( the skirt she's wearing starts to peel down, and rather than stand there, staring at her like some kind of perverted lecher, he purposefully looks away. it's not that he's not there for the show, or rather, doesn't enjoy the way the material clearly falls into a nice little pile at her feet; one spared glance over his shoulder tells him she's still got her panties on, so he has a little time. rather, he's assessing the room again, easing towards the opposite wall so that he can lift up a hand and take a picture frame by the corner; it takes a good yank, a hard jerk from the wall, but it comes off into his hand--he lets it clatter down to the floor, some stupid painting of a blooming tulip garden. left behind on the wall is a sturdy looking hook: at least, he thinks so, as he stands up onto his toes, bending firm fingers around it as though to test its endurance.
good enough for the purpose, anyway. when he turns around again, she's making her way out of her panties slowly, purposefully, putting on a show that he watches with a little lick of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, like he's fighting a smile. she might be all sass when she opens her mouth, but she's got all the right curves in all the right places; his gaze flicks down to the part between her legs, and then back up again. )
I'm not really much of a 'sir'. ( wryly, almost bemused--when he closes the distance between them, he gives a gentle sweep of his heel to kick her skirt and her panties aside, winding the ribbon loosely around his own hands. rather than wait for her, he takes one of her arms, and then the next, laying them out for him to start.
it isn't some kind of expert knot, isn't some practiced fisher's lure or the ease of someone with sexual restraint expertise; this is the movement of someone who is more used to tying up victims, the knots tight, the ribbons binding her hands together at the wrist. testing, he pulls at either of her hands: the ribbon stretches, a little, but there's minimal space there, and with the rest of the length, he starts to tie another knot at the end, like he's making a leash to walk her with. )
So call me whatever you want. Doesn't matter to me, and it's not gonna persuade me to go any easier.
( once the ribbon is looped at the end, he gives her a jerk forward, forcing her to follow him; he pushes her with his knees, bumps her in until her back hits the wall, and it's there that he stands up on his toes again so that he can hook an open knot around the picture frame hook on the wall, pulling until it's tight there. it leaves her hanging, arms up above her head; at least her feet still touch the ground, but she's decidedly taut, stretched upward like a body hanging at the butcher. )
no subject
good enough for the purpose, anyway. when he turns around again, she's making her way out of her panties slowly, purposefully, putting on a show that he watches with a little lick of his tongue over the corner of his mouth, like he's fighting a smile. she might be all sass when she opens her mouth, but she's got all the right curves in all the right places; his gaze flicks down to the part between her legs, and then back up again. )
I'm not really much of a 'sir'. ( wryly, almost bemused--when he closes the distance between them, he gives a gentle sweep of his heel to kick her skirt and her panties aside, winding the ribbon loosely around his own hands. rather than wait for her, he takes one of her arms, and then the next, laying them out for him to start.
it isn't some kind of expert knot, isn't some practiced fisher's lure or the ease of someone with sexual restraint expertise; this is the movement of someone who is more used to tying up victims, the knots tight, the ribbons binding her hands together at the wrist. testing, he pulls at either of her hands: the ribbon stretches, a little, but there's minimal space there, and with the rest of the length, he starts to tie another knot at the end, like he's making a leash to walk her with. )
So call me whatever you want. Doesn't matter to me, and it's not gonna persuade me to go any easier.
( once the ribbon is looped at the end, he gives her a jerk forward, forcing her to follow him; he pushes her with his knees, bumps her in until her back hits the wall, and it's there that he stands up on his toes again so that he can hook an open knot around the picture frame hook on the wall, pulling until it's tight there. it leaves her hanging, arms up above her head; at least her feet still touch the ground, but she's decidedly taut, stretched upward like a body hanging at the butcher. )