Chained, Part Seven
“I love how she stays up on her toes,” Popcorn said.
Penthouse got down on his knees and tied my legs together at the ankles. He patted my calf before standing back up. “Can you stay up until we’re done with you like a good girl?”
I nodded, biting down on the corners of the gag as Popcorn hit me with the flogger.
I’m proud to say I did.
One of the mornings I was there, Penthouse had to go somewhere a few hours before one of my meetings. We had messed around in bed a bit and he took some rope and tied one of my ankles loosely to the bed-frame.
“Now, edge yourself and text Daddy all about it and you can let yourself out,” he said, kissing my forehead before grabbing his backpack.
I pouted as I heard the door click shut and reached down between my legs.
I have an absurd amount of kink in the woods themed photographs in my drafts. Can somebody make something along these lines happen soon for me, please? It’s a chicken and egg situation of having the fetish and having the pictures.
Continued from here.
Penthouse tied me down to his bed, pushing my shirt up and tugging my pants off. He slapped my face and I groaned into the gag, feeling the spit start to build up behind the ball. My arms tugged hard at my bonds and I glared up at him as he slapped my breasts through my bra.
“Are you going to tell me where my wallet is?” He asked. He had passed the threshold of annoyance into sternness.
I shook my head and he reached down, slapping me once more.
“Ivy,” he squeezed my nipples. “Where is it?” I shook my head and he reached to the side of the bed, grabbing his knife and flicking it open. Almost instantly, I grew still as he started to run it over my skin. “Are you ready to tell me?” Despite the goosebumps that rose on the back of my neck, I shook my head once more.
He brought the knife down to my stomach and, pushing just hard enough to just leave a mark, wrote the word “whore” on my stomach in thin, capital letters. I’ve never been written on with a knife before and having to hold still through the entire thing was insanity.
“Now, let’s hear where that wallet is,” he said. I just smirked around the ballgag and he shook his head before getting up and walking over to one of his cabinets. “All right, let’s see what I can do to persuade you.”
Continued from here.
I cannot begin to stress the importance of aftercare.
After being hogtied on Penthouse’s bed, tied up in a lot of rope and having that crotchrope pushing the knot against my clit, I’d gotten pretty subspaced. I was speaking a lot of nonsense, I had trouble keeping my eyes open and I could barely sit up straight.
Penthouse untied me gently, held me close, was patient when I struggled to coherently express myself. He brushed out my hair and tucked me in. He checked in to make sure I was all right.
For as hot as the whole thing was, the aftercare really sealed the deal for me on the experience. Anybody can set up a situation like that, but to be able to care for a very subspaced girl is real dedication.
“No escape”
Photo by Jerome G.
If Ivy had a Barbie it would look like this.
Giggle. Yep.
Used to tie up my Barbies when I was a kid, though nowhere near as ornately.
Continued from here.
The Southern Gentleman has a theory about the types of men I’m into. Basically, they fall into one of two categories: a) charismatic Aryans and b) what he calls “effete feminists” but is honestly just cause-oriented hipster-types.
I told him I was going to see Penthouse and before I left he proceeded to ask me, “so, which type is he?”
“You’re a jerk,” I replied.
“Feminist it is, then.”
Thus, when Penthouse texted SG from my phone, he decided to include the fact that he straddled the two categories.
And then proceeded to solicit advice.
“What’s he saying?” I asked.
Penthouse smirked, “he’s saying to feign indifference.” He yanked on the rope, pulling my crotchrope tighter, and I gasped. “But I think I like this better.”
Continued from here.
Penthouse sat on his bed, smiling down at me. I was hogtied at the foot of it, nude, rope slung through my crotch. Every so often, he pulled on the stray end of rope threaded through his bedpost, tightening the knot against my clit.
He noticed I had gotten a text from a certain Gentleman.
A certain Southern Gentleman.
He smirked.
“You can respond, go ahead,” I murmured, already halfway to subspace. Penthouse picked up the phone and responded with a greeting and an update on the situation.
SG responded right away.
And that’s how Penthouse met the Southern Gentleman.
Kind of.
“Rope marks ”
Model: Petya Gencheva
Continued from here.
Penthouse had undressed me and was starting to unwind a ton of rope. He started with the harness he had put me in during the mini-munch. I smiled to myself as he worked, still figuring I had the upper hand. After all, I wanted to be tied up.
My grin faded when I felt him pull the rope between my legs from the back and tie a knot in it. My eyes widened when he pulled the other end up through the front of the harness, causing the rope to tighten up against my exposed cunt and the knot to line up with my clit.
It was his turn to smirk when he gave the rope a few test pulls.
“Feel good?” He asked and I blushed, looking away. He reached up and mussed my hair. "Go get on the bed and let me do your legs, then.“
And sometimes she bites off much more than she can chew.