I picked up the long drape cords and gardening shears. I turned to her, holding them up. “Trust me on this.”
She looked from the cords, a critical stare, to me once she realized I was sincere.
I raised a brow. “Let us call it therapy. You remember your word, correct?”
She nodded, the idea settling in. She crossed her arms again, tucking her hands under. She lost herself, retreating into her head as she focused entirely too hard on the new hallway runner.
Oh, don’t get shy on me now.
I stepped forward, tilting my head as I tipped her chin up.
Her lips parted, either to speak or out of surprise. I lowered my lips to hers, kissing her ever so gently, just a taste, anask. In order for this to work, she had to get comfortable letting someone else take the reins, to trust me to help her.
She leaned in, a bit more hesitantly than expected, but did it nevertheless. I rewarded her with more contact, holding her face in my palm. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sweet scent of orange blossoms in her perfume.
I grasped both her hands in mine, lifting them to my lips to kiss along her knuckles, then I looped the rope around her wrist in a knotted cuff, the navy blue stark against her skin.
“Shibarihas a very long history, you know.” I tied loops down her forearms. “It was originally used to contain criminals.”
Her eyes flicked to me, a critical look, but she didn’t give me any indication to stop.
I turned her around slowly, wrapping the rope around to the back and beginning to bind the torso. “The knots used to symbolize the crime, a type of public shame when leading them through the streets,” I explained, my hands lingering by the back of her neck, whispering close to her ear. “Some said the knots and colors of the rope were used to trap demons inside the so-called sinners.” My knee went into the back of her leg, making her kneel on the couch with her elbows propped on the camelback of the sofa.
In one hand, I held the rope, pulling slightly, allowing the strands around her to tighten. She made a small noise, more like a breath of relief. My free hand touched her leg, smoothing up to lift her skirt.
“Your ropes are blue,” I said, leaning forward to reach the front of her hips. She flinched, her face hidden in her arms. Her legs trembled as I touched her, cupping between her legs roughly. “Reserved for the most impactful crimes, taboo to the community, something unforgettable and heinous.” I pressed my hips into her, pulling the ropes a little tighter. I rubbed her slowly, gently, with purpose.
She gasped, her breath hitching. I could feel every breath through her back pressed against my chest.
“Breath control is important.” I took her earlobe between my teeth, nipping her gently as I smoothed my fingers between her labia, wet with anticipation.
Just the visual of the ropes rubbing on her skin, turning it pink in its grasp ... I had to take my own advice andbreathe. This exercise wasn’t for me.
“Does it feel good to wear your shame?”
“I don’t ... know what you mean,” she answered.
“Clearly you did something to find yourself bound like this,” I said against her neck. “What sort of sin did you commit to deserve this?”
“I don’t know—”
“Do the knots match the crimes?”
“No!” she sobbed.
I stopped, the tone of her voice concerning.
“Apricot! Stop!” she cried.
At the drop of the word, I pulled the last knot for a quick release, picking her up to gather her in my lap as I undid the ropes.
Her face was stained with tears, her eyes and nose pink from distress.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tossing the ropes to the ground.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, nearly choking me in her grip. She wouldn’t stop shaking. My heart beat hard, fast. I hesitantly wrapped my arms around her. I rubbed her back, holding her for as long as she needed.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, kissing the side of her head as I rubbed her hair. “You did so good. I’m so proud of you,” I whispered, tilting her chin up. “Look at me.”
