Her wrists and ankles were cuffed and tied. Her thighs were widely parted, tied to the table legs. She could raise her head. She could buck under the impact of whatever he chose to hurt her with. She could buck under the force of his cock, deep inside her.
He’d do nothing to stop those movements. He liked her to jerk and flop under him while he disciplined her, or rode her. So that was the only movement he’d allowed her to make.
She wished she could press her cunt against the table edge. Just a little relief until he returned. But her position didn’t allow that. She could only try to fuck the air: he’d made that choice for her.
He’d taken off his belt, folded it and laid it on the table on her left side. The cane lay beside her on her right.
“I’ll be back to deal with you later,” he’d said. And he’d left, leaving the door open. How long ago had that been? How long would he make her wait?
Wait for him, helpless. She smiled when that word crossed her mind. She liked being helpless. And he wouldn’t accept anything less from her, just now, than helplessness.
She knew she’d been good. He wasn’t punishing her. But he’d been in a mood she knew well. She didn’t know when, but things were going to happen. And they were going to happen to her.