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Reunion

I haven't seen him for a year. But I have dreamed of this day, in the flushed, hot nights when my hand slips beneath the covers. I have dreamed of him while sitting in class, not hearing a word, my eyes unfocused on my desk and heat rising between my thighs. I have dreamed of him when fabric brushes against my nipples, bringing them to aching readiness. And now he is inside, waiting beyond the tent wall, where lights flicker and the shadows of nude human bodies make patterns on the canvas. My heart is thudding, and my steps feel shaky as I reach out and push the door aside.

He is faced away, coiling rope, clad only in jeans. I am frozen, watching the shape of his back, the candlelight sliding over his muscles. He turns to speak to someone, sees me. Straightens, broad shoulders settling back, and smiles. A slow, knowing smile, pulling me forward with steady, smoky eyes. He has been waiting for this, too.

I find myself drifting across the tent as though in a dream, scarcely noticing the dusty canvas beneath my feet, nor the warm night air against my naked skin, nor the eyes of the tent's other occupants turning to stare; there is nothing in the world for me but him. I am before him, so close I can feel the heat of his body, smell his dark, masculine scent. Without a word, he bends his head slowly--so slowly--to kiss me.

Only his lips touch mine, soft and sure, slowly increasing pressure. I take that last half-step, and melt against him. My flesh seeks his, softly filling the contours of his body, while I am held upright by the lifeline of his lips. He draws his head back, leaving me deprived, and with the lightest of pressure guides me to my knees. I let my hands hang down--he has not told me to use them--but I press against his leg and nuzzle his thigh. I feel his hand on my head, stroking. Unhurried, his fingers tangle in my hair, grip, and pull. My head is drawn back, my chin up, and my eyes find his again, gazing down at me with his knowing, half-lidded gaze. The steady tug on my hair makes me feel like I am falling.

"It's been to long, dear one," he says, and my eyes plead mute agreement. "What is your desire?"

"To do your bidding, my lord," I whisper.

His other hand comes down to be drawn along my cheek, his thumb caressing the vulnerable hollow beneath my jaw. He tilts his other hand, still gripping my hair, and my head is bent down; now he caresses the back of my neck, tickling the short hairs at the base, sending shivers down my spine.

"Stay," he says simply. Then he releases me, and his firm, comforting presence is gone. I remain in place, struggling not to move the tiniest muscle, staring at the spot of canvas on which my eyes rested, unseeing, when he uttered the word. My breathing is shallow, as though to fill my lungs would be too much movement. I feel him return.

"Cross your hands behind your back," he commands. I obey. I feel rope on my wrists, and his skillful fingers manipulating it, binding me fast. Again, that sweet tugging pressure on my scalp, and he draws my head back. A quick kiss to my forehead, and he slides his hand--oh God!--down between my legs, and I feel the pressure against my clit radiating pleasure, his firm hand cupping, hooking my groin, under and back. I frantically try not to grind against him as he lifts me from my knees; his other hand slides down to my shoulders, and he supports me as he lowers me to my back. The warm pleasure of his touch is lifted from my groin, and I feel a sudden rush of cold as the air hits my wetness.

I hear the sliding of rope against rope, rope against skin. He is out of my field of view; I strain my eyes sideways to catch his blurry image. Now he moves to my feet, absently drawing a length of rope through his hand, gazing speculatively at my body. I lift my head to watch him, my neck straining. He begins his art. Ropes wrap sinuously around my knees, around my ankles. He slides his hand beneath my hips (my pussy flushes hopefully) and lifts to slide ropes beneath my torso. More knots, twining up my body, connecting to the ones that bind my wrists behind my back. Now he slides his arms beneath my shoulders and hips, one hand cradling my head, and picks me up like a doll, gazing in quiet satisfaction at my bound flesh. He does not meet my eyes, though I search his face constantly, looking for signs that he is pleased.

He carries me beneath a horizontal bar hanging with a pulley system from a beam. He shifts my body, bringing my legs on either side of his waist, pressing my pussy against his side so that he can support me on his hip with one arm beneath my shoulders. His hand still supports my head, tender, his fingers twining in my hair and tugging, a constant reminder of his dominance. With his other hand, he begins tying the ropes dangling from by body to the pole above. I watch in rapt admiration as the ropes make patterns above me. I feel the subtle shifting of his hot flesh against my pussy, which slides against him with the slightest movement. It is driving me wild. I feel my clit throbbing with my heartbeat; I see the pulsing of his heartbeat in his throat, and seem to feel it through my thighs wrapped around him, my pussy pressed firmly against him; I try to match my body's pulsing to his. My pussy is clenching spasmodically, my hips twitching against my will. He acts as though he does not care. But I know better, because I can see his arousal pressing against his pants, and my eyes take it in hungrily.

He is finished tying me to the bar. Ah, no! He releases me, and I cling to his body with my legs for a moment; but he looks down at me, making eye contact for the first time in many minutes, and his expression says: you know better. Whimpering, I uncurl my legs and feel myself swing back as the ropes take my full weight. They press beneath my hips, knees, and shoulders. He pulls a hanging tail above, and a rope draws tight beneath my lower back, making my body arch. My head has fallen back and I see my hair hanging and the upside-down wall of the tent and, to my surprise, several people watching silently. I had forgotten that we are not alone, and sudden self-consciousness makes me flush all over. Then his fingertips run along my inner thighs, and I forget our audience.

