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Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: Shara Zhad is the daughter of a warrior chieftain. Kidnapped by a rival warlord and held for ransom she's sure her father won't pay, Shara captivates Rashtan with erotic tales. How long can she entertain her kidnapper and prolong her life? In the sixth story of the series, Rashtan visits Shara one moonlit night. While he binds her in intricate knots, he listens to her tale of an artist who poses women in beautiful bondage positions, an art form that is by its very nature, temporary. Each tale in this series stands alone as an erotic nugget, but the framing tale of Shara and her warlord progresses.
eBook Publisher: Excessica Publishing,
eBookwise Release Date: November 2011

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [41 KB]
Words: 6765
Reading time: 19-27 min.

"You are a very sensual woman, Shara, although you haven't been fully awakened yet," he whispered.

Then awaken me, fill me, use me, even hurt me, but just keep on touching me all over.

"I won't take you. Not yet at least. But tonight I want to tie you up in the Zaltaran style. The art of rope work is passed from father to son in our culture. Bondage is a ritual and an art form." He chuckled. "And, of course, incredibly erotic."

Shara's heart pounded so fast she thought she'd pass out from the blood rushing through her. He was going to tie her up and she wanted it so badly her body throbbed.

"There was a man once, an artist with rope," she said. "He would display bound women in galleries. People came from far and wide to see the intricacy of his knots and the unique positions in which he posed these beautiful women. Of course, because of the living nature of his media the displays were temporary, which made them all the more popular among the elite artistic crowd. 'Like life itself', the artist used to say. 'We can enjoy and admire beauty but it will swiftly pass away.'

Rashtan rose and offered Shara his hand. "Stand and take off your nightdress."

She climbed off the rumpled bed and slowly did as he bid. Other than her first day of captivity when her breast had popped out of the bodice of her gown, she'd not been naked in front of Rashtan. Some of the clothing she'd worn had been very revealing, leaving little to the imagination, but this was different. She felt as if she were laying herself bare for him both body and soul.

As she lifted the hem of her nightgown and pulled the flimsy garment over her head, Shara heard Rashtan's soft intake of breath. Her breasts and pussy felt enflamed, engorged with a rush of blood and puffing proudly beneath his gaze.

"Stand on the rug in that patch of moonlight," he ordered.

Shara's gaze dropped to her bare feet, watching them take her to the spot he'd pointed to. She stood in silence, listening to Rashtan breathe, as he walked around her, examining her nude form. Her own breath was non-existent and her chest began to ache. She forced herself to exhale and inhale again.

Rashtan stepped close to her, his body, a piece of midnight. She inhaled the spicy scent that infused his clothing and the scent of male underlying it. He rested his hand on the back of her head, the weight of his palm cupping her scalp, then ran his hand all the way down her body from head to back to buttocks. The warmth of his touch caressed down her legs to her heels. All the while, he murmured something in a foreign language. He'd mentioned that Zaltaran rope work was a sort of ritual. Was this a sort of blessing or invocation to his gods?

Rashtan walked away from her and Shara raised her eyes high enough to see him stop at a spot near the door. He returned with a coil of white rope looped loosely over his hand.

"Talk," he ordered. "'I enjoy the sound of your voice. Tell me more about the artist."

"He was a very talented but very lonely man for, like many artistic types, he was desperate to achieve perfection that was always just beyond his grasp. He spent no time on forging real bonds with people because he was too busy binding his models. They were merely a tool to him, a media to work with like paint or clay."

Rashtan looped the rope around Shara's waist. It settled over her hips and although the cord was lightweight cotton, she felt as if it was a band of iron. He brought one end of the rope up between her breasts and over her shoulder, then moved behind her. When he passed the cord between her buttocks and legs, Shara gasped. The cord pressed against her genitals as Rashtan drew it snug against the front of her body.

"More. Keep talking." The increased roughness of his voice told her he was nearly as aroused as she by the rope dividing the lips of her pussy.

"The artist's name was...uh... He was called Hawk. And the erotic displays he created were beautiful. One piece was entitled Captured in Flight. Against a backdrop of midnight blue satin, he suspended a lovely blonde with her arms outstretched. She was caught in a web of rope and her sorrowful face was raised toward a single spotlight that shone upon her in a darkened room. To viewers of the display, she appeared to be trying to fly free of her bonds. Those who were lucky enough to attend this viewing spoke about it and spread his fame further, and he received more invitations from the wealthy to create private showings for them."

"A nice way to make a living," Rashtan said as he crouched low to coil the rope around one of Shara's ankles. "Kneel."

She dropped to her knees on the plush carpet and shivered as the rope between her legs, rubbed her clitoris. Her pussy moistened in pleasure.

Rashtan bound one of her ankles and pulled her leg up behind her so her foot rested against her buttock. Her weight was balanced between the knee of the trussed leg and her other leg, which remained anchored on the floor.

"He...The artist...um..." Shara was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on telling her story as Rashtan looped rope around her left wrist and drew her hand up behind her back. Her opposite arm he lifted so her elbow pointed toward the ceiling and her hand rested against her upper back. He bound her two hands together. With both hands and one leg, all connected behind her back in such an intricate configuration, her chest jutted forward. Her nipples were so hard they hurt, and they ached for a touch.

Rashtan paused to look at her and his gaze felt like a sunburn on her naked flesh. Shara was extremely aware of the display she made and a mixture of shame and pride in her body filled her. It was a glorious sensation.

"Tell the story," he demanded.