She Waits, Part Four

*MATURE CONTENT, OVER 18 ONLY , PLEASE

She Waits, Part One

She Waits, Part Two

She Waits, Part Three

Eyes wide and fixed on him, her eagerness spills out of her, making it difficult for her to be still. She knows that when he begins the Shibari technique, they will experience one another in a way that sets this apart from all other things they do together.

Like a wordless dialogue between them, a rope experience is fluid movement, a dance like no other. Her physical body is being restrained, yet her emotional self is free. There is no clutter in her mind, no worry or trappings of daily business; she is free to link only to him; a symbiotic flow between them. She will feel his body against hers, his emotion flowing from his center, through to the tips of his fingers, and pulsing into her as he winds the jute around and around her. She knows that as he twists and knots and guides the rope onto her body, it will become a part of her, and they become one. And she can’t wait.

Bringing the bundles of rope to the bed where she is still lying on her stomach, he finds her bottom is still slightly pink, and her hands are behind her back as he’s directed. She knows not to laugh, he would take it the wrong way, but she can’t help the grin from forming, she does it every time. When she is a little nervous and excited and aroused, this silly grin deceives her. They’ve been married a long time and luckily, he knows it isn’t a grin of disrespect. In fact, she knows this grin arouses him every time he sees it – he knows the emotion behind the curl of her lips, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the dilating of her pupils. He knows she’s imagining the possibilities, anticipating the feeling of the rope on her skin. Most of all, he knows she craves him, his direction, his command, the primal part of him that is raw and exposed when he is with her like this. She sees the arousal in his eyes, too. It’s almost too much, and now she’s really having trouble being still.

Kneeling on the bed just behind her, he guides her body to a kneeling position. His arms slide around her, embracing her in his warmth as he moves her long hair to the side. Shivering a little, she is otherwise completely still as his lips caress the nape of her neck, leaving behind a faint wetness, a coolness that lingers. He whispers in her ear, “Clavicle.” It seems an odd word to say in such an intimate setting, but it means so much to the both of them. It is the one word between them that is focusing, the word that reminds them that only they exist in this moment, a thread being pulled taut between them. Her own clavicles inspired the use of this word as ‘their word’. He is in love with the dips in her skin there, he always longs to taste them.

As he says their word, he leans in, and with his lips, he traces the bone, letting his tongue slide into the crevice behind it. Now she shudders, her core tightening already, the only movement she knows she can get away with; she couldn’t help it anyway.

Instinctively, her head rests back on his shoulder, his chin locked into the crook of her neck. He slides the silky scarf over her eyes and ties it tightly behind her head. The rope is a bit rough as it begins its journey around the back of her neck, crossing before it reaches her breasts and dips under her arms. “Be still, My Love,” he says, a gentle reminder that she is in his hands and needn’t do anything but feel him. She takes a deep breath, exhales and breathes. The scent which belongs only to him fills the air around her. His breath, in and out, slow and calm, is the only sound in her ears, setting the rhythm for her own.

The rope is prickly on the surface of her skin as his soft fingertips lead it to the precise locations on her frame. His heartbeat, gently pulsing against her back, the tickle of the hair from his chest grazing across the skin of her back as he leans side to side against her, the scratch of his whiskers on her neck and shoulders as he morphs her body into sculpture – these are the only feelings that exist.
The pattern is beautiful as it hugs her dips and curves, crossing and doubling back, knotting in a line down her abdomen. The diamond shape accentuates her femininity, drawing attention to the full roundness of her breasts, the peaks and valleys in her toned muscles, the shape of her hips as they round into her thighs, inviting him to continue to what lies between them. The rope continues between her legs, nestled in her folds, knotting in just the right spot to rest upon the one place that will keep her wanting. It is the rope that binds her body, but it is him that penetrates her soul. They are inexplicably connected.

Now, she no longer waits. She is simply his.

And he will do as he pleases.

2 thoughts on “She Waits, Part Four

  1. Pingback: She Waits, Part Five | Diary of a Married Woman

  2. Pingback: She Waits, Part Six, Final | Diary of a Married Woman

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