Chapter 12
Knife kept an eye on the time and saved his game at a natural stopping point about twenty minutes before his phone would go off.
He headed downstairs because she’d need more than mere hydration this time. She was going to need actual calories once the hood came off.
Once in the kitchen, he filled a large cup with electrolyte mix, added ice and a straw, and set it on the counter.
He peeled an orange and separated it into sections, and grabbed a few squares of dark chocolate.
All would give simple carbs her body could access immediately, and it was a good combination for a foodie.
He heard the ropes move and creak upstairs, and paused to listen. It only took a few seconds for him to realize it was just the normal involuntary adjustments, the faint shifts in tension. Even this far in, she was still fighting her beautiful predicament. Totally normal.
He’d enjoyed watching her progression as the fight had gradually gone out of her throughout the day. Early on, her muscles had fought to support her where the ropes had not. As her body had succumbed to exhaustion, that’d gradually changed, and now she just hung, and let gravity do what it wanted.
And that was what made him granite hard.
Muscles, tendons, and ligaments slowly admitting defeat until she hung in the ropes without their support.
He’d never tire of watching that specific moment, when a body stopped arguing and simply surrendered its weight. He’d never been able to explain to anyone who didn’t already understand it.
And he’d gotten good enough at estimating when it would happen, he knew when to pause his game and just watch. Multiple times throughout the day, he’d lubed his hand and slowly jacked his dick while he watched. Not enough to get himself off. Not yet.
He poured himself a glass of water and drank it standing at the sink, looking out over the valley below.
The afternoon had turned golden, angling sideways through the bare trees, and he considered the fact she’d been in the dark since the morning, and had no idea what the sky looked like in this moment.
Why did that thought make his dick throb? He’d added the sensory dep because it’s her kink, but perhaps he was learning something about himself in the process.
At any rate, she’d given him the entire day without arguing, questioning, or negotiating.
He turned that over in his thoughts while he finished his water.
He’d had long scenes before. He’d had women who could take a lot, who were genuinely wired for this kind of extended endurance work, who showed up prepared and left satisfied.
He valued that. He’d built his equipment, his space, and his protocols around being good at this specific thing.
And he was damned good at it.
But Tuesday was new to his kind of predicament bondage, and she’d still handed herself over to him with full knowledge of what she was stepping into it.
She trusted him, and that was that. This wasn’t about trying to impress him or prove something.
Just Tuesday Marie Robinson, Miss Fancy Foodist, showing up at ten in the morning, fully prepared to spend twelve hours in his ropes.
And that meant these final two hours were crucial.
He used lighthearted terms like ‘seasoned’ to explain why the first ten hours were necessary, but there was nothing light about them.
He’d put her through hell, and that meant he had to give her lots of heaven at the end of it, if he wanted her to come back.
And he very much wanted her in his ropes again.
She needed to leave the following morning fully satisfied, looking forward to whatever happened the next time.
He wanted to give her enough so she’d already be headed to subspace the next time she drove up his mountain.
That was a reasonable thing for a man to want from a fuckbuddy. Wasn’t it? Never mind he’d fucking caressed her lips before he zipped her back up. That was an anomaly.
He put the orange sections in a small bowl and didn’t examine it any further.
What he was going to do in the next two hours was going to be the best work he’d done in a long time, because this woman could take it.
He’d been managing her all day — careful calibration, enough to keep her present without breaking her, enough sensation to prevent full drift without overwhelming the endurance she needed for the long middle hours.
He’d been saving something back the whole time and they both knew it, even if she didn’t know she knew it.
He thought about the way her body had surrendered its weight to the ropes in the last hours, tendons finally quiet, everything soft and hanging and his. The way she’d swallowed every word that tried to form while he hurt her.
He carried the electrolyte water and food upstairs, set everything on the nightstand, and just stood for a moment, looking at her.
The afternoon light came through the window and bathed the jute in a warm gold, turning the shadows in the ropes deep, making the whole thing look like something that should be hanging in a gallery somewhere.
The curve of her torso against the light.
Her hair loose and hanging through the hood.
Her free arm finally still, dangling at the angle it had exhausted itself into.
She made a tiny little movement, and he couldn’t help his smile. He loved seeing the small unconscious tremors of a body that’d run out of ways to fight and was simply existing while hanging in his ropes.
He’d built this room with an eye to making a person hanging from his pulleys turn into a centerpiece, but he hadn’t known, specifically, how it would look with her in it.
And he was absolutely going to make the next two hours count.
He worked the pulleys for the final time that day, unzipped her mouth, and let her suck the sponge for the last time, but only six ounces this time. He zipped her mouth back. Fastened the chin strap back.
And it was time to start.
He untied the rope connecting her right hand to her left foot. The sudden release reconfigured her entire body, but he didn’t give her time to adjust.
He grabbed her left wrist and tied it off to her left foot, then tied the combined limbs off so they were out to her side, spreading her legs open like an invitation, with her cunt completely exposed.
He took a good look at it with the crotch rope digging in, the knots doing their job on the nerve-rich, exquisitely sensitive flesh he'd positioned them against with intention.
But he needed access for this next part, so he cut the crotch rope away, and then peeled two tiny TENS patches from their backing and placed them on each side of her clit, tight against the swollen, raw flesh.
The little electrodes compressed all that current into a tiny pad and hurt like hell.
He double-checked the connections, then turned the unit on low.
