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Vi's most dangerous weapon was her hands, so they were the first to go. She snarled when Caitlyn drew her wrists together, but that was nothing new. She backed Vi into the corner, making use of the extra inches the stilettos gave her for intimidation.
Vi didn't cower, broad-shouldered and pissed-off and completely naked, but she did pin her surprisingly delicate, freckled, beautiful wrists together without a fight. Caitlyn's heart gave a twirl.
No, she focused on the rope. Over and under, a simple double column with Vi's hands clasped in prayer. She only made eye contact when she cinched it. The way Vi had to look up to her, had to let the candlelight reflect and shimmer in her gray eyes, was worth all the toe chafing in the world.
Vi's eyes were dark and hooded, and she'd already started drooling around the ball gag. It usually took her longer to drop, but this was their third session this week. (Caitlyn didn't ask why Vi was so pent up.)
The marks from Saturday's shoulder harness hadn't even faded yet, crisscrossing on Vi's fair skin, obvious to anyone who would take her shirt off. Well, given that Vi loved wearing open-sided tank tops to show off her top surgery scars, anyone who looked at her saw Caitlyn's rope work. (Caitlyn didn't ask if Vi had a girlfriend.)
She pulled the rope up and back without warning, forcing Vi to bend her elbows behind her head, tied wrists reaching the back of her neck. Caitlyn paused there, letting Vi glare at her, letting Vi puff out her chest, letting Vi squirm. Then, she spun her around and pushed her forehead into the corner.
Caitlyn kept a tight, consistent hold on the rope and couldn't stop herself from raking her gloved fingertips down Vi's bare back. It was a masterpiece of muscles, tattoos, and two scars Caitlyn didn't ask about. She often fantasized about using colored silk rope to make some art on her, but Vi couldn't cared less about the aesthetics. She never asked for pretty or intricate shibari-style patterns. She never asked for a mirror. She only wanted the roughest, scratchiest sisal rope, the kind that would've looked more at home on a cowboy's belt, the kind Caitlyn herself couldn't handled without long leather gloves.
Vi wanted to feel like a tightly-reined beast, and in Caitlyn's studio, the customer always got what they wanted.
Caitlyn held the rope tightly to Vi's shoulder blade and looped it around her torso, careful of her nipple piercings. At her back, she crossed the rope evenly over Vi's spine, and tugged the rest of it down until those shoulder blades rippled.
Instinctively, Vi arched to lower her elbows, even getting up on her toes. Caitlyn fisted a handful of pink hair and shoved Vi's forehead harder into the corner, keeping it there in an unrelenting grip. Vi snarled and grunted again, putting in a token effort to buck Caitlyn off, but it took less than a minute for her to settle down. The only thing Vi loved more than standing in her corner was kneeling there.
Even when Caitlyn released her hair, Vi remained plastered to the wall, well-defined arms hiding her face from Caitlyn. She did one more loop around her chest and between the wrists, and finally tied the knot.
Holding her breath, Caitlyn took a step back to check what her beast would do. Vi stayed perfectly still, facing her corner. Proud, Caitlyn caressed her taut biceps, checked her wrists, tickled her armpits. Vi grunted, her bare feet curling inwards, knees knocking into the wall. Caitlyn frowned and turned her around.
Vi's pretty eyes were wide and her chin was a mess. She was the most beautiful little thing in the world. Caitlyn scraped her fingertips from the hollow of her throat down her chest, hooking her fingers under the harness and pulling her out of the corner.
Vi wobbled, barely keeping her legs under her even though their destination was barely five paces away. The constriction was doing its magic, making a clumsy waif out of a raging bull.
She sat Vi down on a plush armchair, and Vi let her. As much as she liked snapping her teeth (when she wasn't gagged), Vi never once disobeyed. Something inside her craved Caitlyn's direction. Or maybe any leggy domme with dark hair would do.
Caitlyn shook her head to focus. The chair was low enough that Vi had to crane her neck keep eye contact, but high enough that her feet barely touched the black mat and her legs curled adorably.
Caitlyn turned her back to Vi, inspecting the different ropes, paddles and whips hanging artfully on the studio wall. She trusted Vi not to wander off. Or, she trusted that Vi wouldn't get farther than the balcony's screen door in her condition.
She grabbed her second length of rope for tonight and looked over her shoulder, tossing her high ponytail. Vi had definitely not wandered off. She was openly staring at Caitlyn's arse, head tilted like she was in a trance. Caitlyn knew the fishnets under the tiny leather skirt would be a good choice.
Not a fan of kneeling for a bottom, she made quick work of tying Vi's ankles to the chair legs. Fully trapped, gagged, trussed up and panting, Vi's eyes were closed in euphoria.
