Texas Bondage Story

It had been a long time. She didn’t know whether she had
stayed away for him, or because of him. But there was
the dance floor, and several cowboys sauntering up
already. She doesn’t want to dance yet, so she turns and
starts walking.

It is a warm night, middle of summer… dry Texas heat
wave coming on strong. Her Rockies fit like a glove. Her
ass is framed with the denim seam so tight that it would
show every flaw, were there any. Long legs hold that
heart shaped ass up and move with supple elegance
through the crowd. The black lace-ups are tight and hot
on her feet this time of year, but she’s here to dance
and dancing requires the right foot gear. Everything
requires the right equipment; she’d be changing for him
later.

The crowd parts slightly everywhere she struts. Hard to
miss in those jeans, and with that little tiny, summer
crop top that, well, a mother wouldn’t have approved!
Her ample breasts bring smirks of delight from the men
as she passes by. The soft black material clings to the
melon shape of her form. Her cleavage is clearly
visible, as is her belly button, with its temporary
tattoo showing just slightly.

Showing just enough to make them wonder, deceiving the
casual eye. Gentlemen all, they don’t reach, but fists
clench as she walks by. She’s oblivious. But he isn’t.
His table is in the middle, a tier up. He watches
everything in the bar, and her, all the time. And she
knows he is watching, guarding, but she doesn’t look his
way, or even try to catch his eye. Make the evening
last, she thinks.

The cowboy she picks out is a medium. Not too tall, but
not shorter than she. And he is watching the crowd. A
challenge. She spots a friend nearby and stops to chat,
constantly making eye contact with the lone cowboy. She
is determined to dance with him until sweat runs down
her cleavage. His move is almost imperceptible. He nods
his head towards the crowded dance floor, lifts his
eyebrow in a question and they are on the floor. He
starts a smooth, slow gait, no turns. Just a smooth two
step.

No talking, no chit chat. she hates that and would have
walked off the floor. They dance around to learn each
other’s moves, then finally say hello to each other.
Onlookers see the next bit of conversation as cozy, but
it is only deal making… he needs to impress upon
someone his absence…she needs to impress Him.

By the time the next song plays, they are clearing the
floor. Couples move away, some in awe, some in
frustration as this silent couple spins and turns. Her
hair flies around with each spin, and lands perfectly in
place. Her hands explore his back and his arms, as his
rove her body in a guise of spinning her, and leading
her. She follows well. It’s as if they have been
together for years, not minutes. Dirty Dancing, fuck
dancing, country style.

By the time she leaves the floor with him, everyone in
the bar has glimpsed the ass in the jeans, deeply
inhaled at the thought of their hands gaining access to
that set of (hooters) and caught the grin that emanated
not from her slightly parted, full lips, but from her
eyes, vibrant green eyes, shining with purpose, delight
and provocation.

Her long, slender fingers wrap themselves hungrily
around the long necked beer bottle. Her chin arches to
the ceiling as she raises the glass bottle slowly to her
mouth, knowing what an obscene illustration the
slightest change in gesture could produce. No, she
doesn’t. She knows such a scene is still to come, but
privately. And she longs for it. But she will show off
for him first.

Polite talk with friends. Her dance partner watches as
she flirts, and hugs old acquaintances. Several other
men ask her to dance. She turns them down, then reaches
back to him. They slide more slowly this time, a waltz.
Soft, smooth and slow. She takes this time to draw the
stares.

Her hands roam unbridled down his back, and around his
sides. He imagines his old love. She imagines her
Master. Song over, she thanks him with a very discreet
kiss and completes her circle around the bar. She pays
for a beer, and heads back into the crowd. Flushed face,
but no longer out of breath, she slips the bottle onto
His table and smiles. He tells her to go away, that he
will come for her.

A little later, she’s chatting, flirting, still
wriggling her ass in front of cowboys and wannabe’s that
are growing hard watching her. The she feels His hand on
her ass from behind.

“It’s time to leave, Now.”

She doesn’t even say goodbye to those nearby and walks
silently out the door after Him.

“Did you enjoy dancing?”

“Yes, my sir, it was very nice.”

“And was it comfortable?”

“It was a bit uncomfortable, Sir.”

“No one knew, did they?”

“Sir, they did not.”

“Very well, let’s go home.”

She crawls obediently into the cab of his pickup. The
climb into it makes her whimper and grimace. With a
quick slap to her butt, he climbs in.

“Sit here, on the console.” A better reminder he
decides, than the soft plush of the other seat. She sits
gingerly, her ass still sore from the discipline
earlier. She had not meant to argue about the plug, he
just caught her off guard and the hesitation had cost
her.

Once inside, he leads her to the couch, and gently helps
her to sit. Sitting doesn’t come easy, but he soon
stretches out her legs, and slowly unties the laces of
her boots. He massages her ankles as he pulls the laces
completely out of her boots.

