Try to find an escape

You decide. You can't rely on Amy coming back. And even if she did there's no guarantee that the little brat would untie you.

With an effort you gather your legs under you and heave yourself to your feet, gasping as the movement causes the now-sodden crotch rope to slide over your clitoris.

The first couple of steps toward the kitchen are almost too much, the movement of your thighs squeezing your swollen labia against the crotchrope and almost sending you back over the edge. You don't feel as though you've come down properly from your last orgasm, and it won't take much to get you off again.

You pause, leaning against the door frame until you're back in control.

Trial and error shows that walking bow-legged reduces the stimulation of your crotch to a bearable level, and in this way you manage to stagger to the kitchen.

The knife and scissor drawer is at waist height, so you turn your back to it, fumble for the handle with your fingers, and tug it open.

You turn and look at the contents. There are several knives, any of which would be sharp enough to cut your ropes. But how the hell do you reach in and pick one up?