Monsieur stopped her before she took off the coat. “Patience, mademoiselle.” He pulled it back up over her shoulders and straightened the lapels as she looked at him. Her pale blue eyes were slightly pleading, mostly incredulous, trying to convey the urgency of her need. I want to be naked. I want rope. Now.
He ignored the gaze, or perhaps didn’t notice it at all. She wasn’t sure which turned her on more; it was that intensity of focus that she found so attractive, and she fought to keep her long fingers from fidgeting with the short skirt that covered her leggings. He was behind her, now, and the jacket was sliding off, slowly, the fine wool tickling the skin of her back over the silken camisole. He deliberately folded the jacket and laid it on the dresser, then ran his fingers around her waistband, slowly searching for the zipper. The soft pressure of his fingers was maddening, and she began to point with her left hand to her hip. He slapped her wrist with a stinging reprimand and she dropped it back to her side. The pain filled her eyes with shamed tears and her pussy throbbed.
“Patience,” he said again, in a voice filled with the same.
So it went, piece by piece, skirt, camisole, brassiere, garters, stocking and stockings, the latter removed inch by inch down each leg, his hands stroking without intent, his gaze intense on every inch of her pale skin as it was revealed. As he slid his fingers inside the back of her panties, levering them out and down over her ass, she watched his face. She knew he could feel the dampness there, the evidence of her arousal, as if the flush of her face, the rise and fall of her breasts or the crinkled skin of the erect nipples at the tip of each weren’t enough.
He showed no reaction at all as he folded the panties, and she felt a stab of uncertainty. She didn’t want complications, but surely he got something out of this exchange, her body for his hands? Then he looked in her eyes, a wise, amused smile on his face, and she flushed again, realizing that he knew she’d been watching him, and that unlike her, his emotions and desires were his to show or not as he wished. That smile was full of pleasure at the sight of her naked and flushed before him, body aroused at tit and pussy and the tip of her clit peeking wetly from the shaven cleft.
He chuckled, reaching up and patting her cheek, and she fought not to turn into that caress involuntarily, hungry for the touch of those strong hands. “Patience,” he had said, and patient she would be, half out of a desire to obey and half out of a desire to show him that it made no difference to her. A lie, to be sure, but it is of such things that she saw the self in the mirror she thought she wanted to see. Not the self that was here, watching him carefully unknot the rope, feeling the first strands stretch across her body. Slowly, so slowly, inch by inch uncoiling from the neat packages into a complex cage of lust and tension covering and exposing her at the same time. This knot pressed into her hip, with a delicious tangy pain that seemed to fog her mind, a clouded miasma that smelled of hemp and her desire and the masculinity of his presence, occasionally lit by pleasure flashes as a rope was drawn tighter, pulled rough across a nipple, the side of her neck, her inner thigh. The rope pulled her out of herself and into a different space, where she could let the hunger and desire rule her, because the rope – his rope- held them in check, and held the rest of her life at bay.
Twice she cried out as he tied her, once moving her body not away but toward the soft rope that brushed her labia, tantalizing, and once as his strong fingers pulled her hair, moving her head to the side with an inexorable control that approached brutality. Both times he acknowledged her need with that same word, a simple “Patience,” and somehow she found it, sinking deeper into the world of her body and the bindings that held her desperate need suspended and open before him.
Then he stopped tying, and she felt him move away. There was no fear- there was no room for fear in the stillness that her mind had become. It was not peace, though, it was a state of constant, helpless need, knowing he had what she wanted, knowing she was powerless to bring it any faster. She hung there in the ropes, eyes shut in a desperate static hunger that throbbed with every beat of her heart through the ropes that connected her cunt and her mind and her soul into a solitary massive want.
She felt him behind her. She felt his satisfaction even before the soft murmur of “Good, pet, good…” Her mouth opened in silent ecstasy as his fingers filled her, finally drove deep into her, and the waves of orgasm carried the want and need away in bright explosions that felt like they blew thru the top of her skull. There was no more thought, just pleasure as she basked in the reward of his attention and her hard-won patience.