‌

Mmm, look at me… all dolled up in this tight little cheer uniform, wrists wrapped tight in tape, and stuck just right—so helpless… but not scared. Turned on. You thought this was some damsel fantasy? Think again. I’m loving every second of this. I want to be bound. Why? Because I know how badly you want to touch me, help me, own me—and you can’t. I’m the one in control, even when I’m restrained. Especially when I’m restrained. I squirm. I moan. I make you ache. But you can’t do anything. You just watch. That’s your place—on the outside, drooling, desperate, denied. I wiggle my hips, stretch against the tape, and moan through the tape about how good it feels to be tied up and worshipped from afar. You want to rescue me? Or maybe ruin me? Too bad. I’m already dripping with power. I’m a sensually bound tease, and you’re the weak little viewer who can’t take his eyes off me. Go ahead—imagine what I feel like, what I smell like, what I’d say if I caught you watching me like this. But that’s all you get. Because this cheerleader? She doesn’t cheer for you. She controls you.