She made him wait. Sooner than he deserved, she stepped into the room. He had the good sense to kneel. For some reason, he’d left on his white underwear, which did little to conceal his pleading erection. Without a word, she strode to the table, took her small folding knife from her purse and cut the coils of rope into workable lengths. 

She handled his ankles roughly, looping the cords over and under and between before cinching them tightly together with a knot. Over her shoulder she watched him test his bonds. 

“This isn’t my first rodeo. Hold your wrists out.”

He obeyed and she bound them tightly. She helped him down until his face was pressed into the carpet. Drawing the excess cords between his legs, she pulled hard and secured his wrists to his ankles. He was stunned how quickly she rendered him helpless.

She surveyed her handiwork. He was a nice specimen. His broad shoulders sweep into a thin waist and muscular hips and thighs. He definitely had potential. And she was looking forward to what she was about to do to his head. Picking up the crop from the table and gripping it tightly, she paused a minute to give him a good look.

She took a drink from my glass and captured one of the ice cubes, working it around her tongue. The melting water pooled between her lips.

“Why are you still in these,” she said, snapping his waistband. Before he could answer, she cut through his underwear over the right hip and the left and pulled them off like a diaper.

“There, that’s better. I think your panties are ruined,” she said, tossing them near his face. “Did you pack more?”