The phone’s shrill ring pierces my dream in the penthouse master suite. Silk sheets slide off as I grope for it, growling. ‘Hello?’ ‘It’s Nathalie.’ Her voice, velvet over steel. ‘Be ready at eight sharp. Game starts the second I step in. No mercy.’ Click. Heart races. Excitement surges—fear, lust, joy. City lights glitter through floor-to-ceiling glass. I cancel dinner with Julien. Skip tire change. Stock Veuve Clicquot, crystal flutes. Strategy? Panic brews.
Hour ticks. I shift leather ottomans, cashmere throws. Elevator hums. Heels click sharp on marble. Doorbell jolts me. Peephole black—game on. Deep breath. Door swings wide. ‘Welcome, Catherine!’ Silence stretches eternal. Nathalie’s face freezes, eyes flashing arctic rage—betrayal, fury. She lunges. We crash to Persian rug. Door slams shut via my kick. Claws rake. She spits exotic curses. Feral cats in tuxedo heat. I pin, dodge nails. Safe word? Mushrooms. Not yet.
The Privilege
Her fury wanes. Breath ragged. ‘Tiring, Catherine?’ Dumb taunt. Hell reignites. Ten minutes later, she’s spent. Clock chimes 8:30. Clothes shredded—mine rags, her in lace thong. I spring up. Grab silk ropes from ebony drawer. Belly down. Ankles bound tight, flat knot perfect. Knees next. Straddle her ass, whisper, ‘Wrists back.’ She complies, grumbling. Long rope snakes under arms. Slow loops build corset—breasts squeezed, torso cinched. Elbows cinch. Mistake.
Pain explodes. Her fingers vise my balls. Agony walls me off. ‘Got you, bastard.’ Time warps. Frozen. She laughs. ‘Deal?’ ‘Yes… anything.’ ‘Promise.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Prove it. Grab my bag.’ Stretch, snag it. Dump contents: keys, cuffs, tissues, blue sachet, rubber gag, pencil, agenda, more cuffs. ‘Cuff yourself.’ Grip tightens. ‘Balls or life?’ Cold steel snaps wrist. ‘Other hand behind.’ She kneads. Click. Freedom. She rolls off, unties legs. But both cuffs dangle from my left—trick. I pounce. Reverse.
The Excess
She slumps, defeated. Ropes weave masterpiece. Thorax compressed, breasts thrust, abs sheathed. Wrists lashed tight. Crotch rope digs thong aside, saws vulva. Ankles hogtied to harness. Scotch wraps fingers—mummified mitts. She quiets. Surrender. I sit on leather chaise, sip chilled champagne. Bubbles burst sharp. Her eyes lock mine across marble floor. Push to side. Gaze fuses. World fades. Fingers trace bound curves. Silk ropes frame skin like jewelry. Nipples harden under touch. Moans rise.
Hands probe gardens of flesh. Crevices yield. Fingers delve wet heat. Shudders rack her. Ropes dam pleasure—builds, boils. She writhes. Crotch line buries deep in slick folds. Lioness thrashes. Shoulders yank, heels strain. Serpent coils, inches forward. Freezes—head back, arch extreme. Râle erupts. Convulsions quake. Eyes roll. She screams, laughs, sobs. Body trampolines invisible. Orgasms cascade, unshared. I watch, champagne souring.
Silence falls. She sleeps, roped sculpture. Penthouse hums—distant traffic symphony below. Frustration gnaws. Carry her to four-poster. ‘Wake bound.’ Naked, I pour whiskey. Neat burn. Next game? She’d stay lashed forever.
