Rope and Veil Pt. 01

The nipple is long and dark, erect and pointing straight out from the end of her breast, and the flesh around it tightens. Her nipple pulls hard, and I imagine a tightness deep inside the flesh of her breast. Amelia will feel a pull inside her body, I am sure, for as I see that long, bound curve of flesh, I become aware of a pull within my own flesh, a pull inwards behind my own nipples. My nipples are tight under my shirt, sensitive. There is a tightness within the flesh of my chest.

Both of Amelia's hands go to the fourth and the fifth buttons, and she undoes both buttons and at the same time pulls the cloth up from around her waist. She has to tug on one side, as she is sitting on part of the cloth but cannot rotate her weight from it, because of her legs. I am shaking a little now, my heart beat rising and my breath is quickening. I reach out one hand to support myself, to anchor myself steady against the wall.

I know that the next pull away of cloth will reveal Amelia's torso all naked but for her rope, and I don't know if I will be ready for that. I need to find strength to bear the power, the will, of Amelia's exposure of her self, her naked, bound self, a gift before me. This woman is so strong, her will is complete. She commands me to look, but has not said a word since she commanded me to look. She is pitiless, and even if I wanted to look away, I could not. But I cannot take my eyes from her, not now.

She raises her head, tilts it high and commands my eyes to her face. She will not let me look at her body until she releases me from her eyes, her face, and the tilt of her head is high and proud. She looks at me, deep, and the darkness in her eyes constricts and dilates, and the pupils are wide and black, only a rim of the deep blue surrounding them, as she opens a falling gateway into her soul, her mind.

Her eyes grip mine, refusing me to blink. There is a quick movement of her hands pulling at the cloth, and she spreads her arms wide in a crucifixion, the fall of cloth from her sleeves the only darkness, her arms spread wide.

"Look at me, see this part of me, this bound part of me."

My eyes are released from the strength of her face and I see her bound torso before me. I lean heavier against the wall, thankful for the support, and I am thankful to Amelia for sharing this still portrait of herself. The only movement in her, in the room, is the steady rise and fall of her breath and the corresponding swell in her belly. My fingers grip the wall, the only conscious movement in me. My breath quickens, a single intake, a gasp, but it is not conscious.

Her torso is slim and tightly muscled, her ribs clear shadows, and there is a network of finer shadows made by the tight turns and knots of rope coiled around her body, intricate patterns. There is a double loop around the base of each of her full breasts, and their shape is long and tubular. Amelia's thick nipples are hard and long, purpling slightly from the constriction of ropes on her chest.

The ropes are a symmetrical harness around her body, coiling around her breasts and over her shoulders and around her ribs. There is a criss-cross of rope across Amelia's belly, the double strands high on her waist and looping around her back. A pair of ropes descends from each half of her body down into the dark cloth of her pants, and I know from the angle of those ropes that they will come together at the base of her belly, at the core of her crotch.

"Amelia, my God, this is beautiful, you're beautiful. My drawing, it was just a fascination, but you've taken it so much further. What can I do, what can I say?"

"You can come here, is what you can do, and untie me. Unbind me."

I move a step closer, and she reaches for my shirt. Her fingers are fast and dextrous on the buttons, and she flips each round button from each hole, and then undoes the notch on my belt.

"Take my top off, peel it back from my arms. Hold your bare skin to my ropes and my flesh. You be naked, and I'll be bound, and then unbind me slowly. That's where the feeling comes from, the unbinding."

Amelia's voice was low and steady, she was controlling things here, and her body is an exquisite twist of rope, shadow, and skin.

I stumble back and fall to the floor, pulling my shoes and jeans from my legs, and shedding my jockey shorts and my shirt. I stand naked before Amelia, my cock swaying against my thigh, thickening but not yet hard.

"Pull my pants off," she whispers, her hands pushing my hands down to her waist. "You'll have to lift me, to get them off."

I've not done this before, never held damaged, helpless limbs. What do I do? She will be so thin and frail, her legs, they will be so fragile.

"I can't feel your touch on my legs, there's no sensation there. But I can see your hands on my legs, my fucking useless legs."

"Hell, Amelia, I can't imagine that, I have no way to imagine what that's like. You're so much braver than me."

"Not brave, no, not brave. Fucking angry, sometimes, but I'm not brave. I just keep going, because I have to. Not brave. Fuck, I can scratch, but I can't itch."

