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Draped in bold leopard print and sultry black lace, this captivating vision of confidence and allure reclines in style. With a playful smile and a knowing gaze, she exudes charm, sophistication, and a touch of mischief—ready to embrace the night with grace and glamour. Darla adjusted the strap of her garter belt, letting the soft snap echo in the dimly lit room. The glow from the vanity mirror cast golden highlights on her smooth, stocking-clad legs as she admired herself—leopard print robe draped effortlessly over her shoulders, black lace corset hugging every curve. She smirked. Tonight, she wasn’t just getting dressed. She was preparing for the hunt. The city pulsed beyond the window, a restless jungle of neon lights and whispered temptations. She wasn’t looking for trouble—no, trouble always found her first. She stepped into her heels, the rhythmic click-clack on the hardwood floor sending a message: Darla had arrived. As she descended the stairs of the swanky downtown lounge, heads turned. A low hum of admiration followed her like perfume. She met the gaze of a sharply dressed stranger at the bar—tall, confident, dangerous in that irresistible way. "Whiskey, neat," she ordered, voice silkier than the lace at her thighs. The stranger raised a brow. "Bold choice." Darla leaned in, her painted lips curling into a slow smile. "I don’t do anything soft, darling." The game had begun. And tonight, Darla was playing to win.
As the ice clinked in her glass, Darla let her fingers trace the rim, savoring the sensation as much as the moment. She never rushed. Patience was her ally. The stranger at the bar, intrigued but cautious, shifted his weight slightly, leaning in ever so subtly. She could practically hear his thoughts—he couldn’t decide whether to approach or stay in his lane. Darling, she thought, why settle for staying in your lane when you could be driving the car?
Her gaze never left his as she took a slow sip of her whiskey, eyes glinting with something sharp beneath the velvet softness of her lashes. She had a way of making people feel as if they were the only ones in the room, even though they weren’t. Her presence? Unforgettable. Her intention? Unmistakable.
The bartender poured another round for the crowd gathering near the back, but Darla’s attention remained locked on the man. She wasn’t done yet.
The stranger finally moved, inching closer, his step tentative yet filled with purpose. "A woman who knows what she wants," he said, his voice rougher now, the initial coolness replaced with curiosity—and just a hint of hesitation.
"Why yes," Darla purred, her voice dipping lower. "And I always get it."
She leaned back against the bar, every inch of her poised like a panther ready to spring, her eyes dancing with a blend of confidence and amusement. She loved this part—the opening moves, the slow burn before the rush. And she could tell that this man, whatever he was hiding behind those sharp, brooding eyes, was intrigued. Good.
His smile was small, almost imperceptible, but she caught it, like a whispered secret. "I admire that," he said, finally closing the distance between them. His cologne, a spicy mix of wood and amber, enveloped her senses.
"You should," she responded, the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "I make it look easy."
The music swelled in the background, a slow jazz melody that seemed to sync perfectly with the tension in the air. She was the rhythm tonight, setting the pace, and he was just another player trying to keep up. And just like that, the game was on—and Darla was a master at playing it.
The tension between them crackled like static in the air, electric and palpable. Darla’s gaze never wavered from his, a silent dare, her lips curling into a smile that suggested she knew exactly what he was thinking. She could see the flicker of desire flash in his eyes, the subtle shift in his posture that betrayed his need to close the gap.
Slowly, she set her whiskey down on the polished surface of the bar, the glass making a soft clink as she slid it toward the edge. Then, she stood, deliberately slow, her movements calculated, every step measured. The leopard print of her robe brushed against the tops of her heels, the fabric a silken whisper against her skin. She took a half step forward, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off of her.
"Tell me," she whispered, her breath warm against the side of his neck, "do you like a challenge?"
His eyes darkened as he shifted, his breath catching, and he nodded, though she could see the hesitation still lingering, battling with the undeniable pull he felt toward her. Darla moved like liquid silk, her body a perfect blend of softness and strength. Her fingers traced a path up his chest, barely touching, a tease, a promise.
"You’re going to have to work for it," she murmured, voice low and thick, like honey, as she leaned in, her lips brushing against his earlobe, sending a shiver down his spine. "But the reward?" She paused, her lips brushing his again, this time just barely, before pulling away. "That’s worth every bit of effort."
He was close now, his hand coming to rest lightly on her waist, as if testing the waters, unsure if he was crossing a line, but too intrigued to pull away. His lips parted, eyes searching hers for the green light he knew he needed. Darla didn’t give him the satisfaction—she wasn’t the one to rush things.