My neck is arched back uncomfortably with the weight of my head. Not for long, though; he ties two ropes together with a gap in the middle, and lifts the resulting sling to support my head. More knots above, and my neck feels blessed relief. Now he grants me the gift of his gaze, smiling tenderly down at me. I bathe in his eyes. He runs his fingertips from my head down my body, and to either side down both legs, making me wriggle in delight. Back up, tickling lightly, holding my eyes the whole time; now he starts at my fingertips, scratches his nails lightly on the backs of my arms, flows to feather touches that trickle down my sides. I giggle.

He draws his fingertips down to my feet again, and as he starts back up, his hands spread flat against my legs, his touch growing smooth and firm. He reaches the insides of my knees, slides just one hand-length further, and stops. I realize what is coming. My heart starts to pound like signal drum and I hear a rushing sound in my ears. Slowly, never breaking the connection between our eyes, he begins to push my legs apart. I am gasping, trembling; as he watches me, his lips part and his eyes grow stormy. He continues to push my legs apart, further and further, until they reach their limit. Then just a tiny bit more. I feel the strain, the stretching pain as he pushes me open. Then his hands glide outward, and I realize that there are still two ropes hanging from my knees. He moves his grip smoothly to these ropes, maintaining the pressure which I struggle vainly to relieve, and I don't see where he ties them off because my eyes are drawn to the bulging shape in his pants, so close to my exposed pussy. I am unable to look away as he moves his hands back down my legs, finds more ropes that are hanging from my ankles, and ties them out, supporting my feet and completing the position. I am terrified, and pantingly, squirmingly, throbbingly eager.

He looks at my face again, and there is a strange light it his eyes--I think there is a fire burning inside him, and it will scorch me and fill me with flame. He reaches into his pocket--my eyes follow the path of his hand eagerly--and takes out two small objects. He pinches them, they open, and I understand; I arch my breasts up and he places them, one at a time, on my tight, pink nipples. When the jaws close around my tender buds, a jet of pain-pleasure jolts down through my breasts and straight to my burning clit. Now he attaches thin cords to the alligator clips on my nipples, and I don't understand. Then, suddenly, I do, as he ties them off above my head. Now every movement, every tiny sway and shiver, makes the cruel clips tug at my aching nipples, sending jolt after jolt of sensation through me. He trails his fingers over my helpless form before bringing his hands, finally, to his own body.

I watch in trembling anticipation as he unbuttons his pants. Slowly, slowly, he lowers them, and the head of his cock appears, shiny and engorged, over the top of the waistband. Then his long, thick shaft and testes as he lets the jeans fall and kicks them away. His balls are large, high, and full; they look like they are straining for release. I see a glistening pearl of fluid appear at the tip of his cock, swell, and slowly drip. He, too, is panting now as he runs his hands over my breasts, grips, and rolls the soft flesh in crushing handfuls, sending jolts of pain through my suspended nipples. He drags his nails down my body, leaving trails of fire, then sends one hand lower while the other moves up to my neck. He presses down against my neck with his thumb and forefinger, not cutting off my air but pinching the blood vessels, making me dizzy and sending blood to my extremities. I am made of lust, stretched like a bowstring pulled tighter and tighter over endless hours, now quivering and humming at the slightest breeze.

As one hand presses against my throat, the other slides, at long last, to the core of my desire. He draws his thumb to the top of my clit and begins massaging it through the hood, while his other fingers stroke and wriggle in the hot wet flesh below. I am at the edge of climax, and he knows it. I want him to rub faster, just a little faster and I'll be there. PLEASE, for the love of God move, more, more, just a little faster is all I need--my hips are gyrating uselessly, making the clips tug at my tortured nipples, bringing tears of frustration to my desperate eyes. His lips draw up in a fierce, snarling grin as he grips my hair again and bends down to kiss me. I feel the heat of his sweat-slick flesh against my body as he bends over me. He bites my lower lip, dragging it up as he pulls back and releasing it with a snap. His grip grows harder on my hair. Now his fingers move away from my pussy, except for his thumb, which continues its massage through the hood of my clit. His grip on my hair forces me to look down (as if I could look anywhere else) and see his cock poised at my entrance. It looks huge, dark, swollen. Daunting. And then--

He plows into me. There is no warning, no slow sliding, just the sudden, ripping presence of him, stretching and filling my deepest parts. I think I will split. He draws out and plunges into me, fast, hard, and pleasure crashes through me like an eruption, uncontrollable, breaking me apart. He fucks me hard, hands gripping my hips and slamming us together, and I am aware of nothing as I come again and again and again, my whole body spasming in screaming ecstasy. He cries out as his balls clench and he erupts into me, the sheer pleasure in his body overwhelming him as I clench again and again hot and tight around his shaft. He empties himself into me, and the moment goes on and on, my body and mind exploding in joy.

Finally, an eternity later, he stops moving, and the spasming of my pussy slows and finally fades away. Every nerve is hyper-sensitive, and for a long moment we gaze in at each other while he is still inside me. His breathing begins to slow, and with aching tenderness he brushes a wisp of hair from my forehead. Then he slowly pulls out of me, and for a moment I feel a terrible sense of loss. But he is right there, warm firm presence touching me, as he begins to untie the ropes. He supports me as the ropes release, and makes soothing noises as the clamps open and I cry out at the sudden pain of blood returning to my nipples. He carries me gently to a pile of pillows, where he sets me down and unties the ropes from my body. They have left vivid red marks in my skin, and my inner thighs ache where they were held apart, and it feels wonderful. He pulls the last of the ropes off me and then pulls me back against him, his arms closing around me, wrapping me in safety. He kisses my head, strokes me, and I lean into him, feeling my naked body relax against his. Happy. Spent.

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