She was pale-skinned and her skin was covered in tattoos. Her thin body a result of years of stress and concern for her appearance. She had lost a lot of weight since I’d first met her. She had told me of feeling out of control. Lost. Unsure of where she should go in life.
I had known her for a period of a couple years. We’d shared about ourselves. She knew what I was. I knew what she was. She became skittish around me. Nervous. I didn’t know why. Then…
She told me.
She wanted me to take her away. Out of her state of being. Remove it.
I felt it was an honor. Something of a blessing I was being given or asked to give. When she asked me her eyes were full of pain. I wanted to take that pain from her.
She came over that Friday night. We smoked a joint. Calmed down. Had some laughs. I placed the bag of bondage gear on the table in front of her. I explained I wouldn’t ask questions, but would move slowly and she could simply say “no thank you”.
Leading her to the bedroom by her hand and the bag in my other, I sat her on the edge. Kissing her cheeks, her neck, her collarbones, moving between her legs to slide her jeans down her thighs. I kissed back up and brought myself between her thighs, and began to slowly feast, tightening the seal of my mouth around her pussy. She was already a mess; clearly excitement had begun a long time ago. I spent enough time there to bring her out of her head a bit.
Part 1
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/10yfxvy/a_poetic_tale_of_bondage_fm