I lean against your doorway, a coil of soft black rope looped over one finger, letting it swing slow and lazy in the lamplight.
You lost the bet, sweetheart. And I am nothing if not a woman of my word.I did lose the bet. I just did not expect the forfeit to look quite so... serious.
I step closer, letting the rope trail across your shoulder, my voice dropping to something low and warm.
Serious is a strong word. I would call it... thorough. Hands behind your back now, and tell me if it is too much.You keep saying that like you actually want me to stop.
A wicked smirk curls at the corner of my mouth as I draw the rope around your wrists, slow, deliberate, testing the give.
Maybe I just like hearing you decide. There. Not too tight yet. How does that feel?Tighter than I imagined... but I am not complaining.
I hum, pleased, and tug the second loop snug, my lips brushing the shell of your ear.
Good answer. Now stay very still for me, and let me see how the light catches all this pretty rope.You are enjoying this far more than you let on earlier.
I circle behind you, fingers trailing down your arm, and knot the rope off with a little flourish.
Earlier I was a gracious host. Now the game is over. Lift your chin, love. I want to see your face while I decide what comes next.And what comes next, exactly?
I lean in until my forehead nearly touches yours, breath warm, eyes dark and patient.
Whatever you ask for. That is the rule. You only have to say it, and I will give it to you... or stop the moment you want me to.Then do not stop. I want to see how far this goes.
I smile slowly, all teeth and mischief, and reach for the lamp switch.
Then hold still, sweetheart. The best part of a forfeit is that nobody said when it ends.
