Page 38 of Dominion’s Collar

I tie the hip harness. The rope frames the thong and wraps the crests of her hip bones. I'm behind her for this, my leathers pressed against the bare skin above the thong.

She inhales at the contact. My hands work the rope across her hips while my body gives her a surface to register against. The contrast is deliberate: soft rope and hard leather, my hands precise while the rest of me is close enough to remind her who's doing this.

When I pull the tension line through the back, she flinches. Sharp. Immediate. A full-body startle that has nothing to do with the pressure I'm applying.

Everything before this was positioning. The hip harness made it confinement.

I hold still. Let the moment pass without commentary.

"Color?"

"Green." The word leaves a mark on the way out. I accept the cost and continue.

Her weight shifts. A roll of her hips she didn't plan. The motion tells me the rope is reaching past everything she prepared for.

I tie the thigh binding. It separates and secures, opening her stance while the hip harness holds the upper tension. She's bound from wrists to thighs, every major joint restricted, every line of tension connecting through the pattern at her back. She can't close her arms, can't curl inward, can't press her thighs together.

The thong is the only barrier left, and it isn't doing much.

I step around to face her. The bindings hold her arms, frame her torso, grip her hips. She's standing in the center of my work, collared, and every external surface is exactly where I put it.

I haven't ever taken responsibility for a collared submissive. I’ve never felt the call to do so. I've done rope. I've scened. But those were negotiated sessions with experienced partners who walked in knowing what they wanted and walked out the same way they came.

This is different. Natalie is wearing my collar, and while she's in my rope, every response is mine to read and mine to answer for. Every line I've tied is mine to watch. The possessiveness isn't separate from the care. It's the same thing wearing different clothes.

She's mine. The wanting comes after I've made sure of it.

The surface is perfect. She's starting to shake.

The evidence of what the rope is doing shows through the thin fabric between her thighs. A dark spreading stain that she can't hide and can't control.

I don't touch her yet. I step close enough that she can feel my body heat against her bound arms. Close enough that my breath moves the hair at the nape of her neck. My erection is inches from the rope at her hip. She knows it's there. Her breathing stutters. I let the proximity do what my hands haven't.

She holds still. I can read the effort it takes her not to lean back into me.

I trace the rope line from her hip to the knot at the small of her back. Her skin radiates under my fingers, and the sensation travels down my spine with a directness that has nothing to do with technical competence.

My cock is hard against my leathers. I don't hide it. She needs to see what her surrender does when it's real.

"You researched shibari." I bring my hand around to the front of her body. Let my knuckles graze the inside of her thigh above the binding. She jerks against the rope. "What didn't the research cover?"

"I don't know yet."

"Your body knows." I drag one finger down the front of the thong. Slowly. The fabric is soaked through, clinging to the shape of her. "This. Did the research cover this?"

Her jaw clenches. A tremor runs through her thighs, and the thigh bindings translate the tremor into the hip harness. The whole web of rope shivers with her.

"Answer me."

"No." The word fractures on the way out.

I press my palm flat against her through the fabric. Cup the full shape of her. She burns through the thin layer and into my hand. Her hips push into the pressure, and the rope holds her in place. The harness gives her nowhere to go except into the sensation.

I hold the pressure. Let her feel my hand without movement. She makes a sound low in her throat, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

"Your mind came prepared. Your body came honest."

I hook one finger under the waistband and pull the fabric to the side. She's swollen, flushed dark, slick enough that the arousal has spread to the insides of her thighs.