Mascara streaked tears ran down her face, across cheeks flushed red with pain and arousal.
The imprint of the rope, with its coils and knots crossed her skin; a pink swelling, evidence of how she’d struggled against it, pulling it tighter, digging into her flesh.
Angry crimson welts, such a sharp contrast against the otherwise pale whiteness of her skin, burned across her buttocks, a market testiment to the kiss of his belt where it had rained down on her.
Her smuged lipstick, a silent witness of how he had taken his pleasure from her mouth; her jaw ached and her throat was hoarse, a pleasnt reminder of how he had used her.
Thick, sticky white globs of his essence on her her neck and over her breasts; a sign of his release. She barely noticed its warmth as it trickled over her skin, so inconsequential in comparison to the heat of her recently thrashed backside.
His arms wrapped tightly but tenderly around her, holding her close; comforting and supporting her, infusing his strength into her.
All of these were signs of her submission; signs of their bond.
©Kilted Wookie September 2018