Claimed Series

Sex Ritual

'Enough.” His voice was hoarse. “Stand up.”

As she rose to her feet, he pulled his jeans and shorts into place. He cupped her breasts and dipped his head in order to suckle her nipples, first one and then the other.

The rope was crushed against the sensitive flesh of her breasts and he rubbed it there with his palms, making her feel it. She moaned aloud, shifting from foot to foot, tension looping from her nipples to her pussy and back, making her unbearably hot. When she swayed back, the rope tightened around her back.

Every inch of her was aware—aware of the containment at her back, the dense smell of their mutual arousal in the room, and most of all she was aware of his attention.

“It is the ritual that makes it so special,” he whispered. “It will take me a while to make sure you are properly secured.”

As he spoke, keeping her informed of his actions, he lifted her arms at the elbow, indicating she should keep them raised and away from her body. He began to loop the rope under her arms, backwards and forwards across her chest and then beneath her breasts.

The flexibility only just distracted her from the fact it would be tight against her skin soon and only he could release her.

Occasionally he would stop and bring another length of rope into play, knotting it into place. That created pressure points on her body—key points, the base of her neck, and along the edge of her rib cage.

“Good?”

She nodded.

“This makes me feel as if you really want to be in my bed.” His smile was wicked. He was right though. Each intricate knot he made bound her to him, and she became mesmerized by the caring attention he showed her. It truly was a ritual for him, and it was fast becoming that for her.

It didn’t feel overly tight at first, not until she took a deep, ragged breath and then she felt it. Her chest was constricted, breasts squeezed tight and nipples poking through the arrangement of slender ropes. A heady rush hit her. Never had she been so ready to be fucked, never had he made her wait quite so long.

“I’m going to put you on the bed now.” He lifted her into his arms and she rolled against his body, the bindings making her want to be right against him where she was safe.

When he laid her down she put her arms flat against the surface. He drew one hand and then the other into one of his, moving them against the decorative metal posts of the headboard. With a length of rope he secured them, tying them together against a single strut, then he looped that length of rope down and around one at her lower rib cage.

He stepped away and stood at the end of the bed looking down at her. The weight of his gaze was almost too much. She was strung out, raw, and dying for him to take her.

When she tugged with her wrists it pulled the rope latticed over her chest. The restraint forced her into a different zone. It made something give way inside her and she rolled her head on the pillow, her pulse racing and her breathing shallow and erratic.

“Open your legs.”

She did as instructed. The cool air on her inflamed pussy maddened her swollen clit. She wriggled, desperate to be touched there.

He moved her legs further apart—spread-eagling her, making her gasp aloud—then lifted another length of the rope. Again he ran it through his hands, readying it. His biceps flexed and caught the light as he did so. With the rope taut in his hands, he moved it to her inner thigh, resting it in the crease of her groin.

He looped the rope around the top of one thigh, weaving it into the latticework over her chest, before bringing it down the other side and around the top of the other thigh. Imogen shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. Every action heightened her senses, while her splayed pussy felt increasingly vulnerable and exposed.

He loomed over her, his expression intense while he watched her every reaction, noting every move she made, every whisper of sound that escaped her.

The rope around her rib cage felt gloriously restrictive, the pressure above and below her breasts and around the tops of her thighs making her more horny than she’d ever been, and when she glanced down at her totem-like nipples between the electric-blue hemp it looked so lewd and lusty that her head rolled against pillows.

After he checked that she was secure, he lay at her side, one hand on the pillow next to her head, the other stroking her left nipple. When he pinched it and she cried out in ecstasy, he watched her face. “Are you comfortable?”

She nodded. It was true, because she felt naked and raw but incredibly safe, because he had secured her. “It’s good,” she whispered.

Moving his hand around her right breast, he cupped it, squeezing it before placing his fingers around the nipple. Through his jeans she could feel his erection solid against her hip, but still he took his time. She squirmed, her sex throbbing, desperate for him. Each touch set free a burning sensation that traveled to her core, where it stoked the fire there.

Moving over her body, he ran one finger beneath the rope, as if checking it. Then his hands trailed over her abdomen to the plump flesh of her exposed pussy. He stroked her engorged clit then squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger.

Needles of sensation shot through her groin. She felt as if the skin on her chest and neck was burning, her stomach tight in response to the delicious provocation. When he pinched, she almost came.

“You know why I’m doing this now, don’t you?”

A breathy laugh escaped her. “To drive me insane.”

Still he brushed his fingertips over her exposed pussy, tantalizing her swollen folds with the briefest of strokes.