Amelia is pitiless with herself, and I want to find some way to care for her, so she can be kinder to herself.

I lean forward so she can place her arms around my neck and lift herself up from the cushions. I slip the waist of her pants down over the cheeks of her ass, and gently set her back down. I pull the cotton cloth down her thin legs, and they are pale and thin, long and thin, so thin, scars all along the top of both thighs.

In her ropes, she is bound before my eyes, but her legs are not bound. The ropes descend to her groin and run tight along the centre of her sex and loop around the tops of her thighs, a complex medallion of a knot, like a Celtic snake, halfway between her cleft and her navel.

That knot is the centre of her, where the sensation stops and moves no further down, and where the sensation starts, and moves up her body. On her thighs the scars are regular and rhythmic, even bands of silvered pain, steady thin cuts. Both thighs are cut that way, but along the length of one thigh, from the knee to near her groin, is a long, deep jagged scar, the sew of stitches clearly visible.

"God, Amelia, is that gouge from the crash?"

"Yes. The other scars were delicious pain, but after the crash, I could no longer feel the pain. So there wasn't much point in cutting myself any more. Besides, I had months of real pain before it finally stopped. I got more attention, then, than I ever really wanted. I stopped crying out for it, I'd had enough to last a lifetime. And of course, now, that's just what I've got. A fucking lifetime.

"But that was a long time ago. Unbind me, Alex, because you're here now. My pain is gone, I want pleasure."

I don't know if I can please her. I'm drowning in the deep end here, and it's a long way to the surface. My breath is held.

"Don't think it, you can't. I know, it's too much. Just look at me."

Amelia rescues me from myself, and I reduce this in my head to its basics. Here, in front of me, is a beautiful woman, bound in her ropes, and she is saying untie me, unbind me. Fuck, I'm an idiot if I complicate this. What can be simpler than a naked man, and a woman who has declared herself, stripped naked and raw, before him?

"May I carry you to your bed, proud Mary?"

I use the nickname I have given her when she attributes motives to me that aren't actually there, when she misappropriates her disability. She knows now that I take as few prisoners as she does, and some things don't matter. Her legs matter, of course they matter, but they don't define her, nor do they define my reaction to her.

"I'm no bride," she smiles.

"Never said you were, wench, but I think to lay you on a bed and lay you, that might be a vow of sorts."

I lift her into my arms, and she throws her strong arms around my neck, holding her weight. The ropes around her body press to my skin, but I want to see her unbound and nude before me.

I carry Amelia through to her bedroom and place her gently on the bed, and there is the presence of this woman all through the room. Her make-up table is a myriad of bottles, her jewellery a jangle of metal and leather, her fine leather boots racked in the corner. All the colours of her hair are arrayed in a rainbow on a shelf. In the window alcove that is in this room, her sanctuary, there are a set of hooks and loops set into the wooden frame, and I guess she can pull herself upright in this space. Opposite, on the other side of the bed, is a mirrored series of sliding doors on a wardrobe, square lattice panels like a Japanese tea room.

I lean my body over hers, gently grazing the weight of my chest over her hard nipples, her roped breasts sitting high on her body. Amelia's arms circle my neck, and she pulls my head to her lips and tastes me. Her tongue is a flicker and a thrust into the tightness of my lips, and I make her urge and probe, my tongue tangling hers. She sighs, and I feel her body lose a tension under mine, and she softens to the soft quilt on the bed.

I move my body up on hers so she can feel the heat of my cock against her belly, my nipples now targets for her teeth, and she bites and sucks my tight points into her hot mouth. She softens, and I tighten above her, my body a long tension of muscle above hers. She places her hands to my sides, and urges me higher so she can suckle the head of my cock to her mouth and lips, and I kneel over her chest as she takes my cock to her throat. Her tongue is slow, her Cleopatra eyes gaze up at mine as she attends to my prick, her hands cupping my balls, tenderly, they are precious.

Amelia is slow, she savours my taste and her long fingers are a gentle curl around my shaft, and her tongue tantalises the head of my cock, swirling slowly around the purpling flesh. I shudder and twitch, an automatic reaction, fuck this is divine, sublime sweetness.

