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But, it wasn’t long before I fell in love with Danica’s mind. Her art, her perspective, opened my eyes to a world where sexual attraction grows more from who a person is and less from what that person is.I indirectly introduced her to Kinbaku-bi, the art of Japanese rope bondage. Like any good artist, she experienced a period of frustration in her photography. Her shoots were, as she proclaimed, ‘boring and redundant.’ Kinbaku-bi offered a new, exotic flare so I enrolled her in a class.She took to it like a moth to a flame. I reaped the benefits by being her test subject while she perfected her craft. Countless times my cock would harden as she experimented with intricate knots and patterns across my skin.“Maybe I need to hire someone to service you while I work?” She would quip, lovingly weaving designs to match and accentuate the contour of my body. She had found her calling and ‘Roots’, as she aptly named this creation, would be her masterpiece.From where I was suspended, I could. As the adrenalin drained from my body I began to shake. I lowered myself to the bed feeling the full weight of my abuse. I told Lisa to unlock my collar. When I heard the lock click I fumbled with the clasp of the hated symbol of my submission. With a last major effort I weakly flung it away from myself.I had briefly slept to be awakened by Lisa wiping my forehead with a cool cloth. "Water, food, aspirin" I had whispered to her. Over the next day and night Lisa ministered to me and by the next afternoon I began to feel some of my strength return.Ingrid still lay on the floor by the bed. I had forbidden Lisa from attending to her. My former mistress had been reduced to a wretched state. She had soiled herself. Her lips were parched and split around the protruding wad of clothing. Her former passionate fire seemed to have died out. When I attached my collar to her neck I saw dawning fear in her eyes.Wordlessly I draggeddrug my new captive to the bathroom, then lifted and rolled her.
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