He’s totally spent. I know because I’ve drained him of every last drop. I’ve come too, more than once, but there is one more thing…
“Tie me up,” I say. “Tie me up and leave me.”
“Leave you?” He pauses, confused. “Not fuck you more, just leave you?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Tie me up, go shower, smoke, read a bit, whatever you like. I’ll be fine.”
I know he doesn’t understand. Even having his hands tied makes him uncomfortable and not in a sexy submissive way. He can’t go there, it has no sexual connection for him at all.
“If that’s what you want,” he says finally.
Nick starts by looping the rope around my hands. That’s the minimum amount of bondage I need, the trigger that quiets my busy buzzing brain, the signal that nothing is in my control anymore. He winds the rope down my arms, binding them to my chest. The rope trails between my legs, tightens at the crotch, crosses over my thighs and ankles. With a sly grin, he loops it once around each big toe and fastens them together. He kisses each toe, then silently leaves the room.
I keep my eyes shut. I’m not blindfolded, but I prefer the visual silence. The first moments are like the beginning of meditation. Settling in is hard. I squirm and wiggle. One satisfied itch gives way to another demanding prickle. The noise in my head is loud, a thousand undone things call out for attention. My left arm tingles. I shift, it stops. Finally, the quiet creeps in around the edges. I’m tied up, nothing matters, no where, no time but right here.
I drift and sink. The air weighs a million pounds. I’m warm, content, safe. I resist the urge to peek at the clock, preferring to let time take care of itself for awhile. Sub space here is light, a pleasant humming, detached floating. Bliss.
The door creaks. A warm hand slides over the ropes on my thigh, tightening a knot here, loosening another there. I still don’t open my eyes. I want to stay lost and invisible. I hear a rattling, then a hard pinch on each of my nipples, then my labia. A bristly kiss lands on my cheek, the door creaks shut.
This is an entirely different kind of meditation, but one I enjoy just as much. Pain is like being in a little boat on a big ocean. It swells, peaks, recedes. The beginning is always the worst. The immediate shock feels like being submerged in an ice cold bucket of water. The pain sinks its little teeth in, invades, seeping through my breasts into my chest. The ends of the clamps on my pussy dig into my thighs. Red tendrils creep along my body, lighting fires. I fight.
I try to get a handle on it, to ride it along instead of resisting. Unlike the sensation of only being tied up, the fresh pain forces me to fully inhabit my body. There’s a deeper kind of sub space waiting for me here, if only I can reach it. The moment the pain separates and lifts from my body is the moment I crave.
There’s no one to struggle against here except myself. I know I could cry out at any moment and Nick would come in, swiftly untie me, shower me with kisses, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to fight it, I want to get lost in it. I want to conquer it by surrendering to it. I stop moving, forcing myself to lie still, to take it. Every sensation washes over me fully. I slow my breathing. My brain turns from a frenzy to a hum. The pain dulls into pools on my breasts and pussy. The universe contracts, distills down to here, this body at this moment…peaceful…my brain muddles, melts… all circuits are busy now.
A hand gently shakes my shoulder. I open my eyes.
“You feel asleep,” Nick says with quiet amusement. The clamps come off. I wince as my skin momentarily sticks to them, then releases. The rope reveals lovely deep red marks crisscrossing my body. I stretch out, relishing the delicious ache. I glance at the clock. Twenty minutes have passed, a small eternity.