This story involves involuntary capture and bondage.
“I must say, it’s been a while since I’ve found anything quite so amusing.” Tash poked the boy’s side gently. “You are certainly more entertaining than – well, than anyone I can remember in the last decade, at the very least. And so pliable, so elastic. Are you sure you weren’t in the circus?”
“Fuck you, lady.” The man was, indeed flexible; he’d have to be, to be tied up the way Tash had managed without dislocating anything. But as lithe and as squirmy as he was – and he was very much so lithe and even more so squirmy – he wasn’t getting away. Not until Tash felt like letting him go.
“Oh, I imagine you will eventually. And quite pleasantly, quite, ah, deeply, if your gyrations are any indication. You have lovely hips, too. Are you sure you weren’t a model?”
“No.” He gritted his teeth as she stroked his bare skin. “No. Not an acrobat. Not a model. Not a policeman.” He’d, at one point, displayed an interest in her handcuffs. Now, of course, he was wearing them.
His arm came free with surprising velocity and he slammed an elbow into Tash’s head. “I’m an escape artist.”
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