doorstep naked and with your arms tied behind your back?’
She chuckled at the notion, a little embarrassed. ‘No, I guess not. But what …?’ Her voice trailed off as she saw his face.
‘You’re going to go to your parents wearing this karada under your clothes, to remind you that you are bound and bonded to me, and that only I can set you free. You’re going to feel my hand on you even when I’m not physically touching you. And wait …’
He walked to the dinner table and came back with a pair of nipple clamps that he had apparently removed from his toolbox while she’d been busy wrapping up her four bowls of tiramisu. To her relief, they were tweezer clamps, which weren’t too painful. Of course, their relative painlessness did have a downside, which was that Connor often made her wear them for several hours on end, which was uncomfortable.
She waited patiently as he played with one of her nipples to make it stiff, then attached a clamp and slid the ring sideways to determine the amount of pressure. He repeated the process with the other nipple. Then he stepped back to admire her from a little distance, looking satisfied with his own work. ‘Yes, that will do nicely. Now go and get dressed. The purple skirt, I think. A top that fully covers the harness. No underwear, no stockings. And don’t put up your hair. I want it down.’
She nodded respectfully and spoke the words he wanted to hear whenever he gave her a direct order. ‘Yes, Connor.’ Once in the bedroom, she found the loose purple skirt he had specified, plus a thick black sweater which she thought would do a good job of hiding the harness underneath. As she slipped into the skirt, the crotch rope dug into her arse crack, an unsubtle reminder of its existence. For the time being, though, the nipple clamps were a greater source of discomfort than the harness.
When she was fully dressed, she turned around in front of the mirror to see if the rope and clamps were visible underneath her clothes. After satisfying herself that they weren’t, she went back into the living room and presented herself to Connor, who subjected her to an equally thorough examination.
‘OK,’ he judged eventually. ‘Now let’s get on the road.’
As she slid into the passenger seat, Emma once again felt the rope dig into her crotch, a feeling that was both uncomfortable and surprisingly pleasant. With a start, she realised that the bottom knot was right on her clit. No doubt that was intentional. Connor wouldn’t have redone that knot several times if he hadn’t intended it to be exactly where it was.
‘How long will I be wearing this?’ she asked, trying to hide her excitement by making small talk.
‘For the duration of the party and our drive back. Unless you’re bad, in which case I’ll let you wear it until bedtime.’
Until bedtime. It was a scary thought. Emma didn’t think she could wear the harness that long. At some point the hemp would start chafing, and possibly even rupture her skin.
‘For my information, what constitutes being bad?’
‘Anything that goes against my wishes. Listen to my instructions and you’ll be fine.’
So there would be instructions. Bad ones, most likely. The prospect intimidated her a little, but it also sent a thrill of excitement through her.
She remained quiet for the next ten minutes, aware of nothing so much as the knot between her labia. It was right on her clit, and every time she shifted, it pressed down on her like Connor’s fingers, except a little drier and itchier. The hemp felt harsh on her tender flesh, but not unpleasantly so.
Feeling experimental, she tilted her pelvis a little, trying to get the knot where she wanted it to be. A thrill shot through her as it hit the right spot. She tried it again, with the same result. Soon she was rotating her pelvis in a series of rhythmic movements, so small that they were barely visible to the human eye. Except to Connor’s, obviously.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked, looking sideways at her. Judging from his smirk, he knew exactly what she was doing. He always did. Undoubtedly he’d been waiting for her to do this, for her to discover the self-pleasuring properties of the rope. No doubt he was hoping to have her randy as fuck by the time they reached her parents’. A little shamefully, she had to admit that it was a distinct possibility.
‘It’s … interesting,’ she said. She slumped in her seat, which made the rope grow a little tauter between her legs, then brought her pelvis upwards a little. She could barely suppress a moan as the hemp tightened over her clit.
Connor grinned. ‘I’m going to have fun watching you this afternoon. Seeing you get yourself off while chatting with your uncles … I’ll gladly suffer your mum’s food for the pleasure of that.’
‘That’s because you’re a horrible sadist,’ she answered, shifting ever so slightly against the rope.
He just laughed at her. ‘Too right, sister. Don’t you forget it.’
* * *
As she had expected, Emma was half mad with desire by the time they arrived at her childhood home. She felt a little embarrassed as she congratulated her brother and watched him unwrap the present she’d bought him, a set of Blu-rays of films he’d loved as a child and had said he’d love to watch with his own children. The paranoiac in her was certain that he could smell her arousal or, failing that, would notice she wasn’t wearing any underwear, or that there was a chain dangling between her nipples. Who knows, he might even hear some rustling as her thick sweater interacted with the hemp harness underneath. She couldn’t hear it herself, but his ears had always been sharper than hers.
However, if John noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn’t let on. Nor did her father, who had an uncanny knack of spotting things that she felt self-conscious about, and a nasty habit of pointing them out in public. Nobody at the party said anything about her looking unusual or uncomfortable; if anything, they seemed to think she was looking healthy and rosy. But, although they didn’t seem to notice anything, she was very much aware of Connor’s amused glances, and that they made her every bit as wet as the rope and clamps she was wearing.
She soon learned to move as little as possible, so as to prevent the rope from chafing her skin and the chain between her nipples from visibly moving under her clothes. She spent at least half an hour rooted to the same spot, waiting for other people to come to her rather than the other way around. Eventually, though, she had to leave her spot and mingle. It would be rude not to.
As she flitted around the room, chatting now with a cousin, now with an aunt, she was aware of Connor’s eyes following her. He smiled every time she shifted her position ever so slightly in an effort to get the knot on her clit in the right spot. He shook his head almost imperceptibly as she scratched herself under a breast, surreptitiously trying to displace the itchy rope that was digging into her skin. He grinned sardonically whenever she glared at him, telling him with her eyes how hard she was finding his torment. And, judging from the bulge in his jeans, he found her predicament as arousing as she did.
Finally, when she found herself without a conversation partner for a moment, he sauntered over to her, turning his back to the other people in the room to hide his erection from view.
‘I bet you’re sopping fucking wet,’ he said under his breath as he handed her a glass of wine.
She coloured, hoping that no one would have heard the words.
‘Well? You’re dripping, aren’t you?’
She