Her hands are slow and insistent, and she torments with her slowness, then just a little faster, a little slower. She builds up the tightness in the base of my spine. My balls tighten and rise, but she doesn't want my cream, not yet, so she eases back with her mouth and pulls the weight of my testes down, away from my body, slowing me. Her hands are hot, a cupped nest around the drop of my balls, her finger nails gentle points into my flesh.

"The rope, Alex, the rope."

Amelia twists her torso away from me, and pushes my body backwards. She wants my hands on her body to twist and pull on the knots and cords, to loosen them. I see the ends of the doubled ropes, intricately looped in the central medallion below her breasts.

The knotting is cunning and clever. What looks like an intricate maze of snaking loops and coils turns out to be a miracle of simplicity. It is a simple thing to push the two ends of the rope ends backwards through the knot, and the unravelling begins. As each tight curve of rope is uncoiled from her body, Amelia's flesh is grooved and rutted by the tightness from the cord. As the tightness goes, her flesh rises in goosebumps as sensation shivers into her skin. Amelia utters little cries and sighs as her skin is sensitised and a faint blush of colour rises in each groove as the blood returns.

I trail my fingers along the grooves the ropes leave, and the paths unwind around her body. I lift her torso, pressing her breasts to my chest so I can unravel the ropes around her back. She holds her weight around my neck with her hands clenched together, and her heaviness, but she is not heavy, is on my neck.

She is a light thing, her ribs and the knuckles of her spine showing between the tight cords of her muscle. Amelia is muscle and sinew in her upper body, her strength is there. Amelia frightens me with her strength, and with her will.

Her hips are thin, she needs no muscle or flesh there, for her lower body and legs carry no weight; her lower half is bone, scar, and silence. Above her waist, my hands complete the unturning of her rope, and she is bare before me now. Her breasts are no longer tightened and tubular, the gone ropes have let the natural shape and fullness return to that beautiful flesh. Curves, soft and natural, a ripe fullness. Her breasts are big on a slender torso, her nipples hardened nubs, pulling each soft curve to a peak. I lie her back to the sheets, and suck each nipple, one at a time, into the heat of my mouth. Amelia holds my head to her breasts.

"Ah, yes, your mouth is hot, take my nips to your mouth, your teeth, ah gentle bites, oh god."

I caress her nipples and breasts with my mouth and tongue, and my hands run through her hair and over her scars on the one side of her head, and hold the smoothness of her skull on the the other. I slide into a rhythm of caress and kiss over her grooved skin, and slowly the ruts from the rope rise and her skin is smoother, but a trail of redness circles her.

Her hand presses me harder to her breast, and urges me to stay there. Amelia doesn't tell me with words, but her holding my head and her mouth to those risen nipples and tightened flesh tells me where her pleasure comes from now. I pay those nipples the same attention I would usually give between a woman's thighs.

My tongue between the lips of her sweet sex would be sweetness for me only, with Amelia's numbness there, but the pleasure of her breasts and her throat and her chest is for her. She feels my heat in the depths of her breasts, and arches the top half of her body up to me.

"Fuck yes, take my tits into your mouth, oh god, and your fingers, your fingers between my lips."

And she bites my fingers with her teeth and suckles them into her mouth, her tongue swirling. She sucks a little fuck from my fingers, and I raise my head from her breast and see a redding blaze rising on her chest and along the side of her throat, and her breath is rising, faster now, small sighs sighing and rising from her throat like a wind rippling through leaves.

My hands and fingers are a caress all over her body, my tongue is now deep into her mouth, and she sucks my lips and my tongue into her. Her hands are on her own breasts, and she pulls and pinches each nipple up with a twist and a tug. I see that she has her own special rhythm on her ripe nipples, and I guess she has learned her body anew since the silence of her nerves below. She has found new ways to shudder and shake. She trembles beneath my hands, and her rising pleasure is all I want for her now.

"What should I do, Amelia, where am I best?"

I don't know where I can pleasure her the most, my tongue on her tip might be a lost, numb thing.

"Suckle hard on my clit, make it feel you. If I see you between my legs, my eyes see what my body can't. And our fingers can play on my breasts. I'm so close, feel my blaze."

The skin on her throat is hot, and her nipples hard, tight. She is close. I didn't know but Amelia told me - love my sex like you would any woman's sex; with your heart. Fuck, I can do that, I can lie a thousand years between a woman's legs, my tongue in her sweet slit, my hot mouth over her rising clit, even if the nerves are different and connect in unknown ways.