Instead, she stepped back just enough to let her fingers slide down his arm, feeling the heat of his skin. Her voice dropped lower, smoother. “What if I told you there’s no such thing as a line when it comes to me?”
She stepped closer, this time pressing her body against his, the curve of her hips fitting perfectly into the heat of his, sending a shock of warmth through both of them. Her lips hovered over his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, teasing the space between them before she let the barest brush of her mouth against his, just enough to leave him wanting.
He groaned softly, a sound that could have been frustration or desire—or both—and he pulled her back in, more urgently this time, his lips finally capturing hers in a kiss that was hungry, desperate, and full of promise.
Darla met him with equal fire, her hands moving up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into the kiss. Her body pressed into his, her curves aligning with his like a match to a flame. The world around them faded—just the sound of their breath, the taste of whiskey on his lips, the feeling of skin and heat and desire.
When she finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, her eyes glinted with mischief. “That’s just the beginning, darling. Now, let’s see if you can keep up.”
Her words were a challenge, a taunt—and she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Not tonight. Not with her.
The room seemed to shrink as the heat between them intensified, each breath between them a shared promise of something more dangerous, more thrilling. Darla’s lips hovered near his once more, but this time she didn’t kiss him. No, tonight, she was in control. She could feel his breath quicken, his body inching forward, the tension tight as a drawn bowstring, but Darla was the one pulling the strings. She smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes as she slid her hand down the back of his neck, fingers grazing the hard muscle beneath his shirt.
“You’re a man who likes to take control, aren’t you?” she purred, her voice dripping with the kind of temptation that could unravel anyone. “But not tonight.”
His breath hitched, and his chest swelled with an involuntary desire to push forward, to claim. But she stopped him. A single finger against his lips, a firm push, keeping him at arm’s length. Her gaze turned dark, her tone thick with command.
“You’re going to do exactly what I say,” she whispered, voice low, seductive, and laced with dominance. She took a step back and reached for her bag, pulling out something soft and black—silk rope. His eyes widened, a mix of excitement and curiosity playing across his face.
Darla walked toward him slowly, methodically, letting the anticipation build. She saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, drawn by the invisible thread between them.
She smiled, catching his wrist in one swift movement, her grip firm, a delicious contrast to the softness of her touch. "Let me make something clear," she purred, running the rope through her fingers, watching him closely. "I’m the one in control. You’re the one bound to me, bound to my will." Her voice was a silken command. She looped the rope around his wrist, tightening it just enough to make him feel the gentle pressure, a reminder of her control.
His pulse raced, eyes darkened with desire and something else—a little fear, a little thrill, all mingled into one heady concoction. She tied his hands behind his back, each knot deliberate, each movement purposeful.
When she was done, she stood in front of him, admiring her work. His chest rose and fell with the effort to control his breathing. She let her fingers trace his jawline, drawing him closer until their lips almost touched, but not quite.
"Now you’re mine," she whispered against his lips, her breath hot, sending a shiver through him.
With a sharp tug on the rope, she pulled him forward, her lips crashing against his with a wild, urgent passion. Her hands explored, pushing him against the bar with a controlled force, her body pressing against his in perfect sync. She let him feel the tension of the ropes binding him, the subtle ache of helplessness mixed with the dizzying power of desire.
She broke the kiss, but only to trail her lips down his neck, nipping at the sensitive skin, her hands still working the ropes, pulling him further into submission. Every touch was deliberate, teasing, and when she looked into his eyes, they were clouded with need, with hunger. She could see how the restraint thrilled him, how it heightened every sensation.
“You’re going to wait for me,” she murmured against his skin. "You’re going to stay still while I have my way with you. And when I’m ready, only then will I let you touch me.”
His body tensed with the demand, but he didn’t argue, didn’t try to fight it. He was bound by more than just the silk rope. He was bound by her control, her presence, the power she wielded effortlessly over him. And that power? It was intoxicating.
Darla stepped back, admiring the sight of him—hands bound, eyes dark with desire, his body aching to break free but knowing he had no choice but to wait. She slowly unbuttoned her robe, letting the leopard print fall to the floor in a languid, graceful motion.
"Stay," she commanded softly, eyes never leaving his. “Don’t move a muscle.”
As she stepped back into the shadows, her figure now revealed in all its glory, she knew the game had shifted. She was no longer just the hunter. Tonight, he was the prey—and she would make him beg for every inch of her.
