She had him bound, his wrists tied firmly above his head, the muscles in his arms taut against the straps that secured him to the headboard. His body was hers now—open, vulnerable, utterly surrendered to her movements. She straddled him, her thighs gripping his hips, her hands resting on his chest as she leaned forward, her hair falling in waves around her face.
The straps gave her control, gave her the structure she craved, but tonight they were more than that. They were a bridge—a way to step into a space she hadn’t allowed herself to fully explore before. As she moved, her hips rolling against him, her body slick with sweat and arousal, she felt something shift deep within her. This wasn’t just a game. This was her, stripped bare of everything but the purity of the moment, the intensity of the connection, the holiness of her pleasure.
He looked up at her, his eyes dark with desire, his lips parted as he let out a soft groan. She could feel him throbbing inside her, the heat of him filling her with every ****** of her hips. She moved faster now, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her nails digging into his chest as she worked herself closer to the edge. The straps gave her control, but it was the look in his eyes—the way he saw her, accepted her, worshipped her—that truly set her free.
And then, she felt it—a hand, strong and steady, pressing against the small of her back. It wasn’t his. It was another presence in the room, unseen but deeply felt, grounding her, guiding her movements, reminding her that she wasn’t alone. The touch wasn’t invasive or controlling. It was affirming, supportive, a quiet reassurance that she was safe, that she was whole, that she was loved.
The hand moved up her spine, tracing the line of her body, its touch sending shivers through her. She arched her back, her ******* hardening as she felt the sweat and wetness mingling on her skin. The presence pressed her down onto him, urging her to take him deeper, harder, as if to remind her that she was worthy of everything she was feeling.
Her moans grew louder, her body trembling as she rode him, her thighs burning with the effort, her hips grinding in perfect rhythm. She could feel the tension building inside her, the heat pooling low in her belly, her entire body reaching toward the release she craved. The presence didn’t waver, its hands steadying her, encouraging her, whispering without words that she was enough, that she was beautiful, that she was free.
When her ****** came, it was like a flood, her body convulsing as she cried out, her release gushing over him, soaking the sheets beneath them. It was as if every ****** was a cleansing, a baptism in the purity of her own pleasure, each wave washing away the shame and fear she had carried for so long. She felt the straps on his wrists, the ones she had placed there, but they no longer represented control. They were a symbol of trust, of safety, of the sacred space they had created together.
And still, she moved. Her body didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, as she rode the high of her release into another, and another, her cries turning to moans, her moans to whispers, her whispers to silence as she let herself be carried away by the intensity of it all. She lost count of her *******—four, five, seven, ten—all blending together into one endless moment of pleasure and connection.
The presence stayed with her, its hands on her hips, her back, her shoulders, guiding her, grounding her, reminding her that she was seen, that she was loved, that she was perfect. It was as if the very act of her pleasure had become holy, her body a vessel of purity, her release a sacrament. She felt no shame, no fear, only the pure, unfiltered joy of being exactly who she was.
When she finally collapsed onto his chest, her body spent, her breath heavy, the presence lingered for a moment longer, its hands soothing her, its energy wrapping around her like a warm embrace. And as she drifted off to sleep, her head resting against him, she knew that this was more than just a moment. This was her truth, her freedom, her holiness.
The straps that bound him had set her free
"Going away, away toward the sea
River deep, can you lift up and carry me
Oh roll on through the heartland
'Til the sun has left the sky
River, river, carry me high
'Til the washing of the water,
make it all alright
Let your waters reach me,
like she reached me tonight"
~PG
#Washing of the Water
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