Page 177 of Bad Attitude
My body’s responding to him. My nipples tightening, my pussy clenching, my imagination running wild.
And God help me, I want whatever he has in mind.
Thirty-Four
Raven
Declan moves the vaulting horse next to me, end-on. It’s clearly heavy, about four feet wide with a flat tan suede top, four sturdy legs, waist high.
He eyes me like he’s measuring me, then adjusts each leg in turn, lowering it a little. A detail that makes my stomach clench, and hints at what might be coming next.
“On your feet, Hellcat.”
I don’t move. I’m not even sure I can.
“I'm just going to need a moment... to compose myself.”
“Take your time.” He doesn’t wait for me but returns to his box, pulling out another bundle of bondage rope. I wonder what else he has in there, and then realize I don’t actually want to know.
“Have you recovered?” he asks as he walks back, tugging the rope free.
I just stare at him. That wasn’t even five seconds.
“Evidently not yet.” He pulls out a remote from his pocket, and I tense. I’m not sure which one it is; the one for the egg that’s still inside me, or the one for the garage door that controls the ropes.
The latter, it transpires, as he uses this to encourage me to stir myself, getting up before I’m pulled there.
The rope stops retracting as soon as I’m on my feet, far before it’s drawn taut. “Oh good, you have recovered. Across the horse, if you please.”
He did that deliberately, the bastard. Hewantedme to have enough slack to get into position; the use of the motor was just a motivation. I glare at him, not moving.
“What exactly do you expect me to do with my hands bound?”
“Lie on it.” He grips the rope that binds me and pulls, drawing my hands out. It’s his strength against mine, and I briefly think about resisting. But he’s so much stronger than I am, I’m still post-orgasmic and trembly, and what’s the point anyway? He’ll find a way of ensuring my cooperation. He always does.
I slowly lower my upper body across the vaulting horse. The suede top is firm, yet soft enough. Comfortable, save that I don’t much care for how vulnerable I am, yet again. The motor whirs behind me, running out more rope that he’s wound around the drum, suggesting an unhealthy level of advanced planning.
Declan pulls until my arms are taut, but even then he doesn’t let up. I’m forced onto my toes, legsextended, body inching along the top as it rubs against the tender skin of my breasts, my body still thrumming from his flogger work. He uses the excess rope to tie some kind of knot beneath the far edge of the box. I don’t know how he’s done it, but my bound hands are secured again, and a subtle tug shows there’s no give at all. At least in this position, there’s no strain on my shoulders. It’s almost comfortable, half lying across it.
But that’s not the pressing concern. It’s the way I’m bent at the waist, legs straight, forced onto my toes. He lowered the box, and my upper body lies below my waist height. It leaves me very conscious of how my ass is raised. My legs are pressed together, but that doesn’t afford me any protection. Not bent this far over.
He has me presenting myself, bound once again for his convenience.
My concern grows as he walks behind me, whistling a little tune. Surprisingly melodic, sadistically chirpy. The rope he’s been holding he loops around my left thigh several times, binding it to the leg of the horse. Then repeats it with my right.
This is almost worse than being suspended.
“You. Look.Irresistible.”His admiration sounds genuine, warming and worrying in equal measures.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, voice trembling more than I appreciate. I’m not feeling very brave right now.
“To be honest, I haven’t quite decided.” His hand pats my ass; I can only imagine where his gaze is. “Would you like some more flogger, perhaps?”
“No! Please.” I’m not sure I could take it.
His hand trails over my bottom, cupping one cheek, his touch reminding me that he hit me harder here, my buttocks very much feeling the burn of his prior work. Then he squeezes, opening me. That’s just humiliating, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him.
“Shall I use this, then, perhaps?” His fingertips slip down the crack of my ass, brushing my anus. I can’t help my shudder. “Or this one?” They dip lower, running over my labia. His touch doesn’t even brush my thighs, proof that I’m presented in the most obscene way imaginable.