Darla moved with the fluidity of a predator, circling him, her gaze dark and intense, never once leaving the man she’d so expertly bound. Her heart raced with excitement, but her movements were calculated, her control absolute. She loved this. Loved how the power of restraint could turn everything into a dangerous dance. And tonight, she was going to make him regret ever doubting her.
She paused in front of him, just inches from his lips. His eyes were filled with that familiar mixture of frustration and lust—he was at her mercy, bound and helpless, every nerve in his body screaming for release, yet knowing she would decide when, how, and if that release would come.
With a slow, teasing smile, Darla reached down and gently tugged at her own garter belt, loosening the straps one by one, giving him a glimpse of her silky thighs as she peeled the lace away from her skin. She could see his gaze flicker to her legs, the way he fought the urge to reach for her, to touch her, but he remained still—her command still fresh in his mind. She stepped back, giving him just enough room to breathe, her lips curling as she surveyed him from head to toe.
Then, in one swift motion, she spun on her heel, walking toward the bed where she had more of her tools waiting. "You didn’t think you were the only one who could play, did you?" she purred, the tease in her voice unmistakable. The question wasn’t for him to answer; it was a challenge.
She picked up a set of soft leather cuffs, dark and sleek, and without a word, she returned to him. His eyes locked on the cuffs, anticipation building as he knew what would come next. He wasn’t the only one who would be restrained tonight.
"Turn around," she commanded, and there was no hesitation in his movements as he obeyed. His broad shoulders tensed, the muscles in his back tight as he faced the bar.
With quick, practiced hands, Darla attached one cuff to his wrist, then the other, securing him to the heavy iron railing of the bar, the ropes still keeping him bound, but now, he couldn’t even move his arms. Every inch of him was trapped in her design—her perfect trap.
Darla let out a slow breath of satisfaction, taking a moment to admire her work. She had him exactly where she wanted him—helpless, bound, yet on the edge of madness with the desire to break free. But he couldn’t. Not until she allowed it.
She stepped forward, her hands roaming up his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, his body straining against the restraints. "How does it feel?" she whispered, her lips brushing the back of his neck, sending a jolt of heat through him. "To be the one who has no control?"
He groaned, a low, guttural sound that told her everything she needed to know. He wanted her. Wanted this. Wanted to be bound by her will. But Darla wasn’t done yet. She was only getting started.
Her fingers traced the line of his jaw as she stepped around him, finally letting her hands glide down his chest, just brushing over his hardened form. She slowly lowered herself to her knees, taking her time, letting the anticipation build in the space between them. She could feel the heat coming off his skin, the way his body was drawn to hers, desperate for her touch, but Darla was in control—and she was going to make him wait for it.
Without warning, she reached for her own wrists, slipping on a delicate set of cuffs—black velvet with small metal studs glinting in the low light. She clipped them tightly, the sound of the lock clicking sending a thrill down her spine. But she didn’t stop there.
With a wicked grin, she attached the other end of her cuffs to the headboard, the cool metal cold against her skin. She arched her back, stretching slightly, her body a beautiful display of restraint. Her eyes never left him as she slowly began to pull herself into a slow, teasing rhythm.
"Now," she whispered, her voice thick with desire, "we’re both trapped."
Darla’s body responded to the pressure, the restraint making her feel every sensation ten times more vivid, more electrifying. She smiled, knowing that he could see the ropes tighten around her, the way she was tied as much as he was. But it wasn’t the same. She was tied for a different reason. She was tied to claim him, to mark him, to make him hers.
She leaned in, her body flushed with desire, and with a slow, deliberate motion, kissed him again—this time, a kiss that was hungry, possessive, and all-consuming. Her body was bound, but she wasn’t powerless. No, Darla had power over him in a way he never could have imagined. And as she pulled away, her lips curling into a devilish grin, she whispered once more:
“Now, you’re going to watch me take control of you. And you’ll beg for it.”
Her words, sweet with promise and dripping with the thrill of their shared restraint, were the final push. He was hers. And this night? This night was hers to dominate, to bend, and to break.
The air in the room grew heavy with anticipation, charged with the wild, intoxicating energy of power and surrender. Darla, standing tall and confident moments ago, now found herself on the other side of the equation, bound and at the mercy of a man who was slowly becoming her equal in this intricate dance. She was no longer in control. The tables had turned, and it sent a thrill of heat through her body she couldn’t ignore.
Her breath quickened as he stepped behind her, his hands gentle but firm as he reached for the silk ropes she had once used on him, the texture familiar in her hands, now unfamiliar as they wound around her wrists. She couldn’t suppress a shiver as the ropes tightened, pulling her arms behind her, securing her body in place. His touch was deliberate, teasing the tension from her shoulders, making sure every knot was as precise as her own.
