"He'll be here in just a little while."
The look on her face her beautiful eyes are almost glazing with anticipation, she licks her full, red lips oh, you'd plant long, deep kisses on that mouth you'd rape it with your own if you could.
"I'm really looking forward to seeing him again."
You moan, once more, into the thick wad of cloth that fills your mouth. The silk scarf holding it in place pulls at the corners of your mouth, and grooves your cheeks; she knotted it cruelly tight at the back of your neck.
You'd close your eyes, except that you'd miss the vision that's lazily displaying itself before you stretching, preening, golden hair a shimmering curtain, hips and thighs like the finest sculpture and breasts that bring tears to the eyes. It's madness to watch but impossible not to.
She stands nearly naked before you: her only garments are leather cuffs at her wrists and ankles; a red rubber ball hangs down on her breastbone, its leather strap and buckle fastened loosely about her neck.
You pull at the ropes for the dozenth time there is no more give in them than there was before. Your arms are pulled back behind the heavy chair; harsh cord secures them tightly, and keeps your wrists anchored so that there is no possibility of movement save the impotent fluttering of your fingers. Your blouse hangs open, your bra sliced in two, cord criss-crossing between your swollen, aching breasts.
Your legs are tied to the chair, too, spread wide, as though in invitation. And, indeed, she has set your mind reeling with pictures and fantasies that send your loins into a frenzy of begging and pleading. The bouquet of your arousal is a cry as plaintive as the muffled whimpers coming from your packed mouth. You're squirming in the panties in which she left you, their dampness soaking the chair seat.
After all, to be stripped, bound, and gagged by a beautiful woman is enough to send you into rapture but to have her leave you there, untouched, as she prepares for my return the horrible beauty of it is just too clear: on the other side of this two-way mirror, she will offer herself for my delectation, while you can do naught but watch and whimper and wish and burn.
And you're already burning, deep inside. The sight of her flaunting her naked form the thought of what I will do with it. And the knowledge that you will see every moment of it, with no one to caress you, fondle you, touch you not even yourself.
She's smiling being casual, chatty impossible.
"Funny, I always thought brunettes were his favorites, but he sure didn't complain last night." She runs hands into her golden mane and grasps it tight. "Don't you just love when he takes a nice fistful and ooooohhh grrrr!" And she lifts her hands and lets the long tresses settle back around her shoulders.
"Now, I won't be in the room with you, of course." She cups your chin in her hand. "And I suppose it's possible you might just close your eyes and miss the whole thing!" Her eyes are harder now. "But you won't, will you? No, you have to watch, don't you?"
She lowers her head, her silken hair tenting your face. Her lips are to your ear as she starts to whisper. And, oh, the things she says such lewdness her descriptions of flesh-on-flesh friction her hints of the moistness and musk that will fill the air
"Tears, darling?" Her voice is soft now confident. "Yes, that's right. Weep. Break for me." She caresses you with a tenderness that she can easily afford-- she is not the one bound, gagged, and helpless. She puts her mouth within an inch of yours; no closer. Her lips kiss the air bare millimeters from your gagged lips then she straightens up.
She stands over you now, hands on hips, the pose of domination so classic that you'd laugh if you could but the only sounds you can make are shameful pleas that emerge from beneath your gag as tiny, defeated whimpers, which her back ignores as she closes the door behind her, into the adjoining room.
You look through the mirror, now you can't help yourself. She's kneeling in the center of the room; she's joined the cuffs at her ankles. She raises her arms, lifting her hair on the backs of her hands, as she brings the rubber ball to her mouth; you watch it slide past the fine white teeth, the luscious lips wrapping around it as she buckles the strap behind her head. She shakes her head, hair flying, growling lustily into the gag. Finally, she reaches behind herself with both hands. It's a stretch but she manages to use the fingers of her right hand to find the clip on her left wrist cuff and you hear the tiny "click" as they meet. You see the relaxation in her shoulders as she settles into place, her hands now as securely fastened as if I'd done it myself.
And now, she kneels, truly helpless. She has gagged herself, and cuffed herself in such a way that she has no choice but to await my pleasure.
And you? You have no choice but to wait. For how long? Ah, that would be telling.
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