Hotel Bondage Session
The day had been long, I felt the smooth satin of my red blouse glide against my skin with every movement, the tight black leather skirt. Underneath, sheer Hold ups shimmered, catching the light, and my black ankle boots gave me that extra edge. I Had dressed as sexy as I dared being in the office all day, but I had no idea how the night would unfold when I agreed to meet him after work.
I arrived at the hotel room, it was a guy my Husband new very well and he didn’t have time for pre drinks and chat. The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated the space, casting shadows on the neatly made bed. He was already there, waiting for me, his dark suit pristine and his eyes glinting with a quiet intensity. He didn’t say much—just a nod, a gesture to step inside.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice low and commanding. I obeyed, feeling his hands on me almost immediately. He reached under my skirt, his fingers brushing against the tops of my Hold Ups as he slid my knickers down my legs, the fabric catching slightly on the sheen of my stockings . I stepped out of them, my breath hitching as he held the delicate lace in his hand, inspecting it for a moment before looking at me with a wicked smile.
“Open your mouth,” he instructed. I parted my lips, and he stuffed the knickers inside, the taste of my own arousal filling my senses. Before I could adjust, he produced a silk scarf—red, to match my blouse—and wrapped it tightly around my head, securing the gag in place. The fabric pulled at the corners of my mouth, and I felt a rush of heat as I realized how helpless I was already.
He wasted no time. From a small bag, he pulled out a bundle of soft, black rope, its texture smooth yet firm as he began to work. “On your stomach,” he ordered, and I lowered myself onto the bed, the comforter cool against my cheek. He pulled my arms behind my back, crossing my wrists and binding them tightly together, the rope biting into my skin just enough to make me squirm. Then he bent my knees, bringing my ankles up to meet my wrists, and looped the rope around them, pulling it taut. I was in a tight hogtie now, my body arched slightly, the satin blouse straining against my chest as I breathed heavily through the gag. My leather skirt had ridden up, exposing the tops of my thighs, and I could feel the Hold ups stretching with every small movement. I was completely at his mercy, and the thought sent a shiver down my spine.
He stepped back to admire his work, his eyes tracing every inch of me as I lay there, bound and gagged, unable to move more than a few inches. “You look perfect,” he murmured, his voice sending a thrill through me. But he wasn’t done. After a quite some time, he untied the ropes, my limbs tingling as they were released, only to be repositioned into a new form of restraint.
This time, he had me sit on the edge of the bed, my legs pressed together. He wrapped the rope around my thighs, binding them tightly so I couldn’t part them, the pressure making me hyper-aware of every sensation. Then he crossed my arms in front of me, tying my wrists together and looping the rope around my torso in an intricate harness. The ropes framed my chest, the red satin of my blouse glowing against the black cords, and he pulled the knots tight, ensuring I couldn’t wriggle free. He tied a final length of rope from my bound wrists to my thighs, forcing me to hunch forward slightly, my body locked into a compact, submissive position. The gag muffled my soft moans as I tested the restraints, the silk scarf damp against my lips.
He circled me slowly, his polished shoes silent on the carpet, his suit still immaculate while I was a mess of rope and satin. “One more,” he said, his tone almost teasing. He untied me again, giving me a brief moment to stretch before guiding me to my knees on the floor. This time, he used a spreader bar—a sleek metal rod he attached to my ankles, forcing my legs apart. My skirt rode up even higher, the leather creaking as I shifted. He bound my wrists behind my back again, but this time he added a rope that ran from my wrists up to the back of my neck, looping around my throat in a loose collar before tying it off. If I tried to lower my hands, the rope would tighten around my neck—not enough to choke, but enough to make me feel the control he had over me. My chest heaved as I knelt there, my body trembling with the intensity of the position, the gag still firmly in place.
He stood in front of me, fully dressed, his presence dominating the room. He didn’t touch me beyond the ropes, didn’t cross that line, but the way he looked at me—like I was a piece of art he’d crafted—made my skin burn. I was bound, gagged, and utterly helpless.