Her whole body jerked the instant the electricity bit into her clit. A raw, muffled scream ripped out of the hood. He smiled, dark and satisfied, removed the egg, and slowly ramped the intensity. He left the butt plug in, cranked it to high, and watched her ass clench hard around the sudden buzz.
She’d been without sensory input for most of the day. She still didn’t have access to her vision, hearing, or scent, but he planned to overload her senses in other ways.
He turned the TENS off, lined up, and slammed into her cunt in one brutal thrust. Her hole was raw from the huge knot he’d tied at her entrance, and it made it even hotter than a normal cunt.
But he didn’t take any of that into account. He offered no gentleness. No easing in. He fucked her like he owned her, with hard, deep, punishing strokes.
He held the TENS remote in his hand, and her walls clamped down hard around him every time he hit her with more current.
He knew he was safe from the TENS, since the current only flows between the pads. Still, he felt the faintest tingle when he turned it all the way up, which he figured was a testament to how fucking strong this unit was.
Since using it on high brought her arousal levels down, he hit her with it anytime he scented her dangerously close to an orgasm.
“Not yet,” he growled, even though she couldn’t hear him. “You don’t come until I say.”
He fucked her harder, hips slamming, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room.
Every time her cunt started fluttering, he hit the TENS again — sharp, vicious jolts that made her scream and clamp down even tighter around his cock.
The sensation was insane. Her pussy milked him in frantic, desperate spasms while the electricity pulled her back from the razor’s edge, never letting her tip over.
His wolf surged forward again, snarling with the need to claim, to mark, to fill her until she knew exactly who she belonged to.
He let his inner animal pound into her a while, but his wolf couldn’t manage the remote, so he took control again before she came, hitting her with a nine-second jolt while buried balls-deep in her clenching heat.
She screamed and shrieked into the hood, and he made his dick as fat as a damned Pringles can while only shortening it a little.
She was so far out of it, he hoped she wouldn’t notice he hadn’t kept the mass exactly the same.
She nearly came from it, and he shocked her clit again, longer this time, and felt her walls attempting to wildly flutter around his thickness.
When his own orgasm finally built, it arrived like a freight train. He buried himself to the hilt, slammed the TENS to maximum, and let it take him.
The release tore out of him in thick, violent pulses.
He came so hard his vision went grey, cock jerking inside her as he emptied every drop — hot, heavy spurts that felt like it pulled his toenails up through his dick.
His wolf howled inside him, triumphant and possessive, flooding the room with the scent of pure satisfaction while her cunt milked him through the shocks, squeezing and rippling like it was trying to pull him deeper.
He kept the TENS on her clit turned to full power the entire time, forcing her body to keep clenching and spasming around him while he poured himself into her. Only when the last shudder left him did he finally turn the unit off.
He stayed buried deep for a long moment, breathing hard, hands still gripping the ropes. Then he slowly pulled out, watching his come leak from her swollen, abused pussy.
He glanced at the clock. An hour and thirty-five minutes left.
Time for her next experience.
He worked efficiently, cutting the tie between her wrist and foot first, then the lateral rope holding them out to the side.
He caught her leg before it dropped, and she made a small sound inside the hood — not distress, just the response of a body registering change after hours of a fixed position.
He cradled her limp body to his chest. He could easily read her breathing, her muscle tone, the way her body folded into his arms when he gathered her in. Present but hollowed out. Running on whatever reserves she had left.
He sliced through all the ropes connecting her to the hoop above, settled the knife on a table, and carried her across the room.
It was maybe fifteen feet to the cross, and then he gently settled her on her feet, but kept a tight hold on her.
She couldn’t hear him. Couldn’t smell him through the cinnamon. Couldn’t see the room, the cross, or anything else. She existed in whatever interior space ten hours of sensory deprivation had built for her, and now he was expecting her to stand. To bear her weight.
Her legs shook, but slowly remembered how to bear weight. He gave her time before he carefully released his hold enough to connect the ropes around her wrists to hooks at the top of each arm of the cross.
He let her legs stay free for the moment, and he used safety shears to cut away all the ropes he’d so carefully knotted around her groin, legs, and arm.
He left the chest harness, and the makeshift wrist cuffs he’d fashioned from rope, but everything else was cut away.
The rope had been on her body for nearly ten hours, and he loved watching her marked skin emerge — rope marks pressed deep into her flesh, red and angry, and he knew they would ache even more with the release of pressure.
She’d feel every one of those marks until she changed to her wolf and back.
Hopefully tomorrow, unless she insisted on doing so tonight.
Her breathing changed as each section released — something unwinding in her, relief and wrongness in equal measure, the disorientation of a body that had organized itself around restriction for so long, the absence of it felt like loss.
He fastened ankle cuffs on her and connected them to the cross before finally securing the front of her chest harness to the cross, to keep her from moving around too much while he whipped, caned, and belted the ever-loving fuck out of her.
He ran both hands over her back, over the luscious curve of her ass, then over her thighs — checking, mapping, feeling for anything that needed attention before he gave her something to feel.
His palms read the rope marks the same way his hands read a carcass.
He’d long ago been told that wasn’t something he should freely share, but it seemed logical to him.
Since she’d be standing a while, he unzipped her mouth and held the straw to her mouth. She sucked down eight ounces of the electrolyte mixture, and then he zipped her mouth back up, exchanged the cup for a cane, and took aim at her ass.