«When they told Summer to go to his place to retrieve a ledger with some Taboo annotations made by her, they assured her it was no big deal. They told her if she was caught, the man would probably just slap her on the wrist and send her off. But things didn't work out that way.

She sneaked into the man's house, her heart hammering in her chest. The air smelled of clean leather and polished wood. After a few minutes of nervous searching, her fingers found what she was looking for: the thick leather ledger hidden under the study stool. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. But the relief was short-lived.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing here?"

The voice, deep and cutting, made her spin on her heels. The man was in the doorway, his imposing silhouette blocking the exit. Panic, cold and sharp, ran down her spine. In an act of instinctive desperation, Summer dropped onto the stool, sitting directly on the book.

"It's my book," she declared, trying to make her voice sound defiant, but the tremor betrayed her.

The man arched an eyebrow, a hint of cruel amusement in his eyes. "Your book? Does your mother know you're here?"

"Yes, my mother knows I'm here," Summer lied, clinging to that faint hope.

"Oh, really? And does your mother know what's written in this book?" he asked, slowly approaching, each step a threat.

"No," she admitted, holding her breath. "But you won't tell her either."

"On the contrary, I will tell her. And you will stay sitting here while I do," he said, his voice a silken and dangerous thread.

"I will not stay here! And there's nothing you can do," shouted Summer, trying to get up.

"Is that what you think, huh?"

"That's right!"

And he didn't let her go. The man went to a drawer and pulled out several white ropes, thick and merciless. The struggle was brief and useless. In what seemed like mere moments, Summer found herself on the stool in his living room, a room lit by a dim light with a brown sofa against the wall and a white door that now seemed a continent away. Her long dark hair was wildly splayed over her shoulders, her face a stark mask of shock and discomfort, her eyes wide with incredulous fear.

He worked with efficiency. Soon, her arms were immobilized behind her back and her legs were tied together by those white ropes that dug cruelly into her clothes. The man knelt beside her, his hands constantly manipulating and tightening the bindings. The tight black t-shirt she wore did little to protect her from the bite of the ropes, and the pink skirt she wore, along with her dark stockings, felt like a grotesque parody of her former confidence, her black high-heeled shoes scraping uselessly against the carpet.

This isn't happening, this can't be happening, she thought, a whirlwind of panic clouding her mind. It's just a book, for God's sake, why all this?

Already tied hand and foot, Summer, her voice broken by disbelief, asked the man: "Is this necessary?"

He looked at her, without a trace of pity. "Yes. This will ensure you don't go anywhere."

Then things got very serious. Her muffled pleas were cut short when the man shoved a great big red ball gag into her mouth, forcing her jaw open painfully. He buckled the straps firmly behind her head, sealing the ball gag in place. Summer's eyes welled up with tears as she tried to plead, but the only things that escaped her mouth were drool and pathetic, muffled moans that died in the silent room. I can't swallow properly... I'm ***... the taste of rubber... God, how humiliating.

Once secured, the man continued adding, unnecessarily and with perverse meticulousness, more ropes to Summer's body. He tied more ropes around her legs, just above the knees, around her thighs, around her torso, squeezing her arms tighter against her body. Each new turn of the rope was a reminder of her total powerlessness. Then he left her alone for a while.

She had no choice but to try to free herself uselessly. She struggled in all kinds of ways, writhing and arching, her muscles burning with the effort. The only thing she achieved with her contortions was to make her short pink skirt ride up, noticeably revealing, under the thin stockings, a small white thong, with a delicate black lace trim and dotted with small black dots that gave it an air of youthful innocence and provocation. The minimal fabric was wedged into the crease of her groin, an intimate and shameful detail now exposed to the emptiness of the room.

Later, after what felt like an eternity, the man returned and, without a word, added more ropes to her thighs. It wasn't difficult for him because her miniskirt remained hiked up, and he also *** her to kneel in a posture of submission that burned her skin with shame. Finally, one more rope around her waist, and her arms were perfectly immobile.

With some sarcasm, he asked her: "Are you tied up enough?" And ironically, in a gesture that confused Summer more than it calmed her, he pulled her skirt down to cover her, as if wanting to avoid her humiliation in that aspect, only to control when and how it occurred. Then, he finally removed the ball gag. Summer gasped for air, her jaw aching. For a fleeting moment, seeing the soft light of the room, she thought that maybe he had reconsidered and was going to let her go. Will he take pity? Is this over?

But that hope was shattered when he pulled out a large pair of some woman's silk panties. "Something more discreet," he murmured, stuffing the fabric into her mouth. The intimate, foreign smell of expensive perfume and lavender filled her senses. To make sure she was quiet, he then used a rag as a cleave gag, tying it firmly over her lips, trapping the panties inside. It tastes like another woman... this is... so degrading.

Once excessively tied up, he took the book and said: "Alright, I'm going to show Mommy the book. Don't go anywhere." His tone was mocking, as if she could do anything about it.

He left, and she was left alone again, struggling in a thousand ways, writhing on the floor like a worm. Her desperate, clumsy movements made her miniskirt ride up again, once more revealing that small, innocent thong. From the front, the tiny triangle of white fabric with its little black dots hugged her mound, outlining its shape with obscene precision. The thin side straps slid over the curve of her hips, drawing lines of *** seduction on her skin, joining in the back in a small triangle just above the rise of her buttocks, from where a thin strip of fabric descended and disappeared into the depth between her cheeks, accentuating their roundness and leaving the paleness of her skin exposed in contrast with the dark stockings. Every tug of the rope made the strap dig a little deeper into that intimate groove, a sensation both constricting and terribly conscious.

With a superhuman effort, she managed to get up and began hopping towards the door, clumsily managing to open it with her hands tied behind her back. She wanted to escape, even if someone saw her like this, tied, gagged, and showing her cute, now sweaty underwear to the world. The outside breeze whipped her bare legs, a promise of freedom that vanished instantly.

"Going somewhere?"

The man was there, in the entrance, arms crossed. "Fortunately, your mother wasn't home. I'll have to keep you here for a few more hours. Uncomfortable?" He guided her, hopping pathetically, back inside, and made her sit on a high stool. He tightened her gag without further ado, tightening the knot. As this happened, besides her skirt being up, her neckline had also become disheveled, starting to reveal, on one side, a bit of the fabric of her pink lace bra, a flash of satin and tulle that promised more than it should.

Finally, to make sure Summer could not move very far, he hogtied her, pulling her tied ankles upward and securing them to the ropes behind her back. The position was painfully restrictive, arching her body in such a way that her breasts were thrust forward and her buttocks were elevated, completely helpless on the carpet, her dark hair tangled around her head, her eyes, still wide open, now reflecting only absolute humiliation and defeat.

This time, he didn't bother to pull down her short skirt, leaving her exposed in her solitude, unable to move or make any sound other than weak moans that the rag and panties efficiently muffled.

How much longer will I have to wait to be untied? she thought, desperation closing her throat. Will he tell my mother, besides that secret content in the book, that he has me tied up and gagged in his house? Will my mother come to free me? Or will they leave me here to learn my lesson after they read what's in the book?

The sensations mixed: the sharp pain of the ropes biting into her flesh, the wet, embarrassing tickle of her own saliva soaking the cloth in her mouth, the constant and revealing pressure of the thong on her sex, and a deep, unconfessable heat of arousal stemming from her very vulnerability, a treacherous reaction that filled her with a guilt even more paralyzing than the ropes themselves. She was trapped, not only physically, but in a web of fear, shame, and a dark curiosity about what her captor might decide to do next.»

«Elbows are fucking wedged together no chance of escape»

«Great scene »