The ropes had long since been untied, my wrists and ankles still tingling from the tight embrace of the cords. My red satin blouse was slightly wrinkled now, the black leather skirt sitting askew on my hips, and my Stockings bore faint marks where the ropes had pressed against them. The silk scarf and my knickers had been removed from my mouth, but the taste of my own arousal lingered, a constant reminder of the time I’d spent bound and helpless under his gaze. My body was on fire—every nerve ending alight with need. Being tied up for ages, unable to move, unable to touch myself, had left me soaking wet and aching with a desperate, throbbing horniness that I couldn’t shake.
He walked me to the door of the hotel room, still fully dressed in his pristine suit, his demeanour as composed as ever. “You did well,” he said, his voice calm, but he made no move to touch me beyond a brief pat on my shoulder. I wanted to scream, to beg him to relieve the unbearable tension coiling inside me, but that wasn’t part of our agreement. The frustration was maddening—my body screamed for release, but he simply opened the door and wished me a good night. I stumbled out into the hallway, my legs shaky, my mind clouded with unmet desire.
The drive home was torture. Every shift in my seat made the leather skirt rub against my thighs. My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, my thoughts racing with images of the ropes, the gag, the way he’d looked at me. I was so turned on I could barely focus on the road, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as I tried to keep myself together. Hubby knew I’d been meeting this guy for a bondage session—he’d known him for years, trusted him completely—but he had no idea how worked up I’d be when I got home.
I practically burst through the front door, my heels clicking frantically on the hardwood floor. Hubby was in the living room, lounging on the couch in his casual jeans and t-shirt, looking up at me with a curious smile. “How’d it go?” he started to ask, but I didn’t give him a chance to finish. I was on him in an instant, my hands trembling as I grabbed his face and kissed him hard, my tongue desperate and hungry. “I need you,” I gasped against his lips, my voice raw with need. “Right now.”
He barely had time to react before I was fumbling with his trousers, my fingers clumsy in my haste as I yanked them down. His cock sprang free, already half-hard, and I didn’t hesitate—I dropped to my knees, taking him into my mouth with a greedy moan. The taste of him, the warmth, the way he groaned and threaded his fingers through my hair—it was exactly what I needed after hours of pent-up frustration. I sucked him eagerly, my lips sliding over him, my tongue swirling as I took him deeper, my own arousal dripping down my thighs as I worked him with a desperate intensity.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his hips bucking slightly as I devoured him. But I couldn’t wait any longer. I pulled back, my lips wet and swollen, and grabbed his hand, tugging him down. “Lie on the floor,” I demanded, my voice shaking with urgency. He complied, stretching out on the rug, his cock standing hard and ready as I straddled him.
I didn’t even bother taking off my clothes. I hiked my leather skirt up around my waist, the Hold ups still clinging to my legs. I was so wet, so ready, that when I lowered myself onto him, he slid inside me effortlessly, filling me completely. I moaned loudly, my hands braced on his chest as I started to ride him, my hips moving with a wild, desperate rhythm. The satin blouse rubbed against my sensitive skin, the leather skirt creaking with every thrust, and the memory of the ropes still burned in my mind, pushing me closer to the edge.
“Oh god, yes,” I gasped, my nails digging into his chest as I ground down on him, chasing the release I’d been denied for hours. He gripped my hips, his own breaths ragged as he watched me, my body trembling above him. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he growled, and that was all it took. The tension that had been building inside me finally snapped, and I came hard, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave. I cried out, my body shuddering as I clenched around him, the pleasure so intense it almost hurt.
He wasn’t far behind. With a low groan, he thrust up into me one last time, and I felt him cum, his warmth spilling inside me as we both rode out the aftershocks together. I collapsed onto his chest, panting, my body still trembling as the last waves of my orgasm faded. My leather skirt was bunched around my waist, my blouse sticking to my sweaty skin, but I didn’t care. I’d finally gotten the release I’d been craving, and it was worth every second of the frustration.
As we lay there, catching our breath, Hubby chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I take it the session went well?” he teased. I just smiled, too satisfied to answer, already wondering how I’d feel the next time I let myself be tied up like that.
