My 22-Year-Old Crush Ties Me Up

The text landed at 8:14 while I was still in my dress shirt, the apartment smelling like takeout I had forgotten to finish. Come over. Drinks and honesty. Don't make me ask twice.

I'm Cody, twenty-eight, a corporate lawyer who can hold a room of partners without blinking and still goes soft in the knees for the woman next door. Elise is twenty-two, a graphic designer who works late with her windows open and her music low, and she has spent months making it obvious she sees exactly what I am. Confident. Direct. The kind of dominant who doesn't raise her voice because she doesn't have to.

I had fantasized about her since the week she moved in. Not before that. I didn't know her before that. The wanting started the first evening she caught me in the hall with my tie loose and said I held myself like a man waiting for permission. I laughed it off in the doorway. Then I went inside, locked the deadbolt, and fucked my fist until my wrist ached, picturing her mouth at my ear telling me I wasn't allowed to come.

She never let me forget she had noticed. In the elevator she stood too close and murmured that I looked pretty when I was trying not to stare at her chest. At the mailboxes she tapped my bare ring finger and said she didn't share toys she hadn't unwrapped. Once, grocery bag digging into her hip on the sidewalk, she looked me over in the late light and told me my mouth was made for being used. I stood there hard in my pants like I had never learned control, a grown man with a mortgage and a calendar full of depositions, and I wanted her to own every humiliating inch of that want. I thought about her ropes. I thought about her weight. I thought about saying yes out loud and finally meaning it.

Tonight I didn't make her ask twice. I locked my door, crossed the hall in my socks, and knocked before I could talk myself out of it.

She opened it barefoot. Black jeans. A thin gray tank with no bra under it, her nipples pressing the cotton. Dark hair pinned up, a few strands stuck to her neck, a thin-line tattoo curling over her collarbone. The apartment was warm, lamplit, a record needle ticking at the end of a side. Two short glasses of whiskey sat on the counter, amber and untouched.

"Those were set dressing," she said, and slid them to the back of the counter without offering me one. "I want you clear-headed. I want every yes you give me to be yours."

"Okay." My voice already sounded smaller than it did in court.

"Sit."

I sat on the edge of her couch. She stayed standing, arms loose, looking down at me like I was a brief she intended to mark up in red. The height difference hit my stomach in the best way. I could smell her skin, clean soap and a little sweat, and my cock thickened against my thigh before she had even touched me.

"Honesty," Elise said. "You've been hungry for months. You go quiet when I use a certain tone. You get hard when I tease you about kneeling. So I'm going to ask you something, and you're going to answer like a man who knows what he wants. Do you want me to tie you up and use you?"

Heat flooded my face and my cock in the same second. "Yes."

"Not good enough. I want the whole filthy truth. Months of it."

My hands were fists on my thighs. I made myself meet her eyes. "Yes. I want you to tie me up. I want you to use me. I've thought about your ropes and your voice and your weight on me every night since you moved in. I crave your control. I want to be helpless for you. I want you to decide when I come and whether I get to touch you at all. Please."

Her eyes darkened. She stepped between my knees and put two fingers under my chin so I had to hold her gaze.

"Safewords," she said. "Red stops everything. Yellow slows us down. Green means you want more. You can say them anytime. You can say no anytime. This only happens because you want it, and you can take it back the second you don't. Say you understand."

"I understand. Green. I want it. I want you."

"Then we're doing this." Her mouth curved, not sweet. Hungry. "Stand up and strip. Slow. I stay dressed until I decide otherwise. And Cody?"

"Yeah?"

"If you rush, I'll make you start over. I like watching you shake."

I stood. My fingers felt stupid on the buttons of my shirt. One, then another, cotton parting over my chest. I run, I lift when the caseload allows, but under her eyes I felt stripped already, offered up. She watched my hands, not my face, and the attention made my cock strain harder against my pants.

"Slower."

I obeyed. The shirt slid off my shoulders. I folded it because some lawyer reflex told me to, and she laughed, low and mean in the way that went straight to my groin.

"Neat little thing," she said. "Belt next. Don't look at me for praise. Look at your hands and do what I said."

