them upward for me. I’m guessing he’s fastened the ribbons to a hook in the ceiling. Since I’ve never really seen the inside of his condo, I have no idea what kind of ways he may have modified the place for his play.
“Spread your legs,” he tells me.
It’s not that easy to do, with my heels sinking into the carpet and my hands suspended way above me, but I manage to inch my feet another foot or so apart.
“Wider,” he commands, letting a little bit of slack into the ribbon that’s attached to the ceiling.
With my hands slightly lower, I’m able to spread my legs farther apart.
“That’s good,” Sir says. “Keep them like that.”
He makes some adjustments to whatever is holding my arms up, and then I sense him climbing down from his perch beside me. I try to lower my arms just a little, but he’s only left me about an inch of slack. I could get some additional play in my bindings by moving my legs together, but that would be a definite no-no. I wait, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life. I can also feel that I’m wetter than I’ve ever been, too.
Next, I feel his touch down by my right ankle. He wraps some kind of strap around it, and then does the same thing to my left ankle.
“Close your legs,” he says when he’s done.
I try to bring my legs together, but they won’t move at all. I pull harder, to no avail. I remember the stuff on the counter and I think I know what he’s done. He’s using that spreader bar thing to keep my legs spread open. Now I’m really feeling vulnerable. Hanging here the way I am, Sir has complete access to any part of my body he wants.
“Now we can truly begin,” he says.
Begin? What the fuck is he talking about? What in hell have we been doing so far, on the phone and during my first visit? My heart is hammering in my chest as my mind begins racing at hyper speed. I picture all the items displayed on his counter and think about all the things we’ve talked about during our discussion of limits and desires. For a moment, I even think about wood chippers and chain saws—thank you very much, Amanda—but I push those thoughts from my mind. Scary but exciting, I remind myself. I think about how wet I am right now, and about the unbelievable way he made me explode the last time I was here.
Last time, though, I was nowhere near this helpless, this completely vulnerable . Tied the way I am, he can do pretty much anything he wants to me. I remind myself that I have a safe word. If things go too far, I can use it—I just have to trust that Sir will respond to it. There’s nothing forcing him to, I know.
My mouth is growing dry. I’m struck by the irony that my pussy can feel so freaking wet while my mouth is bone dry.
I feel something cold and wet against my lips. Lost in my anxious thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize that Sir is pressing an ice cube to my mouth. How the fuck does he know these things?
I open my mouth and suck greedily at the moisture.
He lets me drink from the cube for five or ten seconds before pulling it away.
“Thank you, Sir,” I say.
Sir’s response is to rub the ice down my chin and slowly across my chest until it reaches my right nipple. I try to pull away from the cold, but suspended like I am all I can to is twist partially to the side. Sir easily keeps the ice pressed against the sensitive tissue for several more moments before taking it away.
I suck in a deep breath. I know now that we’re about to take this to a whole new level.
THE END – of the BEGINNING
Feel free to indulge your imagination about what happens next…
O r, you can simply start reading Book Two, FALLING.
Or better yet—do both!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. T. Prussing is the not so subtle pen name for Scott Prussing, author of the critically acclaimed paranormal romance series The Blue Fire Saga.
Scott was born in New Jersey, but was smart enough to move to beautiful San Diego, California as soon as
“Spread your legs,” he tells me.
It’s not that easy to do, with my heels sinking into the carpet and my hands suspended way above me, but I manage to inch my feet another foot or so apart.
“Wider,” he commands, letting a little bit of slack into the ribbon that’s attached to the ceiling.
With my hands slightly lower, I’m able to spread my legs farther apart.
“That’s good,” Sir says. “Keep them like that.”
He makes some adjustments to whatever is holding my arms up, and then I sense him climbing down from his perch beside me. I try to lower my arms just a little, but he’s only left me about an inch of slack. I could get some additional play in my bindings by moving my legs together, but that would be a definite no-no. I wait, feeling more exposed and vulnerable than I’ve ever felt in my life. I can also feel that I’m wetter than I’ve ever been, too.
Next, I feel his touch down by my right ankle. He wraps some kind of strap around it, and then does the same thing to my left ankle.
“Close your legs,” he says when he’s done.
I try to bring my legs together, but they won’t move at all. I pull harder, to no avail. I remember the stuff on the counter and I think I know what he’s done. He’s using that spreader bar thing to keep my legs spread open. Now I’m really feeling vulnerable. Hanging here the way I am, Sir has complete access to any part of my body he wants.
“Now we can truly begin,” he says.
Begin? What the fuck is he talking about? What in hell have we been doing so far, on the phone and during my first visit? My heart is hammering in my chest as my mind begins racing at hyper speed. I picture all the items displayed on his counter and think about all the things we’ve talked about during our discussion of limits and desires. For a moment, I even think about wood chippers and chain saws—thank you very much, Amanda—but I push those thoughts from my mind. Scary but exciting, I remind myself. I think about how wet I am right now, and about the unbelievable way he made me explode the last time I was here.
Last time, though, I was nowhere near this helpless, this completely vulnerable . Tied the way I am, he can do pretty much anything he wants to me. I remind myself that I have a safe word. If things go too far, I can use it—I just have to trust that Sir will respond to it. There’s nothing forcing him to, I know.
My mouth is growing dry. I’m struck by the irony that my pussy can feel so freaking wet while my mouth is bone dry.
I feel something cold and wet against my lips. Lost in my anxious thoughts, it takes me a moment to realize that Sir is pressing an ice cube to my mouth. How the fuck does he know these things?
I open my mouth and suck greedily at the moisture.
He lets me drink from the cube for five or ten seconds before pulling it away.
“Thank you, Sir,” I say.
Sir’s response is to rub the ice down my chin and slowly across my chest until it reaches my right nipple. I try to pull away from the cold, but suspended like I am all I can to is twist partially to the side. Sir easily keeps the ice pressed against the sensitive tissue for several more moments before taking it away.
I suck in a deep breath. I know now that we’re about to take this to a whole new level.
THE END – of the BEGINNING
Feel free to indulge your imagination about what happens next…
O r, you can simply start reading Book Two, FALLING.
Or better yet—do both!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. T. Prussing is the not so subtle pen name for Scott Prussing, author of the critically acclaimed paranormal romance series The Blue Fire Saga.
Scott was born in New Jersey, but was smart enough to move to beautiful San Diego, California as soon as
Similar Books
