His hands were as gentle as the silk bands he wrapped around her eyes and mouth... his fingers were nimble and sure as they bound her in shibari so that her arms were tied behind her on the mattress, her calves bound to her thighs, her knees splayed out to either side and tied down to hold her open to him, her breasts and abdomen criss-crossed with ropework providing delightful constriction. She keened as he slid his palms across her torso, arching into his touch. She felt his hands gliding back down her sides, grasping her hips. One hand slipped between her thighs, a finger tracing the wet seam of her sex. Teasing. Testing. And then the hand was gone, and she felt the warm head of his cock sliding along her folds, brushing her clit, and then he was pressing into her, filling her. She moaned into the cloth gag and his palms were on her again - her breasts, her waist, her abdomen, her clit. Her head fell back with a muffled whimper. With her legs bound out to the sides and the delightful ropework, she was already on the edge. High strung. Taught. Tuned. If she were a violin, he was a bloody maestro and she arched, again, her body bowing against him as he played her with finesse. She lost track of the sensations as they blurred all together into bliss, bliss, bliss... And then the waves were rolling over her and she was trembling, shuddering, falling. Perfection.