Binding Knot Novels & Stories

Sebastian chuckled, "I guess he didn't find me stealing your first dance funny." With a mischievous grin, he pulled Bella to where Luca was Sitting with a few people, handing her to him. He sat coldly,his eyes fixed on her. Before anything was said between them Elle heard her Mother in laws voice as she announced the blood oath, talking about the tradition. Elle knew this part of the ceremony was intimate and she hoped Luca was going to be corporative. The blood oath was a ritual done to seal a bond between the married couple, it was mostly done at their mafia weddings as part of the ceremonies.

“I’ll pay her two million dollars. But I want a legal document—a consent form, airtight—that makes it binding. After the payment, if she ever demands another cent, no matter the evidence she claims to have, I can sue her for double. I want it so tight she won’t be able to breathe through a loophole.” Michael was silent for a moment, then I heard the click of his pen. “Interesting. You want to flip the trap. Fine. It can be done. We’ll draft it as a settlement agreement. Payment for permanent release of claims. She signs, she’s bound. She violates it, you drag her to court and bleed her instead.”

Josephine stuffed the fruit knife into Zayne’s hand and said, “Don’t you worry. Even if you want to cut off the macrame knots on their hands, these two brats wouldn’t let you succeed.” Zayne was stunned. However, he also noticed that these two fellows were deadly afraid of cutting the macrame knots. Josephine complimented, “Sis Angeline’s trick is truly one of a kind.” “Why is it one of a kind?” Zayne asked curiously. Josephine explained, “These ropes are binding them together, but the knots are actually connecting their hearts. If I’m not mistaken, the knots were carefully made by Sis Angeline, and the trumpet creepers in the middle represent Angeline’s life force. Meanwhile, the two Turk’s

At my nod she turns around, facing away from me, and I get up and start on the knots for the rope harness I intend for her to wear instead of underwear today. It's a simple yet time and rope consuming tie, and actually the first real bondage I've done with Bella. Finding the middle point of the rope I drape it around her neck that both ends trail to the floor between her breasts, before I tie the two rope ends together at several places that will later span her torso. Checking that I have the distance right I add another five knots for where the rope will be

I growl, grinding deep as my knot locks her down, my seed spilling hot into her womb. Her legs wrap tighter around me, her growl rumbling against my neck as she drinks me in, refusing to release me. The bond flares, burning and binding, until there is no beginning or end, just us. When her pussy finally stops spasming, she pulls back slowly, licking over the wound she’s left, soothing the sting and making me shiver. I pant, still buried deep inside her, still tied to her by my knot, and I know there is no escape.

The process of tying her down was as sexual to him as what happened once she was bound to his satisfaction, and he was determined to take his time, enjoy the process, and create something beautiful. He'd studied it online, on his phone, and attended some classes in the past. Shibari was the artistic form, but kinbaku focused on the sensual, connective, and sexual side of the practice, and it was that side that interested him. Ushiro Takatekote knot, he thought as he tied it between her shoulder blades and draped it over her shoulders. His thoughts became a relaxing peaceful place in following his careful process, his mind calming as he worked. Processes and procedures had always soothed Heat

I was starting to feel at ease with him, but little did I know that there was a danger lurking around him and in no time, it might ruin me. The Bondage Series #4

“Kneel.” I climb up, knees spreading on the cushion, back straight. He steps behind me, and I hear the sound of rope sliding against his palm. A rush goes through me. He starts slow, as always—wrapping my arms behind my back, binding my wrists together first, then winding the rope up around my forearms, pulling them snug to my spine. He works with confidence, checking each knot, every tension point, murmuring little praises under his breath like he can’t help it. I watch him in the mirror. “Perfect,” he says. “Absolutely perfect.” He’s not done.

About hunger twisted with vulnerability. Ronan looked at her like a man crawling through fire who just found water. “I do.” Her fingers moved with skill and precision, looping the rope around his wrists, binding him firmly but not cruelly. She took her time, letting each knot reinforce the truth neither of them had spoken aloud. He needed this. And she needed to be needed this way. She finished the tie and pressed her palm against his chest. “Breathe.” He did. His eyes fluttered shut, a shiver coursing through his body.

He works with the quiet focus of someone who sees the process as its own art form. Next, he moves down to my legs. He binds each ankle separately, careful to keep the spacing even and the knots clean. Once they’re secured, he pulls both lengths of rope toward each other and ties them in place, keeping the tension balanced. Then his hand gathers my hair, gently at first, then firmer, and I feel my body shift slightly in response. He still says nothing, but the message is clear. He’s in control of every detail, every movement, and my only job is to let go.