He’d always been good with rigging, but this was different. This was Shibari.
The ancient art had less to do with bondage and everything to do with aesthetics. While she might be immobilized, she wouldn’t be tied open for her Master’s pleasure. She appreciated this shift in purpose from her previous experiences, but she also feared it a little. Some of the positions could be uncomfortable for the submissive to maintain.
“Sit on the edge of the platform, Pet. I’ll move you around as needed.”
Lydia didn’t remember there being a platform in the center of the living room before, and there wasn’t one now. He’d referred to the massive white coffee table that didn’t match the rest of the natural decor throughout the apartment. The heavy plastic-coated piece was smooth, the sheen worn down over the years with the agony and ecstasy of any number of submissives.
She sat on the edge of the chilly structure, happy she’d worn boy shorts to keep her lower half covered.
Not that it mattered. Sir didn’t seem to notice anything about her. He studied her with the critical eye of an artist, assessing her under an unreadable, cool blue gaze. For a second, she mourned the friendly, open face he’d allowed at dinner.
But this was the real Sir, and she had asked for this.
“Hold out your right hand.”
She did, expecting to find a rope slung around her wrist. He sat on the table next to her. The fresh pine scent of his soap filled her senses. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t realized he’d showered after dinner. Using a small-gauge rope, he tied a series of intricate knots around her fingers and hand. By the time he’d worked his way to her wrist, delicate tendrils of peace had begun to wind down her arm. She marveled at the beauty of his rope work.
Then he lifted her hand over her head and brought it down behind her back. Her elbow stuck up behind her head, her forearm providing a bit of support for her neck. The satiny slide extended across her back and under her arm. Sir knelt on the floor near her feet and wove a pattern that framed her breasts.
Lydia longed for him to wind the ropes around her breasts, but he avoided touching them completely. Part of her felt a little cheated. She’d never once spent time with a Dom who didn’t try to have sex with her. Even Wilder.
By the time he finished, she struggled to remain still. In addition to tying her right hand behind her back, he wove her left hand into his design so that it lay immobilized and splayed across her abdomen. The bulk of the design covered her upper body, but he’d incorporated decorated lines that ensured her legs were denied freedom of movement.
He stepped back, his critical eye roaming his handiwork. “Beautiful. Pet, you look absolutely enchanting in ropes. How does it feel?”
It may have been an enchanting pose, but it wasn’t sexy. It didn’t expose her intimate tissues or make her feel at all vulnerable. If she were forced to stay tied up like this for any significant period of time, perhaps long enough for a good flogging, it would become torture. “It’s not very comfortable, Sir.”
His absentminded nod could mean he expected her response or that he didn’t care about her comfort. “I’m going to take a few pictures. I think you’ll be able to appreciate it when you can see all the details.” He rummaged in a nearby cabinet and pulled out a thirty-five millimeter camera. She hadn’t seen