The leather whispered out of the loops. I set it on the couch. Then the pants, pushed down my hips, pooling at my ankles with my socks. I stepped out of them and stood in gray boxer briefs, the head of my cock already darkening the fabric with a wet spot I couldn't hide. Cool air hit my stomach. Her gaze dragged over me like a hand.

Elise tilted her head. "Look at that. Months of pretending you're composed, and your dick is drooling because I told you to take your clothes off. Pull them down. Let me see what I'm working with."

I hooked my thumbs and shoved the briefs to my ankles. My cock sprang up, thick, flushed, a string of precum swinging from the slit. The air kissed it and I hissed through my teeth.

"Hard already," she said, circling me. Her fingertips dragged across my lower back, not quite a caress, more like she was checking inventory. "Pretty cock. Leaking like you've been edged for an hour. Have you?"

"No. Just you. Thinking about this on the walk across the hall."

"On your knees."

I dropped. The rug bit my knees. She stayed clothed, denim and cotton and bare feet, and the imbalance made my head go light. She walked around me once, slow, and stopped in front of me so my mouth was level with the button of her jeans. I could see the faint damp at the seam and my mouth watered before I had permission to want it out loud.

"Hands behind your back," she said. "Don't touch yourself. Don't touch me unless I put you there."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Elise."

"Good. Open your mouth."

I opened it. She didn't give me anything. She just looked at the wet inside of my mouth and smiled like she had won something she had been owed.

"You're going to be so easy," she murmured. "My eager little neighbor, on his knees in my living room, cock out, waiting for rope. Tell me how bad you want to be helpless. Use your words. I didn't invite you over for shrugs."

"Bad," I said, and my voice cracked. "I want you to take my hands away. I want to not be able to move. I want you to do whatever you want with me. I want to stop deciding. Please."

She left me there on my knees with my hands locked behind me and my cock throbbing in the open air. I heard a drawer slide. My pulse kicked so hard I felt it in my throat. When she came back she had a bundle of soft black rope in one hand, coils neat, the kind that wouldn't bite unless she wanted it to. My stomach flipped. A drop of precum hit my thigh.

Elise crouched so we were eye to eye. She let the rope brush my bare skin, a cool drag from knee to hip that made my cock jump like she had stroked it.

"Last chance to walk out of here with your pride intact," she said quietly. "Once I tie you, you're mine until I decide you're done. Completely helpless. Spread out. Used. No hands. No leverage. Do you want that?"

"Yes," I breathed. The word felt like relief and ruin at once. "Yes, please tie me up."

Her smile went sharp. "Bedroom. Crawl. Keep your eyes on the floor unless I tell you to look up."

I crawled. The hallway was short and humiliating and perfect, her bare feet in my peripheral vision, the rope swinging from her hand, my cock heavy and dripping between my thighs. Every inch of carpet under my palms felt like a choice I was glad to be losing. Her bedroom was dim, the bed wide, posts at the corners that I understood now had not been a design accident. She had planned this. The thought made another slick thread slip from me onto her floor.

"Up," she said. "On your back. Arms up. Legs apart. Wide."

I climbed onto the mattress and lay down, heart hammering against my ribs, cock standing off my stomach. Elise moved with the unhurried focus of someone who had pictured this as many times as I had. She took my right wrist, wrapped the soft black rope in even turns, and secured it to the post. Not cruel-tight. Firm. Inescapable. She slid two fingers under the binding and nodded.

"Color?"

"Green."

"Tell me if your hands tingle wrong. Numb is not the goal. Helpless is. You say yellow and I adjust. You say red and I cut you loose. Repeat it."

"Yellow to adjust. Red and you cut me loose. I'm green."

Left wrist next, pulled snug toward the other post so my arms were stretched and open. Then my ankles, rope wrapped above the bones, tied off wide so I was spread-eagle, thighs parted, cock flushed and leaking onto my stomach. I tested the bonds once. They held. A sound came out of me I didn't recognize, half groan, half relief, like something in my chest had finally unclenched.

