HIS CURVY OBSESSION

Bondage

I look at my left and sure, on the floor, in a black tray is a red collar.

With the lump still seated in my throat, I pick it up and latch it around my neck.

“Tighter.”

Banks’s voice moves through my chest, my n*****s, and straight down to my cunt . I without room for refusal obey.

Tightening the leather until it hooks against my skin. My vision blurs slightly at the edges. I ease it back one notch.

“Fix the chain to it.”

I spot a bowl on the tray, placed face down. I lift it. Beneath it: a silver chain. And beside the chain — a n****e clamp, something I have come to recognise as a c******s clamp, and cuffs.

My entire body hums with a current that makes me both ache and embarrassingly wet.

I pick up the chain. It rattles loudly. I find the hook and attach it to my leather cuff, jolting at the cold contact, but fastening it firmly.

“Clamps.”

I am not sure this is what he has planned, but this entire situation have me completely worried for my self. My body feels itchy and my cunt has been giving a jerky pulsation

Still on my knees, I pull my dress over my head and look up at him.

I am left in my lace bra and matching thong. One of three matching sets I own purely for the sake of owning them, barely worn until now.

I clip the clamp onto one n****e and the sensation makes me press lower to the ground, knees tight together as a searing, delicious current pulses from my chest straight through my n*****s and cunt.

“Anor.”

I look up at him. Still at the stairs. Still watching.

“I’m sorry, master,” I say, not entirely sure what I am apologising for. Eyes on him, I press the second clamp onto my other n****e and feel something slick trail down my inner thigh.

I should pull down my underwear properly. Instead, I pull the fabric aside and fix the clamp to my c******s and then release it.

As someone with wide hips, I have ditched full underwear since meeting Banks and moved entirely to thongs and G-strings.

Right now, with a clamp pressing against my most sensitive skin and the fabric holding everything in place, I recognise this was a mistake.

“Crawl to me.”

I expected it. I have done it before. But the anticipation that fills me this time leaves no room for shame.

I swallow and crawl toward him on all fours. The chain rattles loudly with every move, and the shame I thought I had bypassed starts arriving in slow, hot waves.

I think that is the point.

I reach Banks and look up at him.

Without a word, he takes two steps back up the stairs. I follow, my eyes looking up at him, pleading.

I expect him to hold me. Pour his whiskey on me.

Maybe shove his d**k inside my mouth instead...

He takes two more steps back, twirling his whiskey glass, looking down at me. I follow again. Back and back through the hallway- past the red bedroom at the far end, the chain singing against the floor with every step I take.

“Red room,” he says, and steps back again.

I look up at his face.

His face is hard lines of rage, and darkness with no softness anywhere.

“I’m sorry, master.” He says nothing.

“Open.” My body light up, I lift my head and part my lips.

He takes a slow sip of his whiskey and does not swallow. I blink at him and he spits it directly over my face. Most of it lands on my cheeks, my neck, down to my chest. Only a few drops reach my tongue.

His eyes drop low, and I trail it to find he's looking at my n*****s that have gotten glaringly hard and pointed through the clamps.

“Go,” he orders. I crawl faster. To seduce him properly, I let my hips sway. Adding deliberate movement with every step, feeling his eyes on me as I enter the room.

The door is open and the room is red, as always.

Been a while, I think, looking around and then Banks’s hand closes around my chain.

Very hard.