She was naked except for a pair of high heeled shoes, which meant—oddly—that she felt even more naked. Their height. The narrow spike of the heel on which she had to balance.

And then there was the rope. Her master had chosen the color deliberately. The pink was a neon shock in the darkness. She wondered if it actually had some kind of light reactive textile woven into the thread because it almost glowed under the single lamp.

The way I will when I'm bound with it. She wet her lips, anticipating the sensations that would bring. The confinement. The desperation. The need only her master could satisfy, intensified to a point resembling actual pain. And of course, actual pain, that most decadent pleasure of them all. There was no greater way of showing the depth of your love for someone than allowing them to hurt you, and Thomasina's nature required her to display love that way. No judgment please, it's just how I'm wired.

She saw her master lift the rope, and then he draped it around her neck. He was careful not to constrict her throat (How nice of him, she thought) but cord it between her breasts so that it formed a bright pink halter. Then he passed that between her legs and pulled it up between her buttocks. The prickly cord pressed into her mound.

"It would be better if you leaned forwards and put your hands on the bed. I don't want to give you rope burns on your clitoris."

Thomasina bit her lip. She remembered, long ago, a master who had done that. Quite deliberately, she was convinced. The pain had been excruciating (which she was okay with) but the callous disregard for her welfare had made her cry. She was sore for days afterward.

This time, she obeyed. Thomasina leaned forwards, put her hands on the cold sheets, and allowed him to complete the delicate knot work around her thighs and at the top of her buttocks. When her master had finished she was held in a perfect L shape.When she tried to stand it was impossible, but the pressure was on the back of her neck, not her throat.

Thomasina's heart was racing. She rubbed her burning cheeks against cold silk and wet her lips, trying to move hair from her face.

"Keep still."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"You are a fidgety little bunny tonight. Excited?"

She considered. And then in a crystal clear voice told him:

"Horny as fuck actually, sir."

"That's a good start."

He lifted her wrists and then tied them behind her, making sure that there was room for her to twist them and wriggle. She was doing that already; it was delicious.

Having tied his pet, her master was enjoying its predicament. The feel of her smooth skin against the slightly scratchy finish of the rope that restricted it. The way her lips opened as he pulled back on her thick hair (she loved hair pulling more than any of the other minor indignities involved with "rough handling"). He suddenly spanked her—once, hard—making her yelp and struggle. And become rather wet...

Her master vanished from sight again, which meant he was fetching something. Her mouth went dry because this was the moment of truth. She was about to find out what had been on his mind for weeks.

He placed a controller on the bed. A violently pink plastic item, with a variety of buttons and settings. It also had three wires, one ending in a clip, the other in connectors, like mobile phone jacks. Thomasina frowned, trying to work out what it was for. She hoped to God that the bulldog clip wasn't going to connect to a nipple or her—well—between her thighs. That would hurt more than she liked. As for the jacks...?

"Curious?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excited?"

"Oh, God, yes...."

The clip attached to the rope. The other two cables reached round behind her and she heard little clicks as they were attached to something else.

"Think warm thoughts, slut."

Thomasina pushed her head down into the covers, eyes closed, just—feeling.

Small metal objects were being pushed inside her. She could just feel the cold wire trailing across her thigh and over one rounded buttock. He was making use of the front entrance and—oh my, what her master referred to as "the servant's entrance" too. Deep. Two metal lumps waiting to do something in her womb and bowels.

He sat on the bed facing her.

"Ready, little one?"

"I... I think so."

"Sir."

"Sir. I'm sorry, of course, yes."

He turned the lamp right down so that the only light in the room came from the edge of the curtain. She could make out his shape in the gloom. The blur was an arm moving towards the box. Patting it.

"I found this rig online and decided I had to try it. On the right slut, I thought it would be incredibly fun. For me, anyway,"

There was a click and a pink light came on. It made Thomasina's cheeks glow.

She wet her lips, wondering...

Another click. The twin vibrators he had pushed deep inside her began to throb. Her eyes flickered closed and her mouth sagged open with pleasure.

"Sweet, isn't it?"

"Yes. Oh yes... sir," she whispered.

"Open your eyes, slut."

Why? The room was dark.

Only it wasn't. The rope itself was now glowing with a neon pink. Each time the vibrations intensified, the rope grew brighter.

He's turned me into a dance hall sign, Thomasina groaned. Not the perfect simile but the twin vibrations were making it hard to think. Hard to do anything except squirm and gasp and imagine herself as a Bruce Nauman art installation. All she could see was that throbbing pink glow. All she could feel was icy silk on her body and the explosions of delight in her anus and vagina, the pressure of that glowing rope.

Her master stroked her hair.

"This is pink, slut. I'm going to keep you on edge of orgasm for a while, and then I'm going to satisfy myself. Probably with your mouth, but there's space in one of your orifices for me. It might be entertaining to share your channel with a vibrator. I've not done that before. But it all happens when I say it happens."

There was something hot and wet on Thomasinas cheeks. She was crying with frustration and pleasure and dread. Because he meant it. He could play her like a lute and he would do just that, leaving her shivering and begging. And all the time, she would be stretched out on the bed like a fucking lava lamp.

Yes, indeed. Pink wasn't going to be pretty...