Chapter 23 Micah #2
“It went well enough for him to offer me a real audition,” I tell him. “So I think it went okay, but it’s hard to say. I know they have a lot of people coming through who want to join up with them.” I hesitate, then say carefully, “I think I have a shot, though.”
The director had even complimented my audition composition, which had been mind-boggling to me. It isn’t like I’d ever expect them to use my music, but despite any formal schooling or experience, it had apparently counted for something.
It might be just a small gig with a local theatre, but I’m excited nonetheless.
“You definitely have a shot,” Ilya agrees. “But if anybody is mean to you, tell me. I’ll set them straight.”
The words make me smile. “No one’s going to be mean to me,” I tell him.
“They’d let me down gently.” I pause, then add, “And all that would mean is more practice. Maybe I need to enroll in a music program. There’s this coffee shop that’s hiring, and between that and what I earn at the restaurant, I can probably make it work. ”
“Mishka, I will pay for your program,” Ilya says sternly. “You don’t need to work more.” After a pause, he adds, “Unless you want to. I don’t mean you aren’t allowed to work.”
I can’t deny that it would be much easier to let him pay for the program for me, and the idea of being able to practice more instead of juggling classes and two jobs while still trying to find time to spend with Ilya is appealing.
“We’ll see what happens with the audition,” I tell him. “Then we’ll figure it out?”
I’m not likely to make a fortune playing, but it would augment what I do make already.
Ilya already refuses to let me pay for more than the grocery bill each month, insisting that I put the rest into savings.
With a little more income, I could earn enough to make sure that I’ll never be trapped again.
It’s such a change from how I’d been living under Adam’s thumb.
We make it back to Ilya’s condo, and Ilya carries my cello all the way back to what is now a music room.
He’d converted a whole room of his condo just for me, something that I feel warm about each time I think about it. It’s peaceful, and it’s mine, my own sanctuary in a world that doesn’t give much by way of safe spaces.
I go to him and wrap my arms around him, leaning up to claim a kiss. “Do you really think I did well tonight? I still want to make a few changes to the piece I performed, but I think it would be good enough for the restaurant soon.”
“Your music is always good enough for the restaurant,” Ilya says. He leans down to return the kiss, holding me closely. When he breaks the kiss, he whispers, “I also have surprise… a surprise for you. It’s in the bedroom, if you’re in the mood.”
I tilt my head, studying him as I try to determine what it might be. Whatever it is, after the high of performing to such a response, I’m definitely in the mood. I nod. “Show me?” I say, taking his hand and letting him lead me toward the bedroom.
The comforter is arranged at the foot of the bed, with an extra sheet spread across the rest of it. In the center of it all lies a bright red rope, neatly coiled.
My breath quickens.
“You’ve been wanting to try something more elaborate,” Ilya says. “I’ve been reading and practicing.”
“Practicing?” I ask with a startled laugh. There’s a brief flutter in my stomach of jealousy, and I want to ask, with who? I don’t, though, not wanting to spoil the moment.
“Yes. On a mannequin. It was very accommodating.” Ilya lets out a laugh. “And Silvano helped me too. He made me tie the knots five times in a row.”
“He sounds like a very exacting teacher,” I say, the feeling of relief flooding me. I should’ve known that Ilya wouldn’t have done this on someone else, but even so, it’s nice to know. I take a deep breath, torn between excitement and anxiety. “Do you… want me to strip?”
“Yes.” Ilya kisses the top of my head. “Show me your beautiful body, Mishka.”
My stomach flutters strangely, but I start to strip for him. It doesn’t take long to shed my shirt, my pants, and my underwear, then I’m standing before him nude. I meet his eyes, melting at the emotions I see there.
He cares about me as much as I care about him.
Is it simply caring? Or is it something more?
I hold my tongue, but I hope that my expression conveys everything I’m feeling.
Ilya walks around me, lightly trailing his fingers over my skin. His touch is warm on my stomach, on my arms, and down the length of my spine. He stops to kiss the back of my neck.
“Gorgeous,” Ilya repeats. He huffs a small laugh. “I need to learn more English words, so I can praise you properly.”
“You don’t even need words to do that,” I tell him, my cheeks filling with color when I realize how cheesy it sounds. But it’s true. I feel praised and adored simply from his eyes on me.
Ilya chuckles again, then he gives my ass cheeks a quick squeeze. “Kneel on the bed so I can get to work.”
