Okay you know what I’m not done talking about this. I can’t seem to stop thinking about restraining a service top before I let her strap me - putting her hands over her head and straddling her while I work my way down, agonizingly slowly, knot by knot, from her wrists down to her elbows. Taking my time while I feel her writhing and bucking her hips under me, sweat already sticking her hair to her forehead. I’d clip a leash to the front of the o-ring on her collar, even that tiny click of metal making her whimper, that whimper rising to a desperate moan as I give the leash a sharp tug.
I’d sit back on her thighs, admiring my work, her strap between my legs, resting against my skin. I’d tilt my head playfully at her, winding her leash tighter around one hand as I use the other to start teasing the tip of her strap, giving the leash another tug if her embarrassment and desperation tempt her to look away from the show I’m putting on just for her. What’s the matter, baby? Aw, poor thing, you want this inside me and you can’t do anything about it?
But lucky for her, watching her struggle against the ropes, a fierce blush staining her cheeks, would make my cunt ache so much that I couldn’t spend too long teasing her before I let myself sink onto her strap, gasping as I feel her fill me up. Head thrown back, I’d lose myself in the sensation of having her deep inside me, each thrust of her hips making her leash bounce, jingling against her collar.