"There he is," Elise said, standing at the foot of the bed fully clothed, looking at what she had made. "My eager little rope slut. All that lawyer brain, and the only thing it's good for right now is wanting. Look at you. Tied open. Dripping on yourself. You can't even cover your cock."

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Touch me."

She laughed and climbed onto the bed between my spread thighs, still in her jeans, and wrapped her hand around my cock without warning. Dry at first, a rough drag that made me jolt against the ropes, then she spit into her palm and stroked, slow, twisting at the head so the precum slicked her fingers. My hips tried to thrust. The ropes stopped me. The frustration lit every nerve from my wrists to the base of my cock.

"Sensitive," she said, pleased. "We're going to play a game. I touch you. I taste you. You do not come. If you get close, you tell me. If you come without permission, I leave you tied here until your dick hurts, and I get myself off on your tongue anyway. Understand, rope slut?"

"Yes. I understand. I won't. I'll try."

"You'll do better than try. This cock is mine tonight. Say it."

"It's yours."

She stroked me in long pulls, base to tip, thumb smearing the wetness over the swollen head until I was panting and the ropes creaked with every aborted thrust. Then she bent and took me into her mouth, hot and sudden, lips sliding down until I hit the back of her throat. I shouted. She sucked me like she had all night, cheeks hollow, tongue working the underside, then pulled off with a filthy pop and slapped my cock lightly against her tongue.

"Color?"

"Green. Fuck. Green."

"Good little slut. Stay right on that edge for me."

She edged me until my thighs shook and my voice went raw. Hand, then mouth, then hand again, never quite enough, always stopping when my stomach tightened and I gasped her name like a warning. She called me her eager little rope slut every time I begged. She told me my cock was pretty when it was desperate, shiny and flushed and useless without her permission. She spit on the head and rubbed it in and watched my face while I strained against rope that would not give. Twice I got so close my vision sparked, and twice she let go completely, sitting back on her heels while I writhed and swore and dripped onto my own stomach.

"Please," I heard myself say, over and over. "Please, Elise, I need—"

"You need what I give you," she said, and took me deep again until my toes curled and the ankle ropes bit.

When I was swearing and half out of my mind, she sat back and peeled her tank off. Her tits were full, nipples tight and dark, and she tossed the shirt aside like it bored her. The jeans followed, shoved down her hips, then black panties, dragged down her legs and dropped on my chest so I could smell her. She was soaked. I could see it, the shine on her inner thighs, the flushed swell of her cunt, her clit already peeking out.

"You've been staring at my mouth for months," she said, swinging a leg over my chest and crawling up until her knees bracketed my head. "Time you learned what yours is for. I'm going to ride your face until I come. You keep your tongue out and you work. If you need air, hum twice. I'll lift. You do not stop licking unless I say so. Color?"

"Green. Please. I want to taste you."

"Then open."

She settled over my mouth, hot and slick and heavy, and I groaned into her. The taste of her hit me, salt and sweet and sharp, and I licked like I had been waiting my whole adult life, which in the ways that mattered I had. She ground down, not gentle, using my tongue, my lips, the bridge of my nose. One hand braced on the headboard. The other reached back and gave my cock one cruel stroke, then left it throbbing in the air, abandoned and dripping.

"That's it," she panted. "Eat me. Good rope slut. Right there. Don't you dare stop. Suck."

I sucked her clit and flattened my tongue and let her ride. The ropes held my wrists when I instinctively tried to grab her hips, and the helplessness made it better, made me hungrier. She got louder, thighs tightening around my head, grinding in tight circles, soaking my chin, my cheeks, the pillow under me. I hummed into her when I needed a breath and she lifted just long enough, then sat back down and used me harder. When she came it was with a broken curse, flooding my mouth, cunt pulsing against my tongue, grinding through it until her legs trembled and she finally rose enough for me to drag in air that tasted like her.

"Color?" she asked, voice wrecked, still hovering over my wet face.

"Green," I said into her, and she laughed, breathless and filthy.

She climbed off and down my body, somewhere past the last of her patience. She swung a leg over my hips, gripped my cock at the base, and sank down in one long, tight slide that punched the air out of me. Hot. Wet. Gripping. I saw stars.

