Page 93 of Kotori
Instead of answering with words, I rise and move to my drawers, bringing out silk rope in deep crimson, the same bonds that taught her helplessness so perfectly before.
Her eyes widen when she sees what I'm holding, and I catch the way she unconsciously presses her thighs together, seeking friction that won't be enough.
"Now," I say, returning to kneel before her with the rope in my hands, "you learn what total surrender looks like. What it means to belong to me completely."
"Again?" Her voice holds anticipation rather than protest, and I smile at how quickly she's learned to crave what once terrified her.
"Every night," I confirm, beginning to untie her yukata with deliberate slowness. "Until your body forgets it was ever anything but mine to bind and use."
The cotton drops to the floor, leaving her naked and vulnerable in the lamplight. But this time there's no hesitation, no shame in her exposure. She moves to the position I indicate with the fluid grace of someone who has accepted their nature completely.
Or believes she has.
"Arms behind your back," I command, and she complies immediately.
As I begin the intricate work of shibari, feeling her body yield to each loop of rope, I speak quietly about her new reality. The red silk slides across her pale skin like liquid fire, each binding carefully positioned for maximum psychological impact.
"You'll sleep in my bed from now on. Wake when I wake, eat when I permit it, speak when given permission." The rope creates geometric patterns across her skin, transforming her into living art. "Your days will be spent serving this household's needs—my daughters, domestic affairs, whatever requires attention."
Each knot reminds her of her helplessness, each loop speaks of my control. But I don't mention the other duties that will be required of her. The monthly medical examinations. The carefully tracked cycles. The eventual pregnancy that will seal her fate permanently.
"Your nights," I continue, adding binding between her thighs that makes her gasp and squirm, "belong entirely to me. My pleasure, my needs, my desires for your body."
My desires that will soon include filling her with my seed until it takes root.
When the binding is complete, she kneels before me as a masterpiece of rope and flesh—geometric patterns in crimson silk that frame every curve, accentuate every vulnerable point, hold her in perfect display of ownership. Every breath she takes reminds her of my control, every small movement speaks of her complete surrender.
"Beautiful," I murmur, settling before her bound form and reaching between her spread thighs. "This is how you were meant to be displayed, kotori. Bound and offered, every inch of you claimed and controlled."
I work her with skilled fingers while she writhes helplessly in the ropes, building her toward another edge I may or may not allow her to reach. Her moans fill the room, echoing off paperscreens and polished wood, the sound of complete feminine surrender.
"Please," she sobs after I've brought her to the brink three times without allowing release. "Please let me come. I'll do anything, be anything you want."
"You already are everything I want," I murmur against her ear, finally allowing my thumb to find that perfect spot. "My willing captive. My beautiful little bird who flew into her cage and discovered she never wants to leave."
She convulses in the ropes, crying out my name as pleasure tears through her bound body with frightening intensity. The climax goes on and on, ripping away every pretense of independence or control, leaving only perfect submission in its wake.
Perfect submission that will accept anything I require of her.
When the shudders finally stop, she looks up at me with eyes that hold nothing but gratitude and acceptance.
"Thank you," she whispers, voice hoarse from crying out. "For showing me what I really am. For not letting me run from what I needed."
The trap is complete. And she helped me build every bar, set every snare, forge every chain.
Soon, she'll help me create the next generation to inherit what I've built.
Whether she understands that yet or not.
25
Paige
Iwaketothesound of Kaito's voice, low and commanding in the predawn darkness.
"Wake up, ningyo. I need your mouth."
My eyes flutter open to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, completely naked, dark hair still damp from his shower. Morning light filters through, illuminating the magnificent tattoos that flow across his powerful frame: the black dragon breathing clouds across his shoulder blade, koi swimming upstream over his chest in gold and red.
