Arranged Mafia Marriage

Karma

“The dress was too tight,” I snap, even as a trembling begins in my core. I try to rise up but the grip on my neck holds my immobile. Also, his massive trunk-like thigh between mine has me pinned. Shit, how can this guy be so big? Not that I can forget his height, considering how he towers over me, but when he holds me down like this, exactly how much weaker than him I am is brought home to me. I am in his power. His to be played with. His to be used. His to own. His to…be brought to the edge of pleasure with the kind of sweet pain only he can bestow on me. I open my mouth to tell him just that, then snap my jaws shut.

No way, am I making that tactical error. If he knows how close I am to throwing caution to the wind, to forgetting who I am, and what my life used to look like, how the future I had envisaged for myself is slowly fading away… Poof… how it’s all gone under the mesmerizing influence of his touch. Crushed under the overwhelming force of his dominance that demands that I lay here and watch him as he surveys my backside.

“Or maybe you wanted to tease me…?” He raises those unfathomable eyes to mine, “Tell me, Beauty, is this your way of telling me that you’d rather not wait for the holy union of our marriage, and that you’d rather that I fuck you right here and now?”

“Exactly,” I murmur, “now you get it. The faster you shag me, the faster we can put this…chemistry we have, behind us. Then, you can send me back home and-”

“No.”

“What?” I frown. “What do you mean, no?”

“No, I am not letting you go.”

“But if you shag me, you don’t have to marry me, right?”

He laughs, “Whatever gave you that idea? This entire exercise is so I can make our arrangement official, remember?”

“But what benefit do you get out of it? I mean, sure you get a wife and someone to breed for you. But as we’ve already established, I am not the kind of woman you want.”

“That’s your conclusion, not mine.”

“But seriously, Michael,” I lift my head but he pushes me back down.

“Less talk, more action,” he growls.

“You mean, more pretending to make me come without actual penetration?” I scoff.

His entire body goes solid. That’s the only warning I get before he grips the sides of the slit in my dress and tugs. The fabric tears up the middle. He rips it all the way to the neckline and the dress falls apart around me. Cool air assails my skin and I shiver. “If you wanted to get me out of the dress, you only had to ask.”

“And you’d have agreed?”

“Of course not, but maybe, I could have saved this dress. Not that I like the outfit or anything, but it was new, and someone had put time and effort into creating it, so… I just like to be respectful of other people’s work. After all, I know what it takes to produce a design… And by the way, are you going to make this a habit? Ripping apart the dresses I am wearing? Because when I wear my own creations, I promise you, I won’t take lightly to that, I won’t…”

“Shh.” He puts a finger to his lips and I bite the inside of my cheek.

One word from him and I am ready to do his bidding. One glare from him and all I want to do is roll over and open my legs, my mouth, my arms, and accept him into my body, my soul…my mind.

Am I a feminist? I’d like to think so.

Would I ever let a man tell me what to do? Never.

But would I bow down to this man and let him disrespect and degrade me? Absolutely. A-n-d, that folks, is all you need to know. For I am hopelessly drawn to this alphahole, and hell, if I can understand why. Is it his dominance, his complete confidence that is so attractive? Is it his self-assured approach to most things that is a turn on?

All he’s done since I’ve met him is hold a gun to my temple, then make me come on his knife’s handle, then all over his fingers in a semi-public place, and now… He reaches around, yanks up a length of the decorative ribbon that I had been examining earlier.

He pulls my arm behind my back, then the other. He ties the swath around my wrists, once, twice, thrice, knots it, then tugs. The soft material rustles against my skin. A shiver slithers down my back

He brings the ribbon up until just below the elbows, then wraps it around. He puts one arm around both of my arms to hold them together while he wraps the length up until just below the elbows.

Then he wraps it under both of my hands, before pulling it back up to form a cinch. He uses the exact same process to create another band above the elbows.

He pulls the swath up over a shoulder, pulls me forward, then loops the ribbon down on the inside of one breast.

He takes the material beneath the other arm and up again on the inside of the other breast. Shit. He is, in effect, creating straps. Then he brings the ribbon back and around horizontally beneath the arm, wrapping between the two straps. I tug and realize he has, very effectively, tied me down in a matter of seconds.

“What are you doing?” I scowl.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

“What does it look like?” He murmurs, “I am tying you down.”

“You into Shibari, or something?”

“Or something,” he agrees. “Let’s just say, finding creative ways of restraining people happens to be one of my hobbies.”

“Oh?” I wriggle around and find, while the fabric is loosely tied, it does a very good job of restraining my movement. He’s pulled my shoulders back, so my breasts are thrust forward and into the glass counter and my arms are immobilized. All in all, while it’s not uncomfortable, there’s something very vulnerable in the position. It ensures that I feel exposed, laid out for his delectation.

“Michael,” I frown, “undo me.”