He was on edge — flushed, tense, barely holding it together. I could see it in his jaw, in the way his br3ath stuttered every time our eyes met. He needed more than words. He needed control… and he needed me to give it up.
So I let him tie my wrists — soft rope, tight enough to remind me who was in charge. I knelt, hands bound behind me, lips parted, eyes locked on his. I whispered low and filthy, asking for instructions, begging to be good. Slow at first — a tease with my mouth, a promise with my gaze — and when his resolve cracked, I took him deeper. Obedient. Messy. Unapologetic.
This was a custom.