But Amelia's eyes, they are the connection between my tongue on her clit and her brain. Her look replaces her spine. She sees me between her legs and her eyes hold mine, and our hands connect on her breasts. My fingers pinch and tighten one nipple, her fingers the other. Our hands grapple and connect, our fingers entwined, she pulls that hand up to her mouth. Her tongue is fierce, and her lips suck my fingers inside her. A fuck, a little finger fuck in her mouth.

All the time her eyes hold mine as I twist and suck, my tongue in her sex. A tape holds a catheter to her thigh, but I don't mind, I just take care not to knock and bump it. Her clit is hidden and red, and my suck and spit is her moisture, and our eyes connect. Her lost nerves find replacements in her open eyed, non blinking gaze, and I caress her lips and slick that fleshy clit with my tongue, and our hands peak her long nipples high on her breasts, and she holds my hand to her throat.

And all the time her eyes never leave mine and mine never leave hers. She looks down upon me, my face between her thighs and my mouth on her heating sex. Our fingers twist and tighten and her eyes don't leave mine. Then she gasps, a tight intake of breath, and her eyes widen one last time, huge and black, her pupils a wide blackness. Amelia arches her back, her head rolls back, and her eyes flicker back, and she shudders with her pleasure. Her eyes lose mine.

Amelia comes, her hand on my head between her legs, her numb, quiet thighs, her thin long legs spread wide. She shudders, and her body ripples, her hands a spasming grip in my hair. I feel her fingers pull, and she wants my body up on hers, my chest to her breasts, my lips to her throat and her lips, my beating heart near hers.

I rise myself over her, and she looks up at me, her big dark eyes open wide again, and I fall into her darkness and I don't mind. I belong there. She reaches her hand up to my face, and one to my hair, and she pulls me down to her breast. I slide beside her, she is slender and I fear my weight on her, and rest my head on her chest. Her heart beats, a flutter, a small double beat close together, fast.

We pull covers over ourselves for warmth, and her hand drops to my cock, and holds it gently, just a soft squeeze. Amelia holds me, as I hold her in my arms. We are still for a minute and a second minute, and her heart beat is slower as she descends from her pleasure.

She takes one thing at a time, Amelia, and she registers that the heat of my cock is in her palm, and begins an oh so slow movement up and down, down and up the shaft, and a velvet palm over the head. I arch my back in the pleasure of it, and my nerves are full, but hers are not, not all of them.

Amelia urges me to twist and move on the bed, for it is easier for me to move, but she wants my heat near her mouth, near her cheek.

"Roll on your back, and pull yourself higher on the bed," she whispers, "pull yourself high so I can play with this wonderful cock, feel its heat."

I reach to the top of her bed and there are straps tied to the rail at the top of her bed, for her to grab, to pull up her body. I use them to pull my body higher, and she coils her head and upper body over mine, and she takes my hot red head into her mouth, and her hand is on my shaft, and she sucks me deep.

I look down, and pull the ivory pin from her hair, and a pink spill of her hair coils upon my chest and I wrap the soft silk of her hair over my arm. Her mouth, her red-lipped mouth, is gentle around my cock, and her bright hair falls around me, a spill of colour everywhere.

She takes me deep, her palms and fingers on the rising heat of my balls. She won't slow me this time, her pace is faster but at the same time teasingly slow. I want to come, but she doesn't want me to, not yet, and I know there is a smile on her lips, denying me until she has played enough and she is ready for me. Until she wants me. Amelia is a woman who knows what she wants. Her gone legs won't slow her. She still has her hands and her miraculous mouth.

She is curled around the throb of my cock and her hands are an idle touch up and down my thighs and across my hips, all of those places that on her are numb. It is as if she wants to urge up sensations in me from those limbs that on her body are senseless and lost, and by urging a response from me, can imagine that same response from herself. She delights in making me jerk and twitch, and her fingers raise goosebumps and shivers from my flesh.

Her lips are red around the rim of my cock, and every now and then she lifts her mouth from my heat, and looks to my eyes. Her fingers, her black nailed fingers, scratch a line around my shaft where the red has left a mark on my skin, red on red. Amelia sucks the length of me into her mouth, and her hand is urging up a rise in my shaft. A coil of pleasure begins in the base of my spine. She is faster and more relentless now, but her hand and mouth controls and edges my pleasure.