Chapter 4
Gage
Itightenthefinalknot,securing Skye's wrists behind her back with precise tension, firm enough to restrain, gentle enough not to harm.The black silk contrasts beautifully against her skin, and I pause to admire my handiwork, taking in the sight of her.
Blindfolded and bound, she's exquisite.Her breathing has quickened, while her chest rises and falls in a rhythm that betrays her excitement, despite her attempt to appear calm.I circle her slowly, savoring the moment, the anticipation.
"How does that feel?"I ask once the last knot is secure.
She tests the restraint before saying, "Good, Sir."
"And your color?"
"Green, Sir."
"Excellent."My hand caresses her bare shoulder, a gentle touch, but I can see the goosebumps race across her skin."Now, let's see if we can push that a little further."
Perfect.Her trust is intoxicating, more potent than any drug I've ever experienced.I'm used to control, to wielding power, but there's something about Skye's surrender that feels different.More meaningful.
I start guiding her with a hand at the small of her back toward the bed.
She moves carefully, relying on my direction without her sight.When her legs bump against the edge of the bed, I help her lie down, arranging her on her back, her bound wrists beneath her.
"Comfortable?"
She nods, then remembers herself."Yes, Sir."
I retrieve more silk rope from my cabinet, returning to find her waiting exactly as I left her.The trust this demonstrates is not lost on me.As I sit beside her on the bed, I run the rope through my fingers.
"I'm going to bind your legs now," I inform her."You'll tell me if anything feels too tight or uncomfortable."
"Yes, Sir."
I start at her ankles, creating an intricate pattern that trails up her calves.The rope slides against her skin as I work, each knot precise, each binding deliberate.This isn't just restraint.It's art.My art.
As I work, I watch her reactions closely.The way her breath catches when I tighten a knot.How her lips part slightly when I trace patterns on her skin between bindings.The way she subtly tests her restraints, not trying to escape but confirming her captivity.
"You enjoy this," I observe.Not a question.
"Yes," she breathes.
"Why?"I want to hear her say it, want to understand what drives her surrender.
She hesitates, and I wait patiently, continuing my methodical binding of her thighs.
"I like...the freedom of it," she finally says.
I pause, genuinely surprised by her answer."Freedom?"
"When I'm bound, I don't have to make decisions.I don't have to be in control.There's...relief in that."
I understand her words more deeply than she knows.Control has always been my refuge, my defense against a world that once stripped me of all autonomy.But her perspective, finding freedom in surrender intrigues me.
"You're an interesting woman, Skye," I tell her, completing the pattern at her upper thighs.
I admire my work.Her legs are adorned with an intricate web of black silk, and she’s immobilized but not uncomfortably so.The contrast of the restraints against her skin is mesmerizing.
"I'm going to touch you now," I inform her."Remember your safe words."