Big mistake
It was a big mistake that I tell the man who just knew at the bar my weakness for ropes and gags. Now I am firmly bound and gagged at the basement, completely helpless. It is useless to strugle against my bonds. I can't escape.
"Oh, you're a poet and you didn't even know it," the bartender quipped, his eyes gleaming as he set a whiskey neat before me.
I rolled my eyes at him and took a sip, savoring the warm burn that trickled down my throat. The bar was dimly lit, with the hum of jazz music playing in the background. It was a welcome reprieve from the cold, sterile office I had just left behind. The man at the end of the bar, a tall, well-dressed stranger, had been watching me for a while. His gaze was unnerving but not unwelcome. I had felt his eyes on me since I walked in, and something about his intensity was intriguing.
He had a strong jawline, a five-o'clock shadow that looked more like a deliberate styling choice than an afterthought, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. Our glances had been lingering a bit longer than what was considered 'casual' by societal norms, and I found myself feeling a little flustered. The whiskey was helping, loosening my nerves and making me feel a bit more adventurous than usual. He was the kind of man who looked like he could tie a woman in knots and leave her begging for more, and for some reason, that thought sent a thrill down my spine.
As the evening wore on, our eyes kept finding each other across the room. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I sauntered over to him, the sway of my hips exaggerated by the tightness of my little black dress. He looked up as I approached, his gaze raking over me in a way that made me feel both vulnerable and powerful. He didn't say a word, just nodded slightly, acknowledging my presence. I took a seat next to him, the leather stool cold against my skin.
"Long day?" he asked, his voice deep and smoky.
I nodded, taking another sip of my whiskey. "Long meetings, endless paperwork."
He leaned in, his cologne wafting over me, a tantalizing mix of spices and leather. "Let me guess," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you've got a secret craving for a little... excitement, don't you?"
A shiver of anticipation danced down my spine. I had never been one to play games, but tonight, the air was thick with it. "What do you have in mind?" I asked, my voice a coy purr.
His eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, I think I know just the thing."
Before I knew it, we were out of the bar, the chilly night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the whiskey. He led me down a shadowy alley, his hand firm on the small of my back. We arrived at an unassuming door, which he opened with a flourish. Descending a steep flight of stairs, we entered a dimly lit basement that smelled faintly of musk and leather. It was clear this was not an ordinary after-work rendezvous.
The room was sparse but surprisingly clean, with a few pieces of furniture that looked like they belonged in a dungeon rather than a home. My heart raced as I took in the sight of chains hanging from the ceiling and a rack of various whips and paddles on the wall. I felt a mix of fear and excitement, my body responding in ways I didn't quite understand.
"You like ropes and gags, I hear?" He said it so casually, as if we were discussing the weather.
I swallowed hard, nodding. It was true; I had a thing for bondage. It had always been a secret kink, one I had never dared to explore outside of my own fantasies. But here I was, with this stranger, feeling like I was on the cusp of something... incredible.
Without another word, he turned to me, his movements swift and practiced. He pulled out a length of rope and began wrapping it around my wrists, the fibers biting into my skin as he pulled them taut. My breath hitched as he worked, each loop and knot a silent promise of what was to come. He was surprisingly gentle, considering his rough exterior, his eyes never leaving mine as he bound me.
When he was satisfied with my wrists, he moved to my ankles, securing them just as thoroughly. Then, he approached my face, holding up a white scarf with a wicked smile. "Open up," he ordered, and I obeyed, the thrill of submission coursing through me as the fabric filled my mouth, muffling my moans. He tied the scarf tightly, the knot pressing into my cheek, and I could feel the heat rising in my face.
Now completely at his mercy, I felt a strange sense of liberation. The world outside had faded away, and all that mattered was the feeling of the ropes digging into my flesh and the promise in his eyes. I was ready for whatever he had planned, eager to explore the depths of my desires.
But as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a flicker of doubt danced through my mind. What if this was a mistake? What if he wasn't what he seemed? The whiskey had made me bold, but now the reality of my situation was sinking in, and fear began to mingle with the arousal. It was too late to turn back now, though. I was his, bound and gagged, awaiting whatever twisted pleasure he had in store for me.
