Wicked Wednesday – Writhe


He’d made me go to dinner in my tit collars and my steel buttplug under a body-hugging, clinging jersey dress with no underclothes, and watched me as I interacted with the hotel staff and other patrons, as I drank and ate and made like a “normal” woman on a romantic date with her lover. I tried not to blush as I wondered if my nipples, hard and extended in the tit collars, were obvious to everyone that looked at me.  I tried not to squirm as I felt the buttplug pressing into me, stretching me open around its smooth, implacable hardness, invading my body and making me sit up very straight all throughout dinner.

And all the while he watched me through speculative, half-lidded eyes.


Later, back in our room, feeling boozy and satiated, my body thrumming with heat from the alcohol and the surety that soon, he’d be touching me, playing with me, making moan and beg for him, I waited for his command.

“Dance for me,” he said.

This was before the shackles and the joyful silliness of that dance.

I took a shuddering breath. “I can’t,” I said. I am not the siren, the temptress, the seducer and coquette. I am clumsy and awkward and self-conscious and afraid of his laughter.

He sat back in his chair. “Dance,” he said again. There would be no argument. The firelight flickered across his features. His eyes glittered, the ice in his glass tinkled, the music played a slow, seductive tune.

I danced.


He stood and placed his drink on the table; handed me my own.

“Sit,” he said, pushing me down on the footstool at the foot of the bed. “Drink.”

I obeyed.

He fetched rope from his bag.


“Spread your legs,” he said, and I did.

He tied my ankles to the legs of the footstool.



“Sit up straight,” he said, and I did.

He tied a rope around my neck and then tied the ends to the bedposts.










He sat down again and looked at me.

“Touch yourself,” he said.

Again I hesitated. My eyes flew to his, I felt a flush stealing up my chest and my breath coming short. In five years, he has never told me to masturbate in front of him like this. Never put me on display this way and simply sat back and…watched.

He waited.

The firelight glowed.

I touched myself.













Written in conjunction with Rebel’s prompt, “Writhe.”

Check out the rest of the wickedness below!



  1. Molly

    Watching me while I masturbate is one of Sir’s favourite things… he likes to combine it with whispering dirty nasty things in my ear, that make me moan and often end up begging for him to fuck me.

    I love the way you have written this, so direct and yet it paints a very vivid scene.


  2. Kara

    VERY HOT JADE!!!!!
    LOVE those shoes of course….thanks for the close-up ;)

    And your new site is amazing!!!! I really love what you did with it :)
    Kara XOXO


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