiently good impression, commenting her nude photos with stupid obscenities or direct messaging her childish one-liners that only earned them a quick block.

One day the image of a drawing popped up in her news feed, which was a conglomerate of publications made by those people she followed on Instagram. It literally made her mouth water, even though it only showed a guy's heavily muscled torso and belly, and if the reaction she received from her greedy pussy was any indication, she absolutely had to meet the model.

Texting the creator of the drawing to learn about the stud's identity, however, she had to find out that if she wanted her back scratched, she had to scratch his, first.

From the other artwork the guy had posted so far on his own profile, she assumed that he shared many of the kinks she was interested in. He occasionally placed erotic short stories next to his pieces, so that those texts appeared to illustrate what was going on in the corresponding drawing or painting, and vice versa. She definitely liked his imagination and creative skills. Many times, she got lost masturbating to his tales of captured beauties, picturing herself as the victim, held against her will by some overpowering beast of a man, made to do his bidding.

In the short message exchange that ensued between him and her, he told her that he needed some reference material for his next project and that she would be the perfect model. He managed to charmingly press all her buttons right and suggested a deal, so she found herself agree to meet him for a photo session to get the male model's name in return.

As she later dropped her dress in the artist's studio-apartment, let herself be blind-folded and tied up for the shoot, she tried to envision her date-to-be with that sizzling guy from the drawing, how she would be all over him, surrender to him for a hot, if meaningless and fleeting, adventure.

She heard a camera click a million times and wished it all would be over, so that she could finally get her hands (and nails, she thought wickedly) onto her prey.

After a few minutes, the clicking stopped. She flexed the muscles of her arms and hands a little to counter a vague numbness that had begun to spread due to being tied up to something above her.

Suddenly, she felt hands grabbing her panties on both sides of her hips, starting to drag them down.

"Hey! Didn't you say topless only," she protested, rather because she was ripped from her day dream than out of unwillingness to go along with the sudden turn of events.

This guy is full of surprises, flashed through her mind. She had originally pictured him as an old, obese bloke with paint in his bushy beard, dirty fingernails and coffee stains all over him. Talent for erotica or no, she had decided back then that she would leave the scene at the first signs of fishiness and had even added a can of pepper spray to her handbag.

When he had opened his door to her earlier to lead her inside, though, she had to concede that at least his appearance did not match her expectations, at all.

Although not exactly the stuff of her dreams, this guy easily stood his ground during her milliseconds-long OGILF-check.

With his short brown, neatly trimmed hair that already had some grey in it, his handsome, masculine mid-forty Daddy-face featuring a two-to-three-days worth of stubble, and his slender figure hidden beneath tasteful clothes, she instantaneously appended this specimen to her "older guys I'd like to fuck" list.

She was curious to see where this was going and let him proceed. Not that she had much choice in it, restricted in her ability to move as she currently was.

"Let's just say," he calmly said into her ear, "you've managed to inspire me."

She wiggled her butt a little to facilitate sliding the small piece of fabric down the rest of the way, then she stepped out of it, thus hinting at her disposition to cooperate.

She could feel his hand glide up on the inside of her lower leg, giving it a soft pat, which made her part her legs a little more. The hand resumed its previous course, very slowly, as if it was enjoying the touch of every inch of her smooth, warm skin.

Before long, she started to wish it would speed up and get where she wanted it faster.

An eternity of anticipation and yearning later, she felt his hand reach the point where the thigh and the lower butt create a sharp crease. She could not hold back a little whimper.

Instead of following through the curve of her leg to finally meet her pussy she was sure was dripping by now, the hand broke contact with her body all of a sudden only to land again with a SMACK on her butt cheek.

The breath she realized she had been holding left her body as a yelp, when the unexpected pain of the slap was registered by her brain.

"Ow!" she exclaimed playfully, not really hurt, but involuntarily turned that sound into an "Ow-mmmhhhh," when his hand immediately switched to caressing her butt cheek in feather-soft rubbing circles.

"You know," she softly chided him, "I've got two of those!" and promptly got her reward for being this cheeky. SMACK!

The sting on her other butt cheek felt similarly intense. Swinging brushes, it seemed, was not all his astonishingly strong hands were good for, and she was glad that he treated his second target with the same soothing caress right after hitting it.

"Ouchie, Daddy!" she pouted, affecting the voice and tone of an innocent girl, offering him a potential scenario she loved to role-play with her sexual partners. "Please don't spank me. I'll be good from now on, I swear!"

She imagined she could sense him shaking his head behind her. "So you keep saying," he retorted, obviously playing along. SMACK, SMACK landed the next two hearty slaps on each of her butt cheeks. "I don't believe you, though." SMACK! SMACK!

Again, she felt his hand caressing her butt, but his other hand gripped her throat, pulling her head back. His breath smelled of peppermint, she vaguely noted, when he promised close to her ear, "But I'll make sure you learn your lesson today."

***

The cab was already waiting for her. She winced as she was walking the few steps over to it. The sensitive skin of her butt cheeks kept touching her dress that now felt like coarsely grained sandpaper. Putting her cotton panties back on had seemed like unbearable torture so she had stuffed them into her handbag, instead.

After spanking her quite thoroughly, the artist had taken a few more photos and then immediately untied and thanked her. He had also shown her the courtesy of tenderly applying a pain-relieving cooling lotion on her burning backside, which she had gladly accepted.

Quite the trade, she mused, glancing at the small piece of paper with the model's name and telephone number on it. She was not sure who had gotten the better end of the deal. The artist had not fucked her, had not even touched her wet and needy pussy, although more than once she had begged him to do so.

She dialed the number into her cell phone with the firm intention of getting that loose end tied up quickly.

END