Page 65 of Good Girl

My cock hardens as an image of her, wrecked, hair falling free, bound to the chair with the blue of my eyes, pussy open and used, cum covering her flesh, flashes into my mind.

That. I want that.

“Take off your robe.” Voice even gruffer, I order her into the beginning of my scene.

She jumps at the harshness of my voice, but I don’t apologize. I want her on edge. I want her worried and a little nervous. Ready to please. It’s my way of making sure everything stays pleasant and pleasurable. The ropes won’t cause her any pain today—maybe some discomfort, but no pain. Today, she will simply be at my mercy.

Emmy turns and unties the sash around her waist, allowing the fabric to part down the center, exposing her to us. Hudson holds out his hand and, after she shrugs out of the gown, she gives it to him, neither of them saying a word.

Unless required, he won’t say anything to her.

Hudson is only here to observe, play, and fill her pussy. And, only if required, help me cut her free.

She stands before us, naked, eyes aimed at the floor.

I leave her there, waiting. Nervous. On display. Unsure of what comes next.

It doesn’t take long for her to start to fidget. First her fingers, then her feet. Eventually, she raises her arms to cover her body, but I can’t have that.

“Freeze.”

Her arms pause in place, crooked at the elbow, awkwardly hanging around her hips.

“Do not cover yourself up. I want to see what we have paid thirty-thousand dollars for.”

Her stomach tenses, and a red flush starts on her neck, but she slowly lowers her arms. Her breathing increases as my words turn her from a human being to an object that can be bought.

I leave her waiting, my cock growing harder the more I watch her fight her inner battle.

“Turn around and bend over. Put your palms on the armrests of the chair. Thrust your ass out and show us your holes.”

Emmy’s feet shuffle in place as she slowly turns like a doll in a jewelry box. Bending from the hips, she tips forward, exposing her ass and pussy to us. There are still a few marks remaining across the back of her thighs and over her cheeks from Derek’s scene yesterday.

And there are a few circular bruises over both globes, presumably from where someone squeezed a little too hard. Well, too hard for someone who might not enjoy the pain of being gripped like that. Luckily, Emmy has proved several times since our first meeting that she likes it on the tighter side.

Her pussy has lost the pink, puffy, overused look it was sporting last night. And while there isn’t any glistening wetness yet, there will be plenty covering her entrance and thighs by the time I am done with her. My balls are aching already as I think about sinking into that pussy again, but not yet. Not for a while. Not until Emmy is barely coherent from denied pleasure.

Quietly, I walk around until I come to her side and crouch down so that her face is slightly above mine. She makes eye contact, cheeks still a rosy pink. “I had this chair custom made.”

I slip my hand under one of the padded armrests she is gripping and place my palm down on the shortened seat. The back of the chair starts at what would normally be the middle of the seat, then reclines back on a slight angle, with a padded cushion down the center. “If you trust the ropes, it’s designed for your comfort, while giving me all the access I need.”

In demonstration, I palm one of her breasts, the weight filling my hand easily. I massage the flesh, then tweak the nipple, causing her to suck in a sharp breath. “This scene is going to take yesterday’s car ride home to the next level. How does that sound, princess? Are you going to let me drive you insane? Will you be a good girl for me?”

Emmy’s breathing quickens and her mouth parts. “Yes, Daddy. Please. I want that. I want to be good for you.”

I tweak her nipple again. “Good girl, princess. Turn around and sit down for me.”

We both move at the same time, her turning to take a seat and me to get the rope she requested. I’ll need more than the two lengths she selected, but that’s okay. I can include a lighter blue as well, to help with the shadowing effect I prefer.

Gently, I pull the midnight blue rope free, coiling it in my hand so that it doesn’t fall to the floor. The silk ropes are smooth compared to the hemp, and I slowly slip them between my fingers, feeling every ridge of the twisted threads.

From the first time I watched a non-sexual shibari demonstration, I’ve been hooked. The intricate designs, patterns, and sculpted shapes that can be made called to the artist in me, and I’d immediately found a mentor. A decade later, and I’m still in love with ropes. Now, I find myself in the mentoring position more often than not, guiding couples through beginner to advanced ties.

Tonight, I have my very own partner to concentrate on.

I set down the rope on top of the cabinet and check in with Hudson. His arms are folded over his chest, and he is slightly slumped in place. I smirk. It must be killing him to sit still like this. When he sees me enjoying his discomfort, he subtly gives me the finger so that Emmy can’t see.

Dropping my grin, I turn and go back to Emmy, stopping in front of where she is awkwardly perched, posture almost perfectly straight in order to balance on the tiny amount of seat available, and place my hand on her shoulder. Her big hazel eyes are fixed on mine as I coax her to recline back until the chair supports her. I arrange each of her arms on the padded rests so that her fingers curl over the ends, then spread her knees sothat her calves touch the legs of the chair, once again leaving her spread open for our viewing.

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