Why does it feel so exceedingly good to be restrained?
The force of hands burdened against bondage.
Pressure building in fingertips as circulation to the extremities is lightly crimped.
The mental state.
The calm sex of surrender as you willingly submit to the powerplay.
Exhilaration rushes from my mouth to my nipples, along my breath. I put my hands up with inherent coyness. Wanting and resisting what’s to come. I delay delivering myself over, until he consumes my surrender.
Like a filly, bridled for the first time.
I taste arousal as the last buckle is tightly pinned. Its remaining strap slid into place, under the metal frame.
I am bound to him.
Until his release.
No more than a chain width of movement as my body responds in pleasure to his touch; arching and curling, moaning and gasping, peaking into heightened restrain.
Taut in the tri-angle between leather, skin and the edge of ecstasy.
The space amid my hands is now his reign.
He rides me hard.
I rear in response and he brings me back to command whilst he finishes his outride.
All too quickly, the clasp is unhooked and I am free.
Swollen with the afterglow of this journey. Still wearing my anthracite black leather cuffs.
The submissive smile of gratitude visits each corner of my mouth before I dose off, donning my chains.