Pound of Flesh
hook.
    Max crossed to the nearby winch control
mounted on the wall and lifted Violet from the ground. He eyed her
suspended form for any slippage or tilting as she rose from the
floor. Max had been rigging women (and even a handful of men) for
more than, hell, sixteen years. Other than those early days of
common mistakes he’d never had a submissive fall or slide or get
hurt by his ties. He was swift and meticulous but even so he always
kept a close eye on the ropes—just in case.
    The tightly stretched rope creaked. Max
allowed his gaze to dance over Violet’s contorted body. She hung
helpless and bound, her lips stretched wide around the pink ball
gag. The hogtie position thrust her breasts forward, exposing them
for whatever kind of punishments he might want to inflict. The
handkerchief remained tightly clutched in her fist. He considered
her bound wrists and elbows and worried she might lose feeling
after a while and be unable to drop the handkerchief. Best to give
her a third way to tap out of the scene.
    “Violet, if you want to stop and can’t let go
of the handkerchief, just groan or growl three times in a row.
Understand?” She nodded twice. “Good girl.”
    Max grabbed a couple of fishing weights from
the second drawer of the armoire and brought them back to Violet’s
side. He clipped the weights onto the nipple clamps. Violet moaned
in protest. He stroked her rib as if quieting a horse and then gave
her a gentle push. The fishing weights dangling from the nipple
clamps jingled as her straining body swung slowly back and forth.
Her flushed skin was pink with arousal. A light sheen of
perspiration glistened along the curves of her straining body.
Saliva already dribbled down her chin. Damp strands of hair clung
to her forehead. He’d pulled most of it back into a ponytail before
working her over with his hand and strap but there always seemed to
be a few curly strands that escaped the black elastic band. Max
wasn’t surprised. In a way, those rebellious little strands of hair
were a perfect metaphor for Violet. There was no caging her in,
keeping her confined.
    He nuzzled his face close to hers. His lips
brushed her ear. “Are you ready to play?”

Chapter Two
     
    Oh, god, yes!
    Silenced by the gag, Violet could only nod
twice but she tried to do so with as much enthusiasm as possible.
There was nothing she enjoyed more than the feeling of rope
wrapping around her body like a cocoon. The sensation of the jute
embrace kept her grounded and secure while she pushed her body to
accept whatever punishments Max doled out.
    Her ears perked to the slightest sound.
Without her sight, she relied on her sense of hearing to provide
clues as to what might be coming. The feeling of being bound and
blindfolded and gagged sent shivers of excitement through her
belly. She lived for these moments of helplessness. There was
something intoxicating about giving Max power to do whatever he
wanted to her. The pain, the pleasure, the submission—it was like a
craving she simply couldn’t sate. More, she always wanted more.
    And Max was happy to provide.
    From the moment she’d clapped eyes on him,
Violet had just known he was The One. She’d been searching for
something, for someone, to fulfill her darker desires. Her
relationships in college had been so frustrating and empty. She
seemed to gravitate to the wrong sort of man. Too soft, too easily
pushed, too quick to cave. She wanted a man to tell her no, to
throw her over his lap and whip her ass when she was sassy or
misbehaved. She wanted to be tied up and tickled until she cried.
She wanted to be fucked in the ass and called dirty names while her
lover pulled her hair. On top of all that, she craved the vanilla
side of things too. She wanted the gentle lovemaking and cuddling
and lazy Sunday afternoons on the couch watching football games and
noshing on snacks.
    Once, Violet had tried to explain that to a
somewhat serious boyfriend. He’d looked at her like she was
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