Some days, he hangs her up that way. Arms pulled taut, feet arched practically vertically, toes just grazing the cold floor. He’ll check the tightness of the ropes, pull out any give, tug the knots away from her prying fingers, and just go about his business on the other side of the room.
Perhaps he’ll appreciate her for a moment if he passes by, but he doesn’t touch her. He’ll chuckle to himself as she strains to lower the balls of her feet. He’ll smile at her moans, her grunts, her muffled pleas for attention. And when the room takes on the faint smell of her neediness, he’ll try his hardest not to add to her mortification by uttering a teasing comment or two in passing. He’ll try, but more than a few will slip out, raising the blush in her cheeks.
And, finally, when he has found the time to attend to her, he’ll pull her to him and take what’s his.