Bondage 2009 09 18 Head Games Marina — --- Real Time

She shivered. The command was redundant. The Kikkou pattern chest harness he’d just finished was a masterpiece of geometry, pulling her shoulders back, lifting her breasts, and constricting each breath into a conscious, deliberate act. Every inhale was a choice. Every exhale was a surrender.

Marina’s jaw tightened. She was a successful architect. She designed skyscrapers that defied wind and gravity. The noise in her head was a constant, petty tyrant: You’re a fraud. You’ll fail. They’ll see. She’d never spoken it aloud. --- Real Time Bondage 2009 09 18 Head Games Marina

He left the sentence unfinished.

It wasn’t the rope that held her. It was the head game. She shivered

He smiled. It was a small, knowing thing. He picked up a length of rope—a thin, harsh line of hemp—and began to tie a single, intricate knot in the air before her eyes. A Celtic heart. A sailor’s fancy. Her mind, starved of distraction, latched onto the pattern. Loop. Twist. Pull. Every inhale was a choice

He nodded toward the camera. “You have the scissors. You have the knife. The real-time clock is running. You can walk out that door in sixty seconds. Or…”

“I… I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.