It was really nice to live alone—no one to disturb you, no one to tell you what to do, and no one to stop you from watching porn whenever the mood hit. But today the real thing was waiting, and that made everything else feel small.
It was my usual day in college, lectures dragging on until almost lunch time—12 p.m. My phone buzzed once in my pocket.
"I am at home Master."
A crooked smile pulled at my lips. My cock twitched and started hardening right there in the back row, just from those five words. The second the professor dismissed us, I was out the door, bag slung over one shoulder, half-running across campus. The house wasn't far—normally a lazy 15-minute walk—but I covered it in five, heart pounding, breath short, already imagining her face when I walked in.
The iron gate was slightly ajar, exactly as I'd told her to leave it. I slipped through, pushed it shut, and slid the latch home with a satisfying click. No interruptions. No escape. Just us.
I stepped into the hall and froze for a second.
There she was—standing in the middle of the living room like she'd been posed for me. Completely naked except for the black rope harness I'd ordered her to buy and tie herself into before I arrived. The ropes crossed her chest in a perfect diamond pattern, framing her heavy breasts so the soft flesh bulged slightly between the lines, nipples already stiff and dark from anticipation or the tightness. Lower, the ropes formed a V that framed her pussy lips, pulling them apart just enough to show the faint glisten of arousal already gathering there. A thin strip ran between her legs, pressing lightly against her clit like a cruel promise.
She didn't speak. She just stood there, hands clasped behind her back, eyes down, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Waiting. Obedient. Mine.
I circled her slowly, letting my footsteps echo in the quiet house. She shivered when my fingers brushed the rope over her hip.
"Good girl," I murmured, voice low. "You tied it exactly how I sent the picture. Tight enough to bite, but not so tight you can't breathe… yet."
She swallowed hard. "Yes, Master."
I picked up the coil of extra rope she'd left on the coffee table—soft jute, the kind that leaves faint red marks without breaking skin too fast. Moving behind her, I pressed my body to hers for a moment, letting her feel how hard I already was through my jeans. Then I started binding her wrists together at the small of her back, looping the rope several times before cinching it snug. She tested the knots instinctively—small tugs—and let out a soft, helpless sound when she realized she couldn't pull free.
"On your knees," I said.
She sank down carefully, the rope between her legs pulling tighter as she moved, rubbing against her swollen clit. A tiny gasp escaped her.
I guided her forward until her chest was pressed to the cool marble floor, ass raised, face turned to the side. Then I took the loose end of the harness rope that dangled between her thighs and looped it once around the thick electrical wire running along the base of the wall—the one she'd told me about weeks ago, the one that was low and taut, perfect height when she was on all fours.
I pulled the rope taut, feeding it under the wire so the coarse jute now pressed directly against her pussy, trapping the wire right along her slit. Every tiny shift would drag her clit and lips over it.
"Stay like that," I ordered. "Rub yourself on it. Slowly. Show me how desperate you've been all week."
She hesitated only a second—then rocked her hips forward. The first drag made her whimper. The rope was rough; the wire beneath it unforgiving. Her wetness started coating both almost immediately, making the slide slicker, more obscene.
I sat on the sofa, legs spread, watching. "Slower. Edge yourself. No cumming until I say."
For the next twenty minutes I made her work. Slow grinds at first, then tiny circles when I told her to focus on her clit. Her breathing turned ragged, hips trembling. Sweat beaded along her spine, trickling down to where the ropes dug in. Her pussy lips were flushed dark pink now, swollen, glistening. Every time she got close—thighs shaking, little pleading moans starting—I told her to stop.
"Hands behind your back again. Freeze."
She obeyed, body quivering in place, cunt hovering just above the wire, dripping onto the floor in thin strings.
"Please… Master… I need—"
"No." I leaned forward, grabbed a fistful of her hair, tilted her face up so I could see the tears of frustration gathering in her eyes. "You cum when I decide how hard you cum. Not before."
I let her suffer like that for another ten minutes—aching, empty, clit throbbing against nothing. Then I finally gave the command.
"Rub. Hard. Fast. Make yourself cum like the desperate slut you are."
She lunged forward, grinding frantically against the wire-rope trap. The sounds were filthy—wet, slapping friction, her broken moans echoing off the walls. Her whole body seized when the orgasm hit: back arching, ropes cutting red lines into her skin, a sharp cry tearing out of her throat. She squirted this time—short, forceful spurts soaking the floor beneath her, legs shaking so badly she almost collapsed.
I let her ride it out, twitching and gasping, until the aftershocks faded.
Then I untied her wrists, helped her sit up on shaky knees. Her face was wrecked—flushed, mascara-smudged, lips swollen from biting them.
I took the small bullet vibrator I'd bought specially for her—quiet, powerful, curved just right. I slid it inside her still-pulsing cunt, nestling it deep against her g-spot.
"Low setting," I said, clicking it on. A soft, steady buzz started inside her. Not enough to make her cum again soon… but enough to keep her wet, aching, aware of me even when I wasn't touching her.
I stood, zipped up, adjusted my shirt. "I have evening classes. You'll keep this in until I text you to take it out. No touching yourself. No turning it off. If you cum without permission again, I'll know—and next time the punishment won't be this gentle."
She looked up at me, eyes glassy, voice hoarse. "Yes… Master."
I leaned down, kissed her forehead almost tenderly—then walked out, locking the gate behind me.
The whole walk back to campus, I pictured her: alone in that big house, trying to go about her day with that low buzz humming inside her, thighs slick, mind fogged with need.
And I smiled.