They’re not so that you can feel your legs clamp together as the power is slowly taken away from you, each knot another nail in the coffin of your freedom, battening down the hatches so that nothing gets out.
They’re not so that you moan and whine, beg and plead, so that you can just get what you want. You don’t want that. I know you. The last thing on earth you want is what you want. You’re a ridiculous, perverted little paradox.
No, the ropes are so you don’t get in my fucking way when I’m doing all the depraved things my mind has spent the last 24 hours thinking up.
They’re so you don’t leave those grooves down my back where your nails trace lines when your silly little head can’t think of anything but the word ‘Fuck’ in sixty foot high neon letters.
They’re so you can’t cover anything up, because despite how adorable it is, and how much it shows me that there’s still a shred of decency within you that feels shame and embarrassment at dignity being stripped away, they’re only going to get in my way.
Your hands are just one more little speedbump on the way to completely having my way with you, and I’d rather have a smooth ride.
-written by by My Trousers Rolled, on tumblr.
No comments:
Post a Comment