His house was quiet and dark when he pulled into the driveway.
No neighbors close enough to see the way he led me inside by the collar of string still wrapped around my throat. No lights on until the front door locked behind us. The second we were inside he stripped the coat off my shoulders and left me standing naked in his entryway, bound wrists, bound thighs, double strings still sawing between my legs, his c*m and my spit drying on my skin.
He didn’t speak.
He just walked me deeper into the house, one finger hooked in the throat collar, until we reached a wide living room with a low leather couch and a heavy wooden coffee table. He pointed.
“On your knees on the table. Facing the window.”
I climbed up. The position forced my knees wide because of the thigh bindings. The curtains w
