Her legs were slim. Long. Perfectly toned. After taking off her shoes, the feet were immaculate. Perfect for ropes. Perhaps perfect to be tied even crossed legged. She manages to lift one leg higher than the other for posterity, or simply a reflex to be poised. I never need to speak a word.
Before roping her fine legs, I made sure she was comfortable with ropes on her wrists. Why isn't that the most important part of any bondage initiation? Once your wrists are tied, there seems to be no way of escaping. Once you surrender the wrists, you are in another part of the lifestyle.
Touching her legs accidentally, it was simply smooth. Toned. There's no sagging. It's an envy of a nation, or at least a school, or the school's competing school.
After completing the ropes of her legs, she was as helpless as a deer in captivity. Yet there was grace. The lines and geometry. The shapes are sharp, edgy, pointy toes. The length is going into infinity. Long super long gorgeously shaped legs coming out from the black mini hot pants.
There's no intercourse. The main course is caressing those legs. Until the owner moans of final satisfaction. This I did in good stead. You can start playing Lana Del Rey's I Fucked My Way Up To The Top.
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