Daddy
gave me directions to the evening’s implements. I was already soaking wet, had already cum, and more than ready to crumble, and he knew.
The pile of ropes sat on a piece of cloth in his room, accompanied by a large steel ring. I barely knew what I was looking at, and didn’t know what I was supposed to fetch.
I called out and couldn’t hear his response. My eyes lingered on the pile and my inner voice, deep into submission, whispered that it could not bear to disappoint Daddy by bringing the wrong thing.
I grabbed the hanging floggers, then the whole pile of ropes, not daring to be told I hadn’t done exactly what was asked, and walked down the stairs.
—-
My wrists were bound to the frame. I stood, bare but for the strappy leather set I’d worn. Bare. Freezing cold. And not a single protestation escaped my lips about it.
Daddy had told me that he liked to tease while rigging, but no disclaimer would have ever been enough to describe the artful, magical way he brushed up against me as he tied, the way my entire form became an erogenous zone when I was wholly at his mercy, eager to be his perfect marionette.