TEMMPEST

So Pope comes home to you in his room, tied up, and he's horrified at first that his family would do this to you. But then he smells the perfume you still wear, the one he used to buy you when you were going out, and he feels up your soft arms, your hands, your painted fingernails. His resolve starts to fray. You flinch, breathing tensely as he touches you. Your thighs are warm and plush, stomach bunched in rolls where you're folded and hog-tied on his bed.

You're shaking, terrified, and of course Pope feels bad, he's not an animal, but... you're his first and only source of comfort right now. He thought about you in prison, hated how you two broke up. You'd yelled at him to leave you alone. Pope had every intention of doing that, but now you're here, pretty and smelling good and in his bed, and he's a weak man. Everyone's always told him so.

So he sits you up, pulls out your gag, removes the blindfold. He reties you so your wrists are connected to the bedpost instead. You glare at him but you know better than to scream. He tells you he missed you. He just wants a good night's sleep. He hasn't fully slept since before you broke up. Pope got used to sleeping in your bed, your legs around his, and now he doesn't know what to do with himself at night.

But you're here now. You'll keep him in check. He can be good for you. That's what he believes as he presses up against you, feeling your warmth bleed into him. He tucks his face into your chest, an arm and a leg around you. His cock hardens, pushing against your thigh, but he ignores it, and he hopes you will too. "Sorry," he rasps. "Can't help it. Won't fuck you."

All you do is scoff, like you don't believe him. But Pope means it. He won't fuck you if you don't want it. He really can be good. He'll prove it.