For the record, in my imagination, the narrator of this story is a woman. But I tried to leave it at least a little bit vague, in case you'd rather it be a man telling the tale.
She asked for it
She asked me to dominate her. It’s not what I usually do.
Not what we usually do. We talk, we
tease, and we make suggestions. Sometimes, we play. But when we do, she’s
always on top. She’s always in control, always. I’m submissive, and that’s how
I like it. That’s how I love it.
But she’s a switch. And sometimes, she just wants to be tied
up and used. It’s not my thing, but she’s my friend, she trusts me, and I can
tell it’s something she needs. Besides, she stroked my ego a bit when she asked
me. She told me that she always thought I had the most clever ideas, and that
my fantasies always turned her on so much. Would I be willing, maybe just once,
to do something to her? To make her
the object of—well, just an object, really. Would I do that?
It took some cajoling. She had to make a lot of promises to
get me to do it. I resisted, held out until she made all kinds of promises, so
many that I’m actually afraid she might keep them. But I bent to her will
eventually, as I do in all things.
So I put a mask over her beautiful face. I let the leather
rest against her skin, then pulled the laces tight behind her head so that it
pressed against her flesh like a second face. I buckled on a blind fold and
zipped her mouth shut so she couldn’t do any more than mumble when I got things
set up. She has a button she can press if I go too far. But she won’t press it.
Probably.
I put her arms behind her back, tied a ribbon around her
wrists and her elbows. I let her muscles relax a bit, get used to being in such
an odd position, before I started wrapping them in leather. I laced the arm
binders slowly, tightening a bit at a time, making sure she was okay with the
pain of her stretching muscles, that she was still enjoying herself. I made
sure that the bondage was turning her on, and couldn’t help but smile at how
vigorously she nodded.
I stepped back and looked at her, her breasts pushing out in
front of her, as on display as they get with her arms pulled back so tightly
she looked like an amputee, and I found it oddly hot. Granted, I wanted to be
in her place, rather than just looking at her, but still. I ran my fingernails
around her nipples, gently and carefully, and heard her sharp inhale as she
waited for me to pinch them, or slap them, or do any of the things she’s done
to mine.
But I’m just getting started.
I slip the corset around her and start pulling it tight. It’s
a funny thing about corsets. You have to put them on carefully, in stages. The
body needs time to get used to the pressure before you cinch it further and
further. The longer you take to do it, the tighter you can get. I’m not looking
to get things too tight, but I definitely want it to be impossible for her to
bend anywhere but at the waist. She’s gasping, breathing shallow, thinking that
I’m done, when I snap the posture collar into place. Her head is tilted back a
little, mouth pointed, currently, towards the ceiling. She makes a happy noise,
and then I set about pulling the corset just a little bit tighter. She’s not
bending anything unless I want her to.
I guide her to the floor, laying her on her stomach. I don’t
want to crush those beautiful breasts, but better to crush them than her arms.
Better to make her uncomfortable than to risk injuring her. Besides, discomfort
is part of the point.
I have to resist the urge to lick her boots when I slip them
on. They’re one of my favorite pairs, with a nice high and chunky heel, the
leather shaped to her skin like it was painted there. I take my time lacing
them, letting my fingers run along them, wishing they were tongues, so I could
taste the leather as well as feel it. But this isn’t about me; it’s for her. I
have to keep reminding myself of that. They’re not on because I find them sexy.
They’re on because I know how sturdy they are.
I start the rope harness around her bare legs, running the
rope in between, just at the edge of her pussy, just enough to remind her that
I know it’s there, enough to make her wonder if I intend to stick something
into it. I run the rope around the curve of her wonderful ass, that ass that
has been on my face more times than I can count, but never enough times to make
me tired of it. I rub there a bit, make her wonder if I am going to put
something there. But I don’t. Nothing is getting inserted. At least, not into
her.
I run the rope around her waist, then around the corset. I
go up over her shoulders, around her front. The posture collar is solid enough
that I can even wrap the rope around her throat without worrying about her
getting choked. She’ll feel like something is holding her neck tightly, but she’ll
breathe just fine.
The rope slides over her skin as I start the knotting process,
and she twitches a little when I pull this part or that part tighter. She has
no idea what I’m doing, and with the zipper on her mask closed, she has no way
to ask. I look at her hand, and she hasn’t pressed the button. So I can keep
going. I can run the rope down her legs, around the leather of her boots,
around the ankles, over her feet and behind the heels. I can tie loops around
those heels and run the rope from that loop up through a loop near her wrists.
It doesn’t pull tight yet, but it will.
I check my work, making sure that everything is tied right
and that her weight will be well distributed. I don’t want her in pain. I just
want her immobile.
And I want her in the air. So I run that last bit of rope,
the rope that went through the loop at her wrists, up through the climbing gear
above her. I pull bit by bit, moving her only an inch or so at a time, but with
the help of the pulleys and the belay equipment that stops her from going back
down, I get her up a few feet off the ground. I step in front of her, and her
mouth is right about to the level of my crotch. Perfect.
I kneel in front of her and unzip her mask. “Everything
okay?” I ask.
“This is amazing,” she says. “I knew you’d be amazing.”
I laugh. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” I say. “Are you okay
with a bit of a gag?”
She chuckles. “Whatever you want,” she says. “I want to see
where your mind goes.”
I wrap the leather around her head and put the little ball
into her mouth. She bites down and makes a curious sound. “Remember that strap
on gag I bought you?” I ask. “You have one end of it in your mouth. The other
end- well, that’s going into me.”
I give her a little nudge, and she swings freely a bit. “I’m
going to fuck your face,” I say. “Just like you’ve done to me so many times.
But nothing is going down your throat.
“You’re just going to hang there,” I tell her. “Like a toy.
And I’m going to use you until I cum so many times that the idea of it bores
me. Then I’ll let you down. ” I lean in real close so I can whisper the last
bit in her ear.
“But I won’t let you cum.”
She moans in frustration. Somehow, that makes me smile. I
know I’m going to pay for this later. But for now, it’s my time.
And I have all the time in the world.
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