The rope bites deep, a fiery embrace,
Twisting, binding, claiming its space.
Flesh remembers each tender sting,
A captive rhythm to which I cling.

I writhe, I pull, the knots hold tight,
Time dissolves in the grip of night.
Minutes or hours, I cannot say,
Suspended here, where shadows play.

Then a presence, electric, near,
A whisper of breath I ache to hear.
The room hums low with silent demand,
As power approaches—steady, unmanned.

A brush of warmth, a fleeting touch,
My pulse ignites; it’s all too much.
Yet still, I’m caught in this sweet refrain,
Bound in the pleasure, awaiting the pain.