Darla bit her lip, heart pounding in her chest, a mixture of frustration and arousal building inside of her. She had always been the one to control the situation, the one who gave the orders. But here, now, she was the one waiting to be told what to do, waiting to be taken.
She could feel the heat of his presence behind her, the slight brush of his body against hers, teasing. He reached for her neck next, threading a black lace choker with a small metal ring through the collar of her robe, securing it snugly but gently, a soft reminder of her vulnerability. He stepped away for a moment, admiring her—the sight of Darla, beautiful, vulnerable, every inch of her controlled, the ropes tight around her wrists and neck, the collar a silent acknowledgment of what had just shifted.
Then came the gag.
Darla’s eyes darkened, her pulse quickening at the mere thought of being silenced, of losing that last thread of control. He reached for the black silk scarf she had used to blindfold him earlier. It was soft, almost sensual to the touch, but it carried with it a sense of power that made her heart race. He folded it carefully, twisting it just enough to fit over her lips. The cloth slid over her mouth, and she gasped, her eyes widening in both disbelief and anticipation.
The moment he tied the knot at the back of her head, securing the gag in place, the world around her quieted. Her voice, her power—her ability to speak—was taken from her. She could only breathe, feel, and listen to the sounds of her own heartbeat, the occasional rustle of the fabric, the echo of her own thoughts now muffled behind the soft fabric.
She shifted, trying to adjust to the restriction, her chest rising and falling beneath the tight embrace of the ropes, the pressure around her wrists and ankles a constant reminder of her helplessness. But there was something about it—the helplessness—that sent a jolt of electric heat through her body. A gasp escaped from her gagged mouth, but it was a sound that only fuelled the fire.
The man stepped in front of her now, tilting her chin up with his fingers. His gaze locked onto hers, dark with desire, and for a moment, neither of them moved. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg, but her eyes said it all. She was ready to be taken, ready to let him explore the power in his own hands. And she would follow, bound and gagged, with nothing to offer but her submission.
He reached down, lifting the hem of her robe slowly, revealing the soft curve of her thighs, her skin still glistening from the night’s heat. She let out a soft sound through the gag, a low moan, but it was muffled, no longer a voice of command—only a plea, a need.
With her hands bound and her mouth silenced, Darla's body had become the only language left to speak. She could feel every inch of his touch, every movement he made, and the anticipation, the slow pace of his exploration, built and built until she thought she might break under the tension. She was helpless, yes, but in a way that left her more in control than ever before. She had let go. Now, she would be moulded into whatever he desired, and she would love every second of it.
As the ropes tightened around Darla's wrists, a sense of deep discomfort washed over her—one she hadn’t anticipated. She had played this game countless times, reveling in her ability to control the situation, to manipulate and guide it in her favor. But now, with each knot pulled just a little tighter, each strand of silk pressing into her skin, she felt a flicker of panic ignite inside her chest.
The gag, soft and tight against her lips, restricted her breath, and it wasn't just the pressure that bothered her now—it was the lack of control. A quiet, suffocating panic crept into her mind, each moment passing with her power slipping further away. The room, once her playground, felt too small now, the walls pressing in around her. The air felt thick, heavy with a sense of helplessness that made her heart pound faster, her breathing shallow.
Her body shifted involuntarily, her legs shifting, trying to find a position where the tension wasn’t as unbearable. But the ropes were unyielding, and the more she moved, the tighter they felt, the more they dug into her skin. Her eyes darted toward him, hoping for some reassurance, some acknowledgment that this was part of the game, that she hadn’t crossed some invisible line.
But he didn’t move. His eyes were locked on her, unblinking, observing, but offering nothing—no comfort, no release. Just a steady, unwavering gaze that made her feel even more exposed. The feeling of the gag in her mouth—the way it made everything seem distant, muted—sent waves of distress through her. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t ask for what she wanted. She was trapped, her own body a prison.
She shifted again, this time with more urgency, a soft whimper escaping her throat, muffled by the silk, but it didn’t go unnoticed. His gaze flickered to her, and for the first time, she saw something else in his eyes—an awareness. The control she had once wielded so effortlessly was now in his hands, and the fact that he knew it, that he could see her distress, made her stomach tighten in an unsettling way.
“Not so confident now, are we?” His voice was low, almost a murmur, and it sent a shiver through her. He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his shadow falling over her like a thick blanket.
