Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
L orelai…
I didn’t know what to expect but when the clothes came off and the rope bundles came out of the top of the chest of drawers, it dawned on me what the setup might be for.
“You’re going to tie me up and hang me from that thing like a living piece of artwork, aren’t you?” I asked and I felt a little thrill go through me.
“Very good, Sweetpea,” he murmured and tossed a length of rope out and away from him, the sound of it smacking the carpet in here made me jump.
“How does it go?” I asked curiously. I trusted him, and I liked it when he draped and cinched the ropes against my skin, it felt nice and I felt like I looked so pretty decorated in them, the knots and macramé highlighting some of my body’s greatest… a hem… assets.
He grinned and it was a bit feral, sending a wash of tingles down my back. I smiled and he grinned and stepping into my personal space, his big hands going to my hips, he said, “Well, first, let’s get you naked, if you don’t mind.”
“I never mind with you,” I whispered and his smile grew and glowed with something akin to pride.
“You flatter me,” he said with a wink and with a wry twist to my lips I said, “I’d say you earned it, because you did.”
He lowered his mouth to mine then and we kissed.
I loved how gentle he was with me, his lips soft and considerate against mine. His hands firm and yet so gentle on my body. He slipped the zipper on the side of my dress down, the bodice going from comfortably snug to loose around my midsection and I breathed out a sigh of something like relief against his lips.
He chuckled and his hands moved slowly, gracefully, and softly against my body, divesting me of first my dress, and then my bra before he knelt down at my feet to sweep my panties down my legs.
I watched him every moment, my breath stolen by the pride and love shining from his eyes as he looked at me.
“You need to stop, what do you say?” he asked softly.
We’d talked about this. Something other than ‘no’ and ‘stop’ something that was a clear as day failsafe that was completely out of left field and unmistakable for the signal it was – that I was uncomfortable and everything needed to stop.
“Belladonna,” I said. One of the forms of deadly nightshade. It seemed apropos if I was going to kill a good time.
“Belladonna,” he repeated his voice soft and nearly drowned out by the pulsing rain on the windows and roof. “Good girl,” he whispered by my ear, and then he attacked the side of my neck with tender mercy, igniting that cold fire that swept out from my core in a rush that stole my very breath from my lungs and turned off almost all of my faculties. Like throwing a light switch into the ‘off’ position, my mind just clicked and shrank and went pleasantly blank under his onslaught.
I knew that would only get better as the rope came out, and he meditatively started running it along my skin, binding me in place slowly and methodically as he did.
He drew back and looked into my eyes and said, “I want to try something a little more different with you tonight than the usual chest harness.”
I looked up at him questioningly, but didn’t speak.
He smiled and said, “I want to tie your arms behind your back, and put rope on more of you than I usually do. Think you can handle that?”
I cocked my head, considering what he’d said, and after much thought to whether I could handle being incapacitated, I nodded, eventually, very slowly.
His worried smile turned into something beatific and he leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“Thank you, baby,” he murmured against my skin and his breath was warm and suffused me with a glow from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet.
He rigged me into a snug chest harness as he’d done before. Similar to the one he had taught me to do on myself before I left him for home, but more intricate, more decorative than I could ever dream of attempting.
The deep royal blue of the bamboo rope felt like warm silk against my skin, but also turned my pale flesh almost translucent, the light blue tracery of my veins beneath my skin more prominent visually, by some trick of the light or the color of the rope. When he finished the chest harness, my arms behind my back, wrapped tight to my body with the bindings, he brought out another hank of rope, throwing it out behind him, the tendrils of fiber slapping the carpet and making me jump.
“Just a little more, baby, then I’m going to hang you from that ring and suspend you off the ground, and if you’re game – I’m gonna play with that pretty pussy of yours until you cum all over my hand and then my cock.”
He was behind me, whispering in my ear, causing me to involuntarily shudder with desire as he tested my hands with his, rubbing my fingers between his own, making sure the blood flow was good and my fingers were warm.
It was hard for any part of me to be anything else when he talked to me like that.
The cognitive dissonance hit me with enough force to nearly knock me off my feet. It was something I was going to bring up in therapy – this overwhelming and nagging feeling that after what I’d been through, that I wasn’t supposed to like sex – but I did. I loved the way Hangman touched me. I loved the feel of him against me, wrapped around me, and inside me. I loved everything about how beautiful and revered he made me feel, and how with him, I didn’t feel less than as a result of what had happened to me.
He made me feel normal when I sometimes felt anything but, and that was precious to me and one of the main reasons I had wanted to return here. My mother treated me as though I were made of thinnest glass, as fragile as a soap bubble – and I hated that.
In counterpoint, the look of pity and just – I don’t know that my dad cast in my direction… it bothered me, more than words can say and I just wanted so badly to be away from those looks, the constant asking if I was alright, the jumping to do things for me as though I was some sort of invalid now… mixed with his bizarre ranting and raving on the phone the second I stepped a toe out of lockstep with his plans or whatever for me…
I knew they meant well, but I couldn’t handle it. I felt like I could never come back to myself around that treatment and while Hangman was certainly careful of me, it didn’t feel like it was because of this one bad thing that’d happened to me. It felt as though he was careful because he was afraid that he would break me somehow – not that I was already broken.
The difference, in some ways, was subtle – in others, it was huge.
He attached rope at one hip, sliding the folded loop of twisted fibers under the rope riding over my hip, sliding the long, long, tail of it through the loop and cinching the new bit of rope to the old securely.
I stood still, almost in a meditative space as he wove a latticework of rope around and down one leg, tracing under my ass cheek and between my legs in such a way that it made me want to press my thighs together.
“Open up those legs for me, baby,” he murmured, kneeling in front of me. He waited patiently for me to part my legs for him again, and made quick work of finishing off the rope at my ankle, leaving a long tail of it to trail behind my foot.
He loosed another length of rope, and I loved watching it spiral out behind him – yet still I jumped at the ‘ whap!’ sound it made against the carpet. I laughed nervously and he chuckled with me, before he dipped to one knee beside me and repeated the process on the other leg with this new length of rope.
When I was a lacework of rope from neck to ankle, he looked up at me and said, “Now this is where I need you to trust me. Can you kneel down here for me, Sweetpea?”
“Um,” I tried and laughed a little uneasily. With my arms bound behind my back, it was a bit harrowing and ungainly, but I managed as he praised me under his breath, and the low soothing tone made me shudder with a deep and hidden pride and pleasure.
“Good girl,” he breathed, and he knelt beside me at a ninety-degree angle and put his arm out, across my upper chest, fingers loosely curling around my opposite upper shoulder as he instructed me carefully, “Now lean forward slow and easy and trust that I’ve got you – I’m not going to let you face-plant, I swear it.”
I leaned slowly and carefully into his arm and he lowered me gently and equally as carefully to the floor to lay on my stomach.
I breathed easy, and turned my head to press my cheek to the carpet and with a swiftness and a deftness I didn’t know he possessed, he was pulling the rope tails at my ankles and bending me at the knees, my heels going to my butt, my legs opening, my sex exposed.
I gasped, and he paused and checked in with me, but lord – I liked it. I loved the feel of this.
Blue light flashed and the boom that accompanied it had him throwing his body over mine to protect me. The startlement of it wrenching a cry out of my chest as the lights went out and we were plunged into a near perfect darkness.
“Easy baby, you’re okay – we’re okay, the power just went out.”
“I know,” I said and bit the words off when they came out higher and a little shriller than I intended them to.
“I’m going to grab some candles. Do we need to stop, or are you okay to just lay here a moment like this?” he asked.
“I’m okay,” I said quickly.
“Two seconds,” he vowed and he gave me a light smack on my bare bottom. I yipped and couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from between my teeth.
He returned with a candle already aglow and set it on the chest of drawers above me. He set another on the bedside table and lit it, and another on the other bedside table and got that going.
“Jesus, you look perfect in candle light,” he said turning back to me. I had already begun to sink back down into whatever comfortable space this put me in. That place where everything was just a warm, tingling, and pleasant blank where I didn’t have to think I didn’t have to feel anything other than what he did to me.
He stripped, but where I couldn’t see him. Just where I had to listen to cloth rub against cloth, leather whoosh against denim as he undid his belt… my pussy grew wet, and I felt so vulnerable and exposed, but it wasn’t like when I was paralyzed from that awful drug – this was different. This was exciting. This sparked an anticipation in me, a craving, and I wondered what was supposed to happen next, because I just didn’t know…
One of the legs of the tripod contraption thing rested on the carpet six inches or so from my face and I blinked and tried to focus on it in the wavering candlelight.
“Here we go baby,” he warned me, and the ropes across the front of my body grew taut, pinching slightly in places, as I was hoisted off of the plush carpet to dangle helplessly a foot or two off of the floor.
“Oh, shit!” I bit off as he grunted and worked to tie things off to keep me suspended there.
“You good?” he asked, checking with me.
“Yeah!” I said breathlessly. “Wow!”
He laughed at that, and then his hands were smoothing over my body, fingers slipping under ropes, running along in places to make sure I wasn’t pinching or rubbing in any one place too badly.
Then his fingers were at the crack of my ass, touching much more intimately, and I moaned, writhing just a bit, trying to get closer to that touch – but that was futile. He put his thumb against my asshole and dipped his fingers into my wetness at the entrance to my cunt.
“Oh, God!” I uttered, somewhere between a whisper and a gasp as he played with my body, reaching an arm under me to palm my breast, pinching a nipple between his fingers, and rolling it back and forth, putting a sweet torsion on it.
“You like that?” he asked me, and he wouldn’t give up asking me until I told him – “ Yes!”
“You have such a pretty tight little pussy, baby. Such a beautiful little asshole, too. You think you could ever take me in your ass? Would that be something you would let me do?” he asked, and I the way he made it sound – so decadent, so dirty . I would let him do whatever he wanted to do to me.
“Yes,” I said, my body already starting to quiver against my bonds as he worked fingers in and out of me, teasing me with my own wetness, grazing my clit with gentle fingertips, swirling around it, patiently, slowly, working me into nothing short of a desperate frenzy.
The sounds that poured from my mouth and throat were sounds that I could hardly believe were coming from me , but Hangman had that effect on me. When he put his mouth to my body, plunging his tongue inside me, I didn’t know how I held it together.
I didn’t, honestly, for very long…
I came, screaming, against his hand, his other hand buried in the ropes at my back, holding me in place for the strong thrusts of his fingers and once I was mid-orgasm, he moved his hand away from my pussy, pulled back on the ropes and set me to wildly swinging, making me squeal in absolute giddy fucking delight.