philippa introduces triss to rope and triss takes to it as thoroughly as phil knew she would--itâs never been easier to pull orgasms out of her until sheâs panting and exhausted, than when the ropes are biting into her skin, holding her dangling in the air or bent backwards, bound open and helpless. philippa doesnât even have to push, every new predicament or position she suggests has triss practically panting for it--tying her hair to her ankles, looping rope through her mouth so she canât hold back her little noises when phil hurts her--as long as thereâs rope, triss loves it.
and part of the bargain--something phil said the first time when she was introducing the idea, that never explicitly came up again, but triss always remembered, is that triss can, of course, get out any time she wants, with magic. she can struggle and pant in the bite of the ropes all she likes, but if she REALLY needs to stop--philippa told her, her voice warm and soothing--she can just break free.
theyâve talked recently, uncertainly, about playing with consensual non-consent; the idea turned triss on so fiercely when she first mentioned it that when philippa pulled her closer into her lap and delved a hand between her legs, it took less than a minute for her to work triss into a trembling orgasm at the thought of philippa ignoring her pleas and hurting her whether triss wanted it or not. but after, the idea of it frightened her as much as it turned her on, and so they left the idea alone.
only, this time, philippa puts triss in some kind of predicament that hurts more than usual, or wears her out faster, or maybe just sits and watches delightedly for so long that triss truly canât take it any more, her whole body burning with pain, and she begs--muffled but clear enough around the tight rope between her lips--please, please let me out, please--
hmmm, phil says, her brows drawing together in a frown but her voice rich with amusement. i donât know, triss. after all-- she reaches forward and strokes her fingers between trissâs bound legs, pulling a weak moan from her, adoring the way trissâs thighs tense and try to pull together but, of course, canât. phil draws her hand away, fingers dripping wet, and drags them lightly across trissâs sweaty, flushed face. i think youâre still enjoying yourself, she says archly.
triss shudders hard all over, weary muscles clenching despite themselves, a wave of terror at philâs denial slamming into her accompanied by an equally violent wave of arousal. her cunt throbs and her chest goes tight, and before she can think about what sheâs doing she sobs out the words to send the rope flying from her body--and nothing happens.
her mind goes white with fear, her hips jerk--driving the crotch rope tighter against her sore clit--and she comes harder than she can ever remember coming before. she shakes through it as much as she can, trussed up as she is--so sore and tired that the effort of pleasure hurts almost as much as the pain--then moans weakly as philippa slides three fingers into her wet cunt and fucks her to another two aching peaks before finally letting her rest. triss is too exhausted to say anything, do anything as philippa methodically unties the rope and lowers triss to the ground, wrapping her up in a towel and giving her a drink of water, petting her hair and praising her, the very picture of a caring dom administering the most loving aftercare. itâs only as philippa eases her into bed and slips in beside her, pulling the cool, crisp sheets up over trissâs body--covered in red raw marks from her struggles against the rope--that triss bursts into tears and says, I couldnât get out-- unable to even stop clutching philippa for comfort despite everything, you said I could get out--
and philippa is so concerned and asks her what she means, and when triss whimpers about how she tried to break the ropes with her magic and couldnât, philippa frowns. she says, no you didnât, sweetheart--I would have noticed, you using magic like that--I thought you wanted me to say no to you-- and even offers to tie her up again, just her hand, so triss can prove to herself that she really can break free. and they do it, and the rope unties itself and slithers loose as soon as triss says the words, and she doesnât know what to do except huddle in philippaâs arms in bed and tell herself she must have been confused--after all, just like phil says, she liked it, didnât she? she certainly came hard enough. she must not have really wanted to get free, she must have just wanted to pretend--and she falls asleep like that, still aching all over (knowing she will be all the next day too), mind swimming and frightened and still, despite herself, despite her weariness, her gut simmers with shameful, scared arousal.
