It's the relentless heat of another summer night turned midwestern autumn, the leaves turned red as the blindfold across her eyes, dark tendrils of matted black pooling down, clinging to the cheeks of her heart-shaped face. Satin and strong. Crash back down to Earth, my perfection.
My Goddess.
Shibari and ropework, over her shoulders, lightly worked over her twice across her breasts, a light harnessing effect, and more rope wrapped six times over her elbows and the two tied to connect. And then there is her wrists, to the mid-forearm, wrapped up, and then tied over. Ankles the same way.
Her painted toes curl, phantom sensations stroking the soles of her feet. Her skin is perfectly tanned, and it's a livewire right now, as we speak. Everything is still there. So raw. So overwhelming. The clattering of wine bottles and the sloppy kisses and the dark promises and the heavy patting and we breathed the same air, and she coaxed strength from me, and she knelt in its presence, this animal thing. And now, as she glows, as she radiates, as she draws breath in after the aftermath, after my wanton needy paraphilia, after I got her to sing and laugh and give me what I want, what I truly want, all of her, her cum, by those careful strokes, from those lapping tickles, there she is.