The rough, thick rope was now strung between two ancient trees. The rope she watched him tie a single knot into that night. She loved the strong look of his hands while tying. The naked and muscled moving obedient of him as he tied the ends of the rope to two points hammock style. The sisal rope with the natural fibers and the knot in the center. Her eyes follow him as he turns away from her, stepping over the rope and straddling. She, comfortably dressed contrasting the naked, whipped and reddened of him. She standing and him squatting down onto the rope. The scratchy, fiber knot fitting into the crack of his ass, wedging between the cheeks as he lowers himself down into an awkward crouching position.
She steps closer and touches the rope, feeling for the tension, the pull. She admires the hammock of the rope and the knot deeply wedged into his ass. She leans down close to his ear, “I’m going to be using my toys tonight in my bed.”
He nods. He bites down on his lower lip to keep from speaking. He feels her lingering kiss gentle … seductive next to his ear. She whispers,” My pussy is so wet right now.”
He breathes out. The quiet harsh of his breathing out and he nods understanding. His face and body tense. Her fingertips gently stroke along his shoulder. Her other hand going down to the pulsing boner-ed tight nuts of his genitals. Her quiet, “You know why this is happening.” And he nods in agreement once more.
She places the high heels down by his feet and softly plants a kiss on his cheek. His legs move slightly and his feet go into the stilettos. The rope goes tighter by his weight. Her fingertips touch on his skin, tracing her carved initials on his shoulder. She leaves him with his arms now forward and his hands gripping on the rope. The anchor line thick of the rope and his mind flashing on the scene of him explaining to her the use of it at the hardware store. The way the sales staff who worked there was agreeing and nodding and her knowing inside what the use of the rope was going to be. Visualizing the rope knot in between his cheeks and her nodding, already changing the punishment from one hour to all night. The warmed tingling in her gut as she nodded along; her lips smiling warmly, sweetly as the sadistic touch of her hand squeezed his.
The days had been chilled against her heart. The days long without his presence. Others clamoring for her voice, for her touch, her attention. Their requests only momentarily warming the heart that had been abandoned. Their words never strong enough, never deep enough to touch her center. She lies in her warm bed and thinks of him outside. The knot pressing against his hole. His legs trembling from the squatting position. His muscles spasming and knowing he will hold on. She touches her pussy; fingers slowly gliding along her lips. Her warmth and slick feel increasing as thoughts of his pain warms her.
Her other hand reaches up, touching on the curtain. Moving it slightly opened. She turns her head to look down at the yard; to look down at her man made small. The squatting tensed of his body; the effort being expended obvious even from up in her bedroom. His arms straight out and down; hands gripping on the rope. The awkward and humiliation of being made to stay on that rope; on that knot.
Her mind reflects on the silken rope she normally uses. Seeing the soft of the braiding. Mentally seeing her fingertips sliding along the smooth of it. Then seeing the rope in the store. The rough and thick round of it. The stray fibers and the brutal practical of it. The sales staff saying they need to use gloves when handling it and her sigh almost escaping her lips. The sudden wet pulsing of her pussy and her hand touching discreetly to his. Her imagining the rough of the rope against the tender of his asshole. Her adrenaline rising as she nods along with the words of the sales staff. Her love of him, respect of him along with the humble presenting of his pain for her. The obvious of that between them. The total unknowing of the sales staff. The calm competent demeanor of him when ordering a length of the rope cut.
She looks down through the curtain, feeling the warmth of her mind and body. Her other hand down and tracing on her slickness, on the puffy and swollen delicious of her hunger.
His hands gripping and head down; thighs defined; legs straining. The ‘gloves needed’ rope and the melon size of it rough and pressed tight to that ‘no calling for days’ asshole.
Her head turning back to her bed, to her stomach where lies the opened of his letter on her chest and the scent of it. The very high quality of the stationary and the romantic of it. The nearly folded now open letter on her stomach with the neat rows of his handwriting. The beautiful penmanship, the poem and her reading it again. Her reading through it, all of it. His sincerity and remorse. The unavoidable of his absence and her knowing that. The continuous opening of himself to her with a depth of feeling that turns her primal. That turns her to ‘flesh hungry’ for him. Her thoughts of his vulnerability, the no defenses bared to her of him and her fingertips sliding over her clit. The puffy, swollen juicing of her pussy and her fingertips going to the exact spots of her need.
The surely bloodied of that asshole by now and the hours ahead. The punishment she would have preferred not to give. The circumstance that demanded it. Her hand going by itself, sudden to the curtain again and her looking down, knowing what is best for him. For them. Her fingers focused, not stopping and her hips turning slightly, body turning into the rising orgasm.
He, lifting his head from down below, the clenched of his jaw; the naked reduced alpha of her male and her fingertips working, perfect rhythm, orgasm rising up and exploding. Her sighing, body turning and then the violent shuddering. Her love for him going to beyond words as she cries out, orgasms again and then again. Him always in her heart, mind and loins like no other. Her hand crumples the nearly folded letter as her heart breaks that his breath is not on her. His intoxicating smell not covering her. And guilt grips her heart at his pain.
She eventually slips into sleep after rising and falling through orgasms without him. Him hearing her cries through the cracked opened window; knowing her moans, knowing what her body looks like. Knowing how she moves when the waves pierce through every fiber of her being. He hears the sound of her cries as they rip through her body. Rip through her soul without him being at her side; without him being within her.
His enduring struggle to hold firm upon the rope, knowing the punishment is warranted, needed, a must to deepen the bond between them. Deepening the understanding that she’s not an ordinary woman in love with an ordinary man.
Some nights the love between them is brutal.