“Breathe, Marina,” he said, his voice a low, neutral baritone. “But don’t move.”
He walked to the empty chair, the one she’d assumed was for her. He sat down in it, facing her. Then, with excruciating slowness, he began to tie the rope around his own wrists. --- Real Time Bondage 2009 09 18 Head Games Marina
He left the sentence unfinished.
The first head game began.
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” she lied. “Breathe, Marina,” he said, his voice a low,
She shivered. The command was redundant. The Kikkou pattern chest harness he’d just finished was a masterpiece of geometry, pulling her shoulders back, lifting her breasts, and constricting each breath into a conscious, deliberate act. Every inhale was a choice. Every exhale was a surrender. ” he said
The head game wasn’t his. It never had been.