A/N: I kind of rambled something on impulse and it turned out more introspective than smutty so uhh here's this. I hope you like it :') It’s easy to understand why people like to give up control sometimes. She knows. Freedom is as depressing and heavy as it is beautiful and light. But Glory doesn’t like the thought of someone else actually helpless under her, even if they give it all up willingly. She’s not into the actual bondage parts of it. Oh, she’ll do some easy stuff if her lover wants it, and even enjoy what can come after, for various reasons. It’s that Glory personally prefers the anchor of it-- the pressure, the tightness of ropes around skin, the way it digs in and leaves marks. She’d first practiced it all on herself, y’know. (Still does.)
Though, she kind of likes the surge of power holding the end of a long length of rope. A leash. But not with their arms tied up and the only quick escape being Glory cutting some high-quality, god damn expensive rope. She sticks to the artsy-fartsy decorative stuff.
Amari breathes, meditative, kneeling under Glory’s hands. She can smell how wet Amari is, but this isn’t about that. Amari’s told her: she likes to feel beautiful, that someone has made her body into something more. Something to look at and appreciate, aesthetically. Decorating and accentuating the already immaculate temple of her flesh.
Glory can work with that. She can tie the mathematical patterns of branching trees into Amari’s skin. She can make precise knots into blooming flowers, incorporating dyed twine to suggest the image of bright petals; and during, Amari breathes, eyes closed. Ribs expanding, rope digging in.
Of course, Glory talks through it all. “Damn, Doc, look at you,” she’ll breathe, and Amari will straighten and tilt her face up, like she’s unfurling into the praise. “Is that too tight? Too loose?” Amari will shake her head, no, it’s fine, never opening her mouth but replying with her body. “Gonna take a picture when I’m done, should keep it under my pillow,” and Amari only smiles softly, relaxed, hands loose on her knees. “I’ve always liked making this knot. Kind of like braiding, except not,” and “Lean forward, hold out your arm a little, there we go,” and “Gonna loop this part under your butt, may as well stand up and stretch real quick. Been at this for a while now.”
Amari follows instructions. She stands. Her knees pop. Her next breath is a big, slow inhale, visibly luxuriating in the motion and the way rope pulls against her skin. Her eyes open, blinking and squinting after staying closed so long, before she lets herself look down to admire what Glory’s done.
“Oh,” she says, running her hands along the asymmetrical branching lines of rope along her torso and left arm. Fingers linger over intricate knotwork.
“Good oh or bad oh?” Glory asks cheekily, folding her arms and cocking her hip.
Amari looks up to shoot Glory a half-hearted glare. “You’re cocky enough to know your own good work, Glory.”
Putting a hand to her heart, Glory hoots, “Oho! There’s the acid. A girl can’t fish for compliments around here, I see.”
Amari just rolls her eyes, focusing more on testing her range of motion in small, exploratory movements. She does shake out her legs forcefully, though, while Glory watches, lingering over the way the light glints on the slick painting Amari’s inner thighs.
A little part in Glory’s mind wonders about changing up the plan and tying Amari’s thighs together. That’s a conversation for a different session, though; Amari prefers to stick to terms hashed out beforehand. Glory can respect that.
Still-- “Want any help with that, Doc?” She keeps her voice low, suggestive. No mistaking what she’s asking.
Amari pauses, turns. Considers Glory, who tries not to let her amusement show over the fact that Amari’s absent-mindedly left her hand on her boob, which is covered in a cluster of flower-knots. She’s still up in her head. Glory can see that now, so she already knows the answer before Amari even says it.
“Maybe after I’m untied,” Amari sighs, hand slipping down, along her waist. Half-sensual, half-feeling along the line of a thick bundle of rope that branches out over her stomach. “Definitely next time.”
“Looking forward to it.” Glory bites her lip. Fuck, she’s kinda wet, too. Gonna have to take care of that after this ends. “Alright, beautiful, lay down on your back for me. Gonna finish the ropes on your leg.”
