Her heart tripped into a sprint, and Kenna moved to please him. Luckily, the stretchiness of the dress and thong made them easy to remove. She neatly folded them on a chair and moved to a thick, rectangular mat lying in the center of the room. Kenna stood with her legs spread, her hands behind her neck, and her eyes on Master Griffin.
Who removed his shirt until he stood there only in a pair of worn blue jeans that hugged his ass perfectly. And that gorgeous, confusing tattoo of her. That had to mean something, right? But what? And did she want it to mean something? Gah! She shook her head and tried to clear her mind. None of that was where her focus should be just now.
Master Griffin prepared a number of things she couldn’t quite make out, and then he returned to her empty handed. His gaze dragged down her body, and she felt it like he’d touched her. She wished that he would. Slowly, he walked around her. “Back straighter, Kenna. Tits out or I’ll find some weighted clamps for you,” he said in a low voice. She made the adjustment and just barely held back a whimper—she had a love/hate relationship with nipple clamps, which he knew very well. He dragged a finger down her spine, and it might as well have been a flogger for the way it brought her skin to life. “How are you feeling tonight?”
“I’m good, Sir. Definitely green,” she said.
“And how was your arm after our scene the other night?” He came to stand in front of her again.
“I had some muscle fatigue in my shoulder last night, probably from holding the bent position, but nothing at all that concerned me,” she offered.
Master Griffin nodded. “Very good. I have something just more demanding planned for you tonight, so you have to tell me if it pushes you too hard.”
A thrill ran through her, and she shivered. “Yes, Sir.”
He nodded, his dark eyes full of banked heat. “Then we begin. Right now.”
***
Griffin had been planning this since the moment Kenna had left Blasphemy the other night. He’d researched and practiced types of binding that would put the least stress on her arm while still giving her the maximum feeling of the rope against her skin and the full experience of truly being bound and dominated.
Now, he was so fucking ready to create a living sculpture using nothing but her body and a half dozen lengths of hemp rope.
Actually, those weren’t nothing at all. Not to him.
He turned on the music, an intense instrumental in which they could both lose themselves, and then he grabbed the rope and walked to where she waited so beautifully. For him.
“You will have patience. You will breathe. You will submit to my bondage,” he said, gravel plain in his voice.
“Yes, Sir,” she said, excitement palpable in hers.
He worked on her left arm first, starting at the wrist. He made a series of beautiful diamond knots up the outside of her arm, allowing her multiple points at which she could feel the rope. Each twist, each wrap, each knot was just like a stroke of paint and brush against a canvas. The act of tying himself to a submissive this way—to Kenna, especially—was incredibly fulfilling to something fundamental deep inside him.
Using a shorter piece of rope, he secured Kenna’s left hand palm down against her upper thigh by threading the twine around the inside of her leg in the soft crease between her thigh and the lips of her pussy. And then he moved to her right side.
“I’m not yet comfortable wrapping rope around this arm, so I will bind it flush to your side for now,” he said in a low tone. When she nodded, he knotted the twine around the wrist of her prosthetic and then pushed the loop between her legs to hold her hand to her thigh as he had on the other side. He stood back and examined his work. “Already so fucking beautiful.”
Kenna’s lips parted at the compliment, and it made him want to put her on her knees and have her take his cock deep into her mouth. But not yet. Creation, first, and then reward.
The next length of rope was much, much longer, and Griffin used it to secure her upper arms tight against her ribs by creating beautiful intricate designs around her breasts and across her belly. He teased her with brushes of his fingers, prolonged drags of the twine against her nipples, and his breath against her skin. Each gasp and flinch and moan felt like a little victory, and he quietly cheered every fucking one. Of course, the teasing was a double-edged sword since his jeans were tight with the urgent demands of his cock.