Caitlyn lifted her right leg and swung down on the chair, stepping on Vi's crotch, stiletto and all. Vi's eyes snapped open and she yelped like a confused puppy.
She changed her tune when Caitlyn stepped harder. Vi moaned, bowing her body like she wanted to be closer, to give Caitlyn more. She'd always had a high tolerance for pain—Caitlyn didn't need to train her much.
"Now," Caitlyn started, the first time either of them spoke since she'd buckled the gag. "Does this hurt, Violet?"
Vi nodded, misty-eyed. Caitlyn shifted her weight backwards and then swung her leg even higher, stepping on Vi's hard stomach, digging the heel into her abs. "How about this?"
Vi's chest was heaving, shoulders bunching and arms vibrating. Caitlyn leaned forward on her own knee, stretching her hamstrings to hell. She knew exactly what Vi saw under her skirt.
"Why do you only come here for this torture?" Caitlyn interrogated her, almost wishing Vi could answer. "When will you finally let me take care of you?"
She trailed her gloved hand over Vi's feverish face. Vi was struggling to keep her eyes open, every word from Caitlyn's lips slipping in her ear like a drug, or a poison.
"Let me fuck you," Caitlyn asked sweetly, tempting, pushing her tits up under her corset. "Let me ride you. Let me make you come."
Vi whined pathetically, shaking her head as much as she could in her restraints. Caitlyn put her foot back down, stepping on the chair between Vi's legs instead of putting pressure on her mound again.
"Just the once," she whispered in Vi's ear, velvet soft. "Just for your Mistress."
Vi was getting louder and louder, testing her bonds. Caitlyn wiped some of her drool off with her leather glove, then popped her own finger in her mouth to taste it. To consume her.
She tried a rougher approach next, leaning into the bitch thing that Vi lost her mind for. "I can make you feel like a king, Violet. Or I can stick my tongue inside you and force you to cum in my mouth. Something tells me I know what you'd prefer."
Vi was unraveling fast. Her breathing was harsh and her hips started pumping unconsciously. Caitlyn knew she should back off. All of Vi's muscles were twitching, and it was almost time to release her elbows.
Instead of backing off, Caitlyn flipped her own skirt up and stepped on Vi's thick thigh, putting all her weight on the muscle. Vi didn't even grunt in pain, completely transfixed by her new view of Caitlyn's pussy.
The next time Vi's biceps bulged, Caitlyn felt in her bones how much Vi wanted to grab her. The danger felt amazing. Caitlyn cupped her own breasts, then trailed her hands down her body, accentuating her waist while still bent over Vi. She pushed two fingers inside herself, pumping a few times and then putting her hand in front of Vi's face like a treat.
Vi tried to open her mouth for her leather and her cum—impossible, poor thing—and made a heart-wrenching desperate sound. Caitlyn looked deep into her eyes, making sure she was present. "Please, Vi," she whispered.
Too sincerely.
Vi closed her eyes again like she was overwhelmed. If Caitlyn could just tuck her boot under Vi and force her to hump the leather, she knew she could make her come in thirty seconds. She wanted it. She could practically taste it. She could have her.
But Vi shook her head weakly. Like she always did.
Caitlyn huffed in disappointment, and put both feet on the ground, the intense stretch in her thigh nearly making her dizzy. Thank god for yoga.
She went around Vi, forcing her to bend forward so she could start untying her. The gag was the last to go, leaving a pretty indentation on Vi's freckled cheeks.
Smacking her lips and swallowing, Vi was steadying her own breaths. She stayed in her chair, small and sweet, not using her freedom for anything but stretching her muscular arms. She was rumpled and blushing and covered in sweat, rope marks and boot imprints.
Amazingly, she gazed at Caitlyn with carefree happiness, unburdened and high. Endlessly grateful and obedient. Shy and adoring.
All Caitlyn wanted was to tie her back up and mount her on the wall among her disciplinary tools. Show her off in her trophy room. Suspend her over her bed while she fucked herself with her biggest—kiss her rosy cheekbone, her ear piercings—suck on her tongue—
Stop it.
She went to her kitchen to grab two water bottles, but when she came back into the studio, the armchair was empty. A quick search found Vi chain-smoking on the balcony, winding down from the scene in her favorite non-verbal way. The screen door was closed, signaling for Caitlyn not to bother her. Caitlyn sighed and put the bottle on the floor, for when Vi would let herself out.
Vi liked pain and humiliation, but maybe she just didn't like-like Caitlyn. Because Vi would let Caitlyn do anything to her, except love her.
Caitlyn didn't ask why.