Darla’s breath quickened, her chest rising and falling in sharp, jagged movements. The ropes, now pressing against her skin in ways she hadn’t considered before, felt suffocating—like they were stealing her breath away with each pull, each knot. She tried to steady herself, to calm the rising panic, but it was no use. It was like she couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t find a way to breathe past the tightness of the fabric around her mouth, the unrelenting hold of the ropes.
Her eyes darted around the room, desperate for something—anything—to anchor her, but the reality of her situation sank in. She was at his mercy. She could only wait. Wait for him to release her, to ease the pressure.
A soft, almost imperceptible tear slipped from the corner of her eye, but it was hidden behind the gag, swallowed by the thick cloth. The tear was not from pain—though the physical discomfort was undeniably present—but from something deeper. Something darker. The vulnerability she hadn’t expected to feel. The loss of control.
She tugged at her restraints again, her body trying to break free, her pulse thrumming in her ears. The frustration mounted as the ropes didn’t give. The gag pressed harder against her lips, forcing her to swallow, to breathe in shallow gasps.
He finally stepped closer, his hand brushing her face, his touch soft yet commanding. His thumb swiped gently across her cheek, collecting the tear that had fallen, as if to remind her that her distress hadn’t gone unnoticed. But he didn’t speak. He didn’t offer her any relief. Instead, he tightened the ropes just a fraction more, and the slight pressure only amplified her sense of helplessness.
A whimper escaped her lips, louder this time, muffled by the gag, but it was there, and he heard it. He knew. He wanted to know.
Darla’s eyes locked onto his again, desperation flashing in them. The distress that had bloomed in her chest like a wildfire now spread, consuming her. She needed to be released. She needed air. She needed control back.
But for now, there was only the waiting. Only the feeling of being bound, of being silenced, of surrender. And as much as she hated it, she knew deep down—there was no turning back. Not now. Not when she was so close to breaking.
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Wrentits are somewhat anomolous, thought to be the sole representative of the babbler family (Timaliidae) in the western hemisphere.
Steak and Gourmet burgers! It's great being out with the camera in December on Princes Street when darkness falls and suddenly the whole town comes alive with the ....smell of delicacies from all over the World. It's just as well I remembered to wear my tweed underpants as it's a bit parky standing here! I was so tempted to stop for a while and have a burger with mug of mulled wine from the German market but managed to resist - only just!
"Concentration Mr Monty ...focus and posture for the job to be done - you're not here to enjoy yourself", a familiar voice said in my ear!
Okay, so it's Volvo 7900 Hybrid, number 8 (SN13 BDV) peeping it's new rosy red head in to the photo.
the Shias and Sunnis of Delhi pray together
though their timing might not sync very well
Jama Masjid
Old Delhi
Photography’s new conscience
Well folks this will be the next to last few in this series. This image was one of 6 taken in different in this position, please try to picture him getting bigger as we moved closer. He started by expanding his wings just a very little and a little more as we approached, and in my humble opinion this was the most interesting, thank you for visiting and have a great day.
When trouble approaches, very young Osprey chick will go limp and look lifeless. Their mother will make a call and they will flop down. As the birds get closer to fledging, they will take a defensive posture and become as big as they can.
颐和园 (Yi He Yuan) is the Garden park of the old Imperial Summer Palace. Beautiful gardens and a wide variety of buildings - some defensive or administrative, some utilitarian, some purely for pleasure - surround a pleasant lake with an Island in the middle. These images are all of, from, or on the 17-arch bridge connecting the island to the shore. It's lined by little lion statues, each one in a different posture!
My Camera batteries were both flat by this stage, so I was reduced to using my mobile camera!
West Lake of Hangzhou, a mother lake of the city. A group of Chinese women are exercising Taichi. The lake breeds the local population and also attracts millions of tourists visiting every year. West Lake is also famous for the love story of The Legend Of White Snake. The "broken bridge" and Leifeng tower are two of the most-visited tourist attractions along the lake.
giovdim ~ Musée asiatique guimet
All images are COPYRIGHTED, and may not be used for any commercial purpose, printed, or re-used in any form without written consent of GIOVIS DIMITRIS (giovdim) You may blog about or make reference to my work in its original form, with full credit or link back to my Flickr page. Thank you
Since it was gloomy, it's good to be in the garden amidst dragonflies and damselflies. There was this calotes baby basking to reduce chillness and make the best warmth while the sun shines (which is limited to few hours.) Since the weather was cooler, he was in a good mood to pose and allow me as less than half foot and with camera as close as 5 cms.