Bound and Gagged

ManoJob

Manojob Pic(s)

The city slept under a blanket of distant, silent stars, its light a soft glow against the windowpane. His fingers, trembling with a reverence that stole my breath, traced the line of my jaw as if memorizing its shape for eternity. A single strip of dark silk, cool and smooth, was all that lay between my sight and the profound intimacy of this surrender. I felt the world narrow to the sound of his unsteady breathing, a shared rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of my own heart. The gentle pressure of his palm against my lips was not a command for silence, but a plea for my trust, a sacred seal upon a vow we were making without words. Every shift of his body against mine, every whispered reassurance that feathered against my ear, was a language more eloquent than any I had ever known. A tear, born of overwhelming emotion and not sorrow, escaped to trace a hot path down my cheek, which he caught with a tenderness that shattered me. In this voluntary captivity, I had never felt so utterly free, so completely seen and cherished in my entirety. The air itself grew thick with the scent of his skin and the unspoken promises hanging between us. This was not a restriction, but the most liberating embrace I had ever known.