"It’s time to be tied," he said, running his hand down the small of her back and pulling her into him.  His smell engulfed her, filling her world and she pressed into him, molding her body to his.

"Yes," she murmured, eyes closed, heart thundering in her chest.  Her body shuddered as she whispered, "Tie me."

His mouth found hers, his arms locking behind her back, strong, so strong, and his lips crushed hers.  Her breath hitched as his tongue invaded her mouth, searching and probing and claiming her just has his arms held her.

"What were you thinking," he breathed in her ear, forcing her head to his shoulder, his body holding her tightly to his.  She borrowed her nose into the soft skin of his neck, eyes closed.  "You could have given me anything, anything for Valentine’s Day."

Not breaking the embrace, he found her arms and pulled them around behind her, holding her wrists in place just above her ass.  "You could have dressed up in a teddy and let me fuck your brains out," he whispered, every hair on the back of her neck bristling at the heat of his breath.

"You could have lain with me, massaged me with oils."  One hand held her wrists helpless behind her while the other hand unzipped the top of her strapless evening gown.  She gasped as the coolness of his bedroom embraced her naked skin.

"But no.  You offered surrender."  She gasped at his last word, whispered in her ear.  He pushed her back, back until her ass bumped the dresser.  She knew what was on the top of the dresser, had seen it when he led her by the hand back to his bedroom.

"What were you thinking?  Coming here in nothing but a thin evening gown..."  She felt him fumbling behind her and she knew that he was taking something off the top of the dresser.  She wriggled her wrists, caught in his firm hand behind her and pushed her hips against his crotch when her mind told her that, yes, she was still caught.

"Coming to me, begging to be fucked.  Like a whore."  She recoiled at the word, almost as if he had slapped her.

"Are you a whore?"  He whispered, soft and hot in her ear, as his smell held her, as the circle of rope slipped around her wrists, as he pressed her naked body against the dresser, pinning her.  The word again, hard and cold.

"Yes," she moaned into his neck.  Was she?  A whore? A line was being crossed, a bigger line than the one circling her wrists.

"Say it."  He pulled the rope tight, binding her hands behind her.  A shiver raced up and down her spine.  He was going to make her say it.

"I’m a whore," she murmured, the word foreign and dirty on her lips.

"Who’s whore?"

He was going to make her say it again.  "Your whore."

He nuzzled her face away from his neck and kissed her again, hard, mashing his lips against hers, pushing her against the hard wooden dresser, his arms encircling her shoulders, capturing her.  His tongue again invaded her, probing, pushing, claiming, and without warning he lifted her up onto the dresser top.  Ropes and leather and everything that he had laid out dug into her ass and she twisted her bound arms behind her.

He pulled away and looked intently into her eyes.  "I’m going to tie you, whore.  Tie you so tight you can’t move.  Do you want that?  To be tied?"

Heat crept up her cheeks.  "Yes," she whispered, fearing that she was getting the ropes and leather beneath her puss wet.

His eyes trailed down her body and she felt the heat in her cheeks grow.  "You won’t be able to stop me, will you?"

"No."

"If I want to do this..." His hands cupped the flesh of her breasts, and she moaned.  "You can’t stop me, can you?"

"No."

"But aren’t you supposed to stop me?  I’m a man -- I’m not supposed to be able to just do this..."  His hands pawed at her breasts, cupping and squeezing.

"Am I?"

"No."

"Who is supposed to stop me?"

"I am."

"Can you?"

She shuddered.  "No."  Only it wasn’t that he was going to make her helpless physically.  It went deeper.  The ropes were just the surface.  The word, that fucking dirty word, that was the part of what run deeper.  It was definitely a line she was crossing -- when she had scribbled the promise to him in his Valentine’s card she caught a glimpse of the line.  Now, she had taken a tentative step across and he was pulling her the rest of the way.

His fingers found her nipples, hard and sensitive.  She squirmed, trying to wriggle free of the ropes around her wrists.  His eyes bore into hers, and she couldn’t look away, not now, not ever.  He smiled and crushed the buds of her nipples between his fingers.  She screamed and tried to pull back but he held on and when she realized that it hurt more to pull away, she leaned into him, her face finding the curve of his neck once again.

"I’m going to tie you, whore.  And hurt you.  And there isn’t one thing you can do about that, is there?"

"No," she softly cried into his shoulder.  But the ropes didn’t matter.  She was on the other side of the line now.  His fingers had not let up on her nipples and waves of pain raced through her, fanning the embers of heat deep inside.

Then he let go and she felt him grabbing for the coils of rope underneath her ass.  She moved and shifted enough so he could get what he wanted, her mind telling her that she was helping him tie her.

"You’re really are mine now, aren’t you?  Mine to do with as I please?"

"Yes."