I rolled my eyes at him and took a sip, savoring the warm burn that trickled down my throat. The bar was dimly lit, with the hum of jazz music playing in the background. It was a welcome reprieve from the cold, sterile office I had just left behind. The man at the end of the bar, a tall, well-dressed stranger, had been watching me for a while. His gaze was unnerving but not unwelcome. I had felt his eyes on me since I walked in, and something about his intensity was intriguing.
He had a strong jawline, a five-o'clock shadow that looked more like a deliberate styling choice than an afterthought, and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me. Our glances had been lingering a bit longer than what was considered 'casual' by societal norms, and I found myself feeling a little flustered. The whiskey was helping, loosening my nerves and making me feel a bit more adventurous than usual. He was the kind of man who looked like he could tie a woman in knots and leave her begging for more, and for some reason, that thought sent a thrill down my spine.
As the evening wore on, our eyes kept finding each other across the room. Finally, unable to resist any longer, I sauntered over to him, the sway of my hips exaggerated by the tightness of my little black dress. He looked up as I approached, his gaze raking over me in a way that made me feel both vulnerable and powerful. He didn't say a word, just nodded slightly, acknowledging my presence. I took a seat next to him, the leather stool cold against my skin.
"Long day?" he asked, his voice deep and smoky.
I nodded, taking another sip of my whiskey. "Long meetings, endless paperwork."
He leaned in, his cologne wafting over me, a tantalizing mix of spices and leather. "Let me guess," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "you've got a secret craving for a little... excitement, don't you?"
A shiver of anticipation danced down my spine. I had never been one to play games, but tonight, the air was thick with it. "What do you have in mind?" I asked, my voice a coy purr.
His eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh, I think I know just the thing."
Before I knew it, we were out of the bar, the chilly night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the whiskey. He led me down a shadowy alley, his hand firm on the small of my back. We arrived at an unassuming door, which he opened with a flourish. Descending a steep flight of stairs, we entered a dimly lit basement that smelled faintly of musk and leather. It was clear this was not an ordinary after-work rendezvous.
The room was sparse but surprisingly clean, with a few pieces of furniture that looked like they belonged in a dungeon rather than a home. My heart raced as I took in the sight of chains hanging from the ceiling and a rack of various whips and paddles on the wall. I felt a mix of fear and excitement, my body responding in ways I didn't quite understand.
"You like ropes and gags, I hear?" He said it so casually, as if we were discussing the weather.
I swallowed hard, nodding. It was true; I had a thing for bondage. It had always been a secret kink, one I had never dared to explore outside of my own fantasies. But here I was, with this stranger, feeling like I was on the cusp of something... incredible.
Without another word, he turned to me, his movements swift and practiced. He pulled out a length of rope and began wrapping it around my wrists, the fibers biting into my skin as he pulled them taut. My breath hitched as he worked, each loop and knot a silent promise of what was to come. He was surprisingly gentle, considering his rough exterior, his eyes never leaving mine as he bound me.
When he was satisfied with my wrists, he moved to my ankles, securing them just as thoroughly. Then, he approached my face, holding up a white scarf with a wicked smile. "Open up," he ordered, and I obeyed, the thrill of submission coursing through me as the fabric filled my mouth, muffling my moans. He tied the scarf tightly, the knot pressing into my cheek, and I could feel the heat rising in my face.
Now completely at his mercy, I felt a strange sense of liberation. The world outside had faded away, and all that mattered was the feeling of the ropes digging into my flesh and the promise in his eyes. I was ready for whatever he had planned, eager to explore the depths of my desires.
But as he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a flicker of doubt danced through my mind. What if this was a mistake? What if he wasn't what he seemed? The whiskey had made me bold, but now the reality of my situation was sinking in, and fear began to mingle with the arousal. It was too late to turn back now, though. I was his, bound and gagged, awaiting whatever twisted pleasure he had in store for me.