"Oh, fuck. Elise—"

"Quiet unless you're begging," she said, and started to ride.

She planted her hands on my chest and fucked herself on me in hard cowgirl strokes, wet sounds filling the room, her tits bouncing, her cunt clutching me on every drop. The ropes kept me from thrusting the way my body screamed to. I could only take it, spread open, used, my cock buried to the root every time she slammed down. She leaned forward, one hand sliding up to my throat, and paused with her fingers resting there, eyes locked on mine.

"Light," she said. "You nod if you want my hand on your throat while I use this cock. Not a crush. Just enough that you feel owned. Two taps on my wrist with your chin if you need air and can't talk. Color?"

"Green." I nodded, desperate. "Yes. Please."

Her hand closed, not crushing, pressure at the sides of my throat so my pulse roared and the edges of my vision went bright. She rode harder. The bed knocked the wall. I was so close I could feel it in my teeth, the orgasm coiling, dangerous, inevitable if she didn't stop me.

"You don't come until I say," she said, voice tight, grinding down so her clit dragged against me. "Beg. Beg me for permission, rope slut. Tell me whose cock this is. Tell me what you are."

"Yours," I choked out, the word thin under her hand. "It's yours. I'm your rope slut. Please, Elise, please let me come. I've been good. I've taken it. Please, I need to come, I'm so close, please let me fill you—"

She ground in a filthy circle, her own breath breaking, tits swaying over my face. Her hand eased just enough for me to drag air and keep begging, wrists burning in the rope, ankles straining, cock swelling inside her until I thought I would split.

"Come," she ordered, fingers tightening again in that careful grip. "Come inside me. Now."

I broke. The orgasm tore through me, cock pulsing deep in her cunt, spill after spill while she rode me through it and chased her own. She came a second time with a sharp cry, grinding down, clenching around every throb, using my cum and my cock to get herself there. I saw white. I heard myself moan her name like I was nothing but the place she had decided to finish. She didn't gentle it. She fucked the aftershocks out of me until I was shaking and oversensitive and still tied wide, hers.

She stayed seated while we both shuddered, her hand leaving my throat, her cunt still fluttering around my softening cock. Then she lifted off with a wet sound and a spill of my cum down her thigh, and she looked at the mess like she approved of it.

She untied me with efficient hands, rope falling away from wrists and ankles, the marks red and perfect against my skin. I flexed my fingers. She caught one wrist, not stroking it, inspecting it, turning it in the lamplight and pressing her thumb into the pink line until I hissed.

"Pretty," she said. "You're going to wear those to work tomorrow under your cuffs and think about who put them there. Every time you shake a client's hand, you'll remember you were my tied-up slut."

I smiled before I could stop it, wrecked and already aching, cock twitching against my thigh at the thought of being bound for her again. "I want that. I want you to tie me again. Whenever you want."

"Good. Because this isn't a one-time favor you earned by being polite in the hallway." She leaned over me, mouth at my ear, voice low and possessive, one hand fisting in my hair. "This is the beginning. I use you when I want. You come when I text. You get on your knees, you take the rope, and you let me fuck your mouth, your cock, whatever hole I decide is mine that night. You don't negotiate in the moment. You negotiate now, while you're still dripping out of me. Say yes."

"Yes. Use me. Tie me up again. I'm yours."

She kissed me then, not soft, biting my lower lip, tasting herself on my tongue, swallowing the sound I made. When she pulled back, her hand wrapped my spent cock and squeezed until I jerked, oversensitive and helpless without a single knot on me.

"Next scene," she said, eyes bright, thumb swiping through the cum on her thigh. "Face down. Wrists to the headboard. A plug in your ass while I ride you, and you don't get to see me. You lie there and take it and beg into the pillow like the rope slut you are. You want that?"

"Yes. Please. Tie me face down. Use my ass. Use my cock. I'll beg. I'll do whatever you say."

She smirked and pushed two cum-slick fingers between my lips, making me suck them clean while she watched.

"Then get that cock hard again, rope slut, because I'm not done stuffing your throat with the mess you made tonight."