Black Tie

[Disclaimer: Maybe not everybody’s cup of tea, but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. – KM]

Her breath was heavy as we paused at the entrance. I knew she was feeling the ropes. Her nipples stood proudly against the fabric of the thin top, and I knew how wet she was down below.

It was a raw and daring confession. Driven by unbridled need and compelled by absolute trust, she had stepped forward and asked for something she wanted. She was probably only expecting something in the moment, some naughty pleasure, maybe even something a little taboo, but sometimes she underestimates depths of my sexual creativity. The door she opened was beautiful really. Unbeknownst to her, and driven by my own desire, I’d been practicing something new. Specifically designed patterns woven on the body to please, restrict, tease, and deny. They were painstakingly developed for the wearer to display submission and trust.

To be fair, I had given her something in the moment. She had paused from giving me a wonderfully sensual blow job and let my dick pop out of her mouth, then slid up and sank her pussy down to my balls. She’d ground on my cock for a minute, then flattened her tits on my chest and spoke.

“Do you love me?”

“With all of my heart.”

“Do you love that I’m your wife?”

“Very much so.”

“I love being your wife, but sometimes I want you to treat me like something else.”

“Tell me what you mean.”

“Sometimes I want you to treat me like I’m a thing to be used. Like… I’m your whore.”

With that, she’d slid the rings off her finger, placed them on the nightstand, and said, “Now, what will you do with your whore?”

My immediate response was something you might expect. I’d flipped her over, spread her knees, and laid her feet against my crotch while I held her wrists and fucked her ass until we were both a cummy heap. It could’ve ended there, but then I thought of the ropes.

Closing my eyes, I pictured her body decorated; bound with ropes for my pleasure and hers and my cock reawakened. I pinned her arms over her head and whispered how she would become beautifully adorned and thoroughly edged.

Her eyes were wide as she listened to my plan, and her body writhed in pleasure as I mercilessly teased her clit with my fingers until her dam burst. Much later, exhausted and content, she curled into me and said, “I think I’m gonna like being your whore.”

The plan cemented in my mind. It wasn’t just what she would wear, but where she would wear it. The church formal was always Black Tie, and I decided her external elegance would pay homage to the origins of the only thing she would wear underneath.
The night arrived and she stood naked before me while I slowly and deliberately wove the pattern and tied each knot. Her breathing was heavy and a little erratic, no doubt from both nervousness and anticipation. She was a good girl though, and I gave her comforting praise as it slowly came together.

The result was breathtaking; even more striking and arousing than I had anticipated. Once completed, I took her hand and led her to the full length mirror for the reveal. Her response was everything I’d hoped.

She delicately traced her fingertips down the lengths of rope, along each knot, around each bare breast, and over each nipple before turning her attention to the cords between her legs that nestled themselves on either side of her vulva. Catching my gaze in the mirror, she said, “These are going to get really interesting.” She was right.

“What’s the name of this?”

“It’s called Hishi Karada, my love, and it looks like it was made for you.”

She observed herself from each angle and said,  “I think I agree, Sir.”

She would’ve admired longer, but it was time to get ready. I pulled the truly elegant Japanese kimono dress from the closet. The top was long sleeve, a beautiful red silk adorned with traditional peony flowers, and cinched together with a black obi belt. It just barely covered the ropes on her shoulders. The skirt was a black chiffon; long, flared, and pleated. I held her hand as she stepped into the red bottom Just Nothing heels and whistled at the beauty that stood before me. She smiled demurely and curtsied before closing the distance between us and running her hands down my chest.

Then she kissed me, took a step back, and removed her rings. “If I’m to be your whore for the evening, I won’t be needing these.”
With lust coursing through my veins, I escorted her to the car and we were off. The road offered vibrations that assisted the ropes in doing their job. Her squirms and moans were a reward of their own and offered high hopes of a delightful evening.
We finally arrived at the church. Her breath was heavy as we paused at the entrance. I knew she was feeling the ropes. Her nipples stood proudly against the fabric of the thin top, and I knew how wet she was down below.

Our masks provided a veil for the heat passing between us, and we each grabbed a flute on the way to our table. I smiled when she sat. A low moan escaped her lips and a shudder ran through her body as the braided strands teased her delicate femininity. Her ragged breathing was only noticed by me. Our pleasurable evening had only just begun.

After the opening course, I escorted her to the floor where we danced. Her steps faltered occasionally as the ropes tugged with her movement, and by the end of the dance, her eyes begged me to let her cum. I only smiled in declination and her nearly silent protest made my lust burn.

The evening’s activities were festive and at times we engaged with others, but each interlude to the tune of smooth jazz on the dance floor kindled the fire fueled by the secret beneath her dress. The sweet, tortuous denial was a pleasure to behold. Her whispered pleas fed my hunger and I teased her to the brink again and again.

Time finally granted her its mercy and the ball came to a close, but her evening had only just begun. Escorting her to the car, I told her to leave the mask in place. Once underway, I lifted her skirt and touched everything but her clit. Sweet, slippery cream oozed from her depths the scent intoxicated me as I drove. Her moaning, strained obscenities, and begging were music to my ears and I could not have been more pleased.

When we reached our bedroom, I removed her top and kissed every inch of exposed skin. When the skirt finally fell at her feet, I licked everywhere but the center of her juicy folds. Now wearing only the mask, the Karada, and her heels, she stood before me drenched in a heated sheen.

I guided her to her back and bound each foot to a corner of the bed, then did the same with her wrists. Spread and taught, she was now a plaything at my mercy. I stripped except for my pants and teased her with a feather from tits to toes. Light flicks from the tendrils of a flogger followed the same path, and fed our mutual need.

Partially sated, my lips caressed hers, then trailed down her body till they reached her sexual core. I drank in her scent before releasing my tongue to feed. Her cries were now of pleasure and her body convulsed again and again. My desire to be sheathed in her warmth took over, and soon I too convulsed in the pinnacle of physical bliss.

Released from her bonds, she cooed under my hands as they first bathed, then massaged every inch of her skin. Returning to our bed, I retrieved her rings and placed them once again on her finger. She pasted her body to mine, and we each basked in the emotional and spiritual intimacy brought about by the gift we had each received in the other.

A few weeks later, I entered the house and was greeted by smooth jazz. My tuxedo pants, a white shirt and black tie were hanging by the door. Tucked in the shirt pocket was an envelope. The only things inside it were her rings.

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