“Look, how convenient, one for your feet and one for
your hands.”

With one hand, he reaches for her head, and while
kissing her deeply, slowly unbuttons her shirt. His
fingers caress the soft skin of her bosom. He presses
hard towards the nipples, applying pressure in the ever
increasing vise of his fingertips. Her shirt gets pushed
back over her shoulders and off, quickly and
efficiently. He lingers at the sight of her breasts
before abruptly pulling her to her feet.

“Get the rest of this stuff off, slowly.”

His voice started out tough, and yet, the last word or
two linger in the air, as if he is remembering how much
he had enjoyed the planning.

As the jeans slip down her thighs, what was hidden
except to him comes fully into view. A simple yet
effective harness, tied to her waist and a leather cord
buried deep in her ass, and wedged tightly in her cunt.
Attached to the leather bindings were several
strategically placed small loops. One loop secures a
butt plug deep in her ass. Dancing had been an supreme
experiment in control. Sitting had been a misery.

He pulls her hands over her head, and ties them with the
a cord. He let her hands drop forward. Her tied arms
obstructed his view of her breasts. So he pulled on the
cord and led her to the doorway, where he anchors her
hands above her head and then slowly removes the
intrusion from her ass.

His hands run all over every inch of her, paying special
attention to those areas she’s been instructed
about..her flat stomach and well groomed cunt. He spends
close moments examining her carefully. He bent to place

her heels on her feet. The black high heels felt so
light and unbalanced after her boots. The lines on her
stockings were crooked, so he straighten them slowly,
looking up into her pussy and smiling at the results of
the leather intrusion. He fingers her cunt, playing and
tugging with her lips, daring her clit. It doesn’t take
long until she is begging, pleading, and then cumming.

He walks away and leaves her there, hanging, with a wet
cunt and high heels and garter. All dressed up, no place
to go.

From another room, she hears music. Not the country
swing of the bar. Jazz, a blues song, hot and heavy. And
from behind her, a voice, “Wanna dance for me? Dance for
me good, hear? Or you don’t cum.”

And with that he unties her hands, and massages the
wrists. He leads her into another room, one chair and a
table in front of it. A low table, the top even with the
seat of the chair. And a light is trained on it,
spotlighting the area of the table.

Everything else in the room is dark, hidden. He takes
his seat in the chair, and reaches to the other side of
the chair to produce his riding crop. It might come in
handy. She stands anxiously by, and with some hesitation
, crawls onto the table. Finally, she is standing on the
table, and the music gets louder.

She wants to look at her master, but doesn’t. She
focuses on a spot on the wall and begins to sway with
the music. Within seconds, her body is grinding down and
her high heels click on the table as she tries to
concentrate on the dancing while her body fights to
concentrate elsewhere.

The sting of the crop is quick, and full of focus. She
reaches with her hands to cradle her breasts, rub her
tits and hold them in offering to him. Sub is dancing
for him, she must stay focused. Every movement of sub’s
body is for the Sir, for his pleasure, for his delight.
Her knees fall apart as her pelvis rocks in time to the
slow rhythm. Her cunt is glistening wet, and he can see
her cunt lubricating the leather strap that invades her.
He can tell that in order to move for him to see her
cunt, that her hips roll forward, squeezing the strap in
that tight ass he admires, and disciplines.

His eyes flicker over her, steadying their gaze at her
cunt, and her tits.

She is struggling to stem the tide of her longings. He
can tell that she could cum at any moment he gave the
command. He is going to make her wait.

As the music dies, he rises and urges her to her knees.
He sternly wraps her hands behind her back, securing
them hand to elbow. He cradles her chin in his hand and
lifts it towards the ceiling.

“Thirsty, my dear?”

He lifts a cold beer bottle to her mouth and pours the
backwash of his beer down her throat. He starts slipping
the bottle farther and farther into her mouth, making
her take that cold, hard bottle as she is about to take
His cock.

He arranges her on the table, and begins to feed her His
cock. He forcefully uses her mouth, watching in delight
as she struggles to please Him. Her eyes are shut
tightly, as she concentrates on His cock thrusting in
and out of her mouth. He goes deeper and deeper into her
throat, sensing the submission, the acceptance. And
cums, deep in her throat.

He reaches down to her, and works her clit between his
thumb and finger, rolling it and pinching it. She is
struggling under his weight, and soft whispery moans are
begging to him, please, to let her cum. As he smiles his
permission, his sub’s body is racked with an all
consuming fire.

She screams out her torment and her body shakes with the
strength of her orgasm. As she settles and takes a deep
breath, he cradled her, and lifts her up off the table.
They sway to the blues as he leads her gently back to
the couch. He pulls her down to him and enfolds her in
his warm embrace, soothing her to a gentle, dream filled
sleep.

“Sleep well, princess,” he softly speaks. “For in the
morning we fuck,” he thinks, as he grins like the devil
himself.

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