The juice runs down her chin. Then to structured thoughts. Loosening rope, randomly yet with patience, he clasps his fingers, and presses his palms into the small of her back. He’d arranged her on the table. Loosening rope, randomly yet with patience, he clasps his fingers, and presses his palms into the small of her back. Her wrists bound to the table legs at one end, and long, long loops passing around and across the back of her neck, fixing her rigidly. She opens. Denying her the soothing caress she instinctively craved, and at once reviled, but using the interfering nerve pathways to decoy her brain. Then, her knees tied in such a way, wide apart, that she was compelled to offer herself. He hadn’t been kind. Her nipples ache. Functional. Tears picked up the pigment from her makeup- that he’d had to stipulate, out of irritated necessity, should not be waterproof- and rivulets of her teary mascara and snot adorning his cock rewarded him. Has to have. As if the very smell of the unblemished fruit
