I’ve got my T-boy bound in rope—wrists, chest, thighs—helpless and rock-hard before I even touch him. And I start where he’s the most sensitive: his feet. I scratch, smack, kiss, clamp, lick, bite, and tease those soles until he’s squirming in the ropes and begging. No safe spot. No escape. Once he’s trembling, I hoist him into a partial suspension, letting the ropes dig and his feet dangle—perfect leverage to keep working him while denying everything he wants. When his mind is melted and his feet are red, I cut him down, flip him, and fuck my bound T-boy right on the floor. Rough thrusts. Rope-burned skin. Foot-obsessed whimpers turning to full-body surrender as I use him the way he needs.