I hurry to obey, getting up onto the bed and onto my knees. I stay upright so I can give him plenty of room to work, my heart already beating faster as I anticipate how it’ll feel to be utterly bound by him. “You aren’t tying me to the bed this time?” I ask.
“No.” Ilya takes the length of rope and folds it in half. It’s a lot longer than the last rope he’d used, and so much prettier. “I’m going to make a pattern.”
“Oh,” I say, unsure of what to make of that. I tilt my head, watching him as he handles the rope with confidence.
I trust him.
Even now, after what he’s done, I really and truly do.
“I’m ready,” I tell him, wanting to reassure him that I’m all in.
Ilya smiles at me. “Thank you.”
Then he lays the first layer of rope on me. I inhale sharply, my skin tingling and my nipples already pebbling from that alone.
Ilya doesn’t tease me, and he doesn’t reprimand me for my reaction. He only carefully winds the rope around my body. He crosses the ropes and knots them in intervals. I watch in fascination as my chest ends up with criss-cross ties.
It’s snug but not too tight, and I reach down to touch the soft rope, brushing my fingers along it. I wonder what he thinks of how it looks.
“Can I see when you’re done?” I ask him.
“Of course,” Ilya says. He kisses my forehead. “But now I will bind your cock.”
Butterflies flutter within my stomach, but I nod to him. I’m already half-hard from the sensations, a little dizzy, and I watch him as he carefully takes my cock in his hands. This time, he goes more slowly, using a second rope that’s thinner than the one across my torso.
He makes a loop around my cock and balls, tightening it enough that I can feel it, but not so much that it constricts my cock entirely. He ends up separating my balls and then extending the ropework up the length of my now fully hard cock.
When I wiggle, I feel the knots press against the sensitive skin. One of the knots is deviously positioned to push against my taint.
“Mishka?” Ilya asks softly. “You need to breathe.”
“I don’t think I remember how,” I say, my eyes half-closed as I revel in the sensations.
I’d never thought that being tied up this way would feel so good, but the way he’s wrapping the rope around my cock and balls is tantalizing.
I force myself to take a deep breath, marveling at the way the rope tugs against my skin when my chest expands more.
“You must breathe,” Ilya insists, but he lifts my hands and kisses my palms. “One more step. Are you ready for me to bind your hands?”
I nod, but I open my eyes completely, wanting to watch him work. It’s art, I realize, and he’s making me a part of it. I never would’ve expected someone to take such care with me, especially when tying me up.
He wraps the rope around my wrists, using loops to make sure the rope doesn’t tighten too much.
The few times Adam had tied me up—and I hate that I’m thinking about him at all—he’d used common knots that had chafed and left deep red bruising on me.
I’d always been grateful that he’d been too impatient to play with ropes more regularly.
When my hands are well and truly bound, Ilya tugs on the loose end of the rope to lift my arms a few inches.
“Can you stand?” Ilya asks.
I hesitate, unsure. “With help, probably,” I tell him. It’s going to put pressure on my cock and balls, I know that much, and I don’t know how it’s going to feel. Good, I think, like the rest.
“Then I’ll help.”
Ilya guides me off the bed, and as I’d expected, every single movement has a knot pressing against my body. I stifle a moan when the rope on my cock tightens imperceptibly.
“There we go,” Ilya murmurs.
I have to lean against him to walk, my legs unsteady. About halfway across the room, Ilya stops and places his hands on my shoulders. I make a soft noise, unsure about what’s happening, until Ilya turns me around.
I’m confronted by my own reflection.
My entire body is flushed red, and I stare back at someone unfamiliar. I look… beautiful.
I turn, squirming when the rope tugs at my balls, getting a good look at my side. I can’t get a good view of my back, but it’s just as artfully tied as my front.
“This is… amazing,” I breathe.
I feel safe. Secure.
“You look good,” Ilya says. He runs his hands over my chest, over the ropes and back against my skin. He pokes at my nipples, and I see him smile in the mirror when I shiver.
“So now that you have me all tied up,” I say, tilting my head, “what do you intend to do with me?”
“Leave you here like this?” Ilya teases. He kisses the side of my head and lowers his hand down to my cock. “Or maybe I will play with you. What do you think, Mishka?”
I can only get out a soft moan as he plays with my cock around the rope. “I think… you should do whatever you want to do,” I say, putting the reins firmly into his hands. I push my hips forward into the touch. “But I know what I want you to do.”