"Is that right?  Should I be able to do whatever I want to you?"

"No."  Yes.

Rope went around her shoulders, crossing her breasts, around and around, pulling her arms tighter to her body, framing her breasts.  "If I want to wrap you in more rope?  Can you stop me?"

"No."  I don’t want to.

"Can you fight?"  He tied the rope off and she was left with her arms molded to her sides, wrists bound behind her.

"Yes."  But I don’t want to.

He reached around behind her and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling hard until she yelped.  "Then fight.  While you can."

She strained against the ropes, trying to free her head, twisting atop his dresser, moaning as the waves of pain and surrender coursed through her.

He pulled her hair until her head was twisted to look up into his face and through her pain his eyes caught her.  "Can’t stop me, can you?  Not now."

He let her hair go and she slumped backwards against the mirror at the back of the dresser and the cold of the glass against her naked arms and back was like ice.  Her eyes never left his.

"Say it," he said, conversationally.

"I can’t stop you."

"Why can’t you stop me?"

Again her cheek flushed and her body pulsed against the ropes.  "Because you’ve tied me."  And more, so much more.

"And why are you tied?"

"Because I let you."

"Why are you naked?"

Could she say it again? "Because I’m a whore."

"Whose whore?"

"Your whore."  Her eyes dropped and she found herself staring at the bulge in his pants.  It’s done.  The line is crossed.  Maybe for keeps.

His hand slapped her across her cheek, stinging her skin and she cried out.  "You can’t stop me from hurting you, can you?"

She glared up at him, face burning, her blood pounding through her body.  "No," she hissed.

"Because you’re my little naked and bound whore.  Nothing but a plaything to me.  A female to be used.  Hurt.  Maybe fucked."

Her breath caught and he smiled.  "But maybe not.  Maybe just hurt."

His hand reached out and caressed her belly, his fingers running down her taut muscles and she wanted to pull away, draw back, because he was going for her pussy now.  She tried to bring her legs together but he straddled her as she sat on the ropes that would soon bind her and make her more helpless.

His eyes looked into hers, piercing just as his fingers grazed the top of her mons.  She strained against the ropes that held her arms, feeling the tightness across her breasts, the bite of the coils around her wrists.  His fingers would do what they wanted.  She couldn’t stop him.

"Do you know who owns a whore’s pussy?"

She glared up at him, suddenly both afraid, and hungry, her body poised to go off. 

He thrust two fingers deep inside her and she arched, moaning.  "Answer me, whore.  Who owns your pussy?"

"You do," she breathed, closing her eyes, feeling his fingers fill her up.

"Can I do what I want with a whore’s pussy?  Can I fuck it?"

"Yes."  Her hips strained against the dresser, seeking leverage to drive his fingers deeper.

He suddenly withdrew and she moaned, eyes opening, questioning.

"Can I leave it alone?  Let it simmer?"  He leaned forward, his head disappearing between her legs.  Sudden hot air blew across her engorged flesh and she screamed as her body nearly exploded.  Her muscles strained against the ropes that held her.

"Who binds you?"  His whispered in her ear and she could hear the zipper of his pants being undone.

"You do."  Her hips were pulled forward, sliding across the dresser top.

"Who is my fuck toy?  My female whore?  My slave?"

"I am."  She screamed as her pelvis slid into his and her pussy, hot and wet and hungry, slid onto his cock.  Her breasts, bound, pressed into his chest and he scooped her up in his arms, her body impaled on his cock.  She wrapped her legs around his waist, fighting the ropes that held her and the arms that held her, and he fell back, back onto the bed.  She laid atop him, panting, feeling him buried deep inside her.  There was nothing but the sound of his breath in her ear and the feeling of his cock buried deep inside her and the rise and fall of their chests pressed together.

"Should I fuck my whore?"  His whisper got her hips going but he stopped her with a slap on her ass, hard and stinging.

"Or should I just hurt her?"

She moaned.  Lost.  Forever.  His.

He thrust deep inside her and her back arched, her face coming up, her body straining against the arms that held her to him.  Then he pushed her back so she straddled him, her body sitting on his cock as it rammed up and into her.  His hands found her nipples and pinched.

"Or maybe I should do both.  Fuck my whore.  Hurt my whore."

She opened her eyes as another wave of pleasure and pain raced through her, burning every nerve in her body.  His cock rammed relentlessly into her, invading her, filling her, claiming her and there was nothing her bound body could do about it, nothing to stop him, nothing to keep him from hurting her nipples, slapping her breasts.  Fucking her.

She looked down at him, hips riding him, grinding into him, getting closer and closer to the explosion that would take her away on a river of heat.  He stared up at her, eyes focused, intent.  Claiming her surrender.

"I love you," he whispered and she screamed, feeling him explode inside her just as the river of white heat came and carried her away.

-end-