It’s so satisfying to watch someone eagerly follow her commands.
Tighten -- Glory/Amari
It’s easy to understand why people like to give up control sometimes. She knows. Freedom is as depressing and heavy as it is beautiful and light. But Glory doesn’t like the thought of someone else actually helpless under her, even if they give it all up willingly. She’s not into the actual bondage parts of it. Oh, she’ll do some easy stuff if her lover wants it, and even enjoy what can come after, for various reasons. It’s that Glory personally prefers the anchor of it-- the pressure, the tightness of ropes around skin, the way it digs in and leaves marks. She’d first practiced it all on herself, y’know. (Still does.)
Though, she kind of likes the surge of power holding the end of a long length of rope. A leash. But not with their arms tied up and the only quick escape being Glory cutting some high-quality, god damn expensive rope. She sticks to the artsy-fartsy decorative stuff.
Amari breathes, meditative, kneeling under Glory’s hands. She can smell how wet Amari is, but this isn’t about that. Amari’s told her: she likes to feel beautiful, that someone has made her body into something more. Something to look at and appreciate, aesthetically. Decorating and accentuating the already immaculate temple of her flesh.
Glory can work with that. She can tie the mathematical patterns of branching trees into Amari’s skin. She can make precise knots into blooming flowers, incorporating dyed twine to suggest the image of bright petals; and during, Amari breathes, eyes closed. Ribs expanding, rope digging in.
Of course, Glory talks through it all. “Damn, Doc, look at you,” she’ll breathe, and Amari will straighten and tilt her face up, like she’s unfurling into the praise. “Is that too tight? Too loose?” Amari will shake her head, no, it’s fine, never opening her mouth but replying with her body. “Gonna take a picture when I’m done, should keep it under my pillow,” and Amari only smiles softly, relaxed, hands loose on her knees. “I’ve always liked making this knot. Kind of like braiding, except not,” and “Lean forward, hold out your arm a little, there we go,” and “Gonna loop this part under your butt, may as well stand up and stretch real quick. Been at this for a while now.”
Amari follows instructions. She stands. Her knees pop. Her next breath is a big, slow inhale, visibly luxuriating in the motion and the way rope pulls against her skin. Her eyes open, blinking and squinting after staying closed so long, before she lets herself look down to admire what Glory’s done.
“Oh,” she says, running her hands along the asymmetrical branching lines of rope along her torso and left arm. Fingers linger over intricate knotwork.
“Good oh or bad oh?” Glory asks cheekily, folding her arms and cocking her hip.
Amari looks up to shoot Glory a half-hearted glare. “You’re cocky enough to know your own good work, Glory.”
Putting a hand to her heart, Glory hoots, “Oho! There’s the acid. A girl can’t fish for compliments around here, I see.”
Amari just rolls her eyes, focusing more on testing her range of motion in small, exploratory movements. She does shake out her legs forcefully, though, while Glory watches, lingering over the way the light glints on the slick painting Amari’s inner thighs.
A little part in Glory’s mind wonders about changing up the plan and tying Amari’s thighs together. That’s a conversation for a different session, though; Amari prefers to stick to terms hashed out beforehand. Glory can respect that.
Still-- “Want any help with that, Doc?” She keeps her voice low, suggestive. No mistaking what she’s asking.
Amari pauses, turns. Considers Glory, who tries not to let her amusement show over the fact that Amari’s absent-mindedly left her hand on her boob, which is covered in a cluster of flower-knots. She’s still up in her head. Glory can see that now, so she already knows the answer before Amari even says it.
“Maybe after I’m untied,” Amari sighs, hand slipping down, along her waist. Half-sensual, half-feeling along the line of a thick bundle of rope that branches out over her stomach. “Definitely next time.”
“Looking forward to it.” Glory bites her lip. Fuck, she’s kinda wet, too. Gonna have to take care of that after this ends. “Alright, beautiful, lay down on your back for me. Gonna finish the ropes on your leg.”
It’s so satisfying to watch someone eagerly follow her commands.