DISCLAIMER: All B*ndage scenarios in this video are strictly role playing conducted
by fully consenting adults. This is just for fun

Mya Pleasure, whose name had always seemed to her a kind of inside joke, endured another day behind the fluorescent-lit front lines of her office cubicle, the air conditioner’s drone a white-noise lullaby that threatened to flatten her synapses into submission. The spreadsheet she was supposed to be conquering the insipid bl*e of her computer screen, and her eyes—those infamous, genetically-freakish sapphires—b*rned with the double h*t of exhaustion and a lowgrade, dull arousal that seemed to crawl into her body every time she thought of him. She pictured the clock with its minute hand leaping and stalling in a sadistic ballet, the way it seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her own desperate, unfulfilled longing.

Her coworkers, those cryptids of beige and khaki, orbited her with coffee-stained teeth and watercooler gossip. She mustered the necessary micro-expressions to deflect their questions about her weekend, about her love life (“Not that it’s any of your business, Karen,” she wanted to hiss, but instead she smiled and said, “Oh, you know. The usual.”) Every tick forward was an act of willpower. Every breath was a rehearsal for the sigh she would finally release when the automatic glass doors slid open at five oh one, and the city’s summer heat burst against her skin, making her feel, for a moment, alive.

She took the train, pressed between strangers, body vibrating with the residue of public space and the memory of her boyfriend’s text that morning: Tonight, don’t make plans. I have something for you. The only other hint he’d given was an Amazon delivery she’d signed for the night before, the box oddly heavy, the label from an “Eternal Pleasures LLC” that filled her with both dread and anticipation. She’d left it unopened on the kitchen table, resisting the urge to shake it like a l*ttle one on Christmas Eve. Her boyfriend knew her appetite for novelty, and more than that, he understood her need to be swept out of her own mind, suspended somewhere beyond time and memory.

When she pushed open the door to their apartment, she found him waiting—not in the living room, but standing in the shadowed entryway, a smile like a secret cutting across his lips. The lights were low. The furniture, usually in cheerful disarray, had been rearranged: the ottoman shoved aside, the coffee table shoved up against the far wall. There was a dense, almost electric hush in the air, as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“You’re early,” he said, but it wasn’t a rebuke. He moved toward her, his hands gentle and sure as he took her bag and set it down. She felt his patience, the way he hovered at the edge of her personal space, inviting her to step inside. When she did, he kissed her—slow and deep enough to remind her who she belonged to, and what she’d surrendered the minute she’d handed him the keys to her heart.

“Go shower,” he whispered. “Then come back in just your robe.”

By the time she returned, her skin flushed and damp, he had transformed the living room into a kind of erotic stage. Coils of thick, red rope trailed across the floor, their ends arranged with the meticulousness of a ritual. The box from Eternal Pleasures LLC had been opened, and beside it gleamed a bl*ck wand with a silver head—like something a sorcerer would wield, if sorcery were about s*x and not spells.

Her boyfriend approached with the reverence of an artist about to begin his masterpiece. He helped her out of the robe, and ran his palms over her skin, mapping her anew. He spoke softly, explaining each step and seeking her permission with every knot and loop. As he began to bind her, the world shrank to the tug of the rope and the heat of his breath at her ear. She surrendered her weight to his hands, to the promise of sensation, and allowed herself to be undone.

He worked with methodical precision, threading the rope beneath her breasts, across her hips, and around her thighs, until she was a living sculpture in crimson. Each knot tightened her anticipation, until she floated somewhere above herself, detached from time and the pedestrian anxieties of daylight. The final act was the suspension: he hoisted her gently from the floor, her toes brushing the rug, her body stretched between gravity and the silk caress of the rope.

He produced the wand and pressed it against her, not yet turning it on. The threat of its power—she’d read the reviews, after all—was enough to make her shudder.

“I want to watch you,” he said.

Then he clicked the vibrator to life and pressed it hard against her clit. The effect was immediate: her body bucked, the ropes creaking as she writhed. He watched her, arms folded, a half-smile on his face as she gasped and pleaded. She came once, then again, the aftershocks more exhausting each time, tears streaming as she surrendered to the pleasure and p*in.

He took a chair and sat down, still fully dressed, and watched her s*ffer, the way she wanted.

He kept her there, cumming and begging, until her voice was raw and her legs trembled with exhaustion.

Bound *rgasms Vibrator B*ndage Aquaphilias- Mya Pleasure- Predator B*ndage- Bound *rgasms- DID- PERIL with C4s.com

Bound rgasms Vibrator Bndage Aquaphilias- Mya Pleasure- Predator Bndage- Bound rgasms- DID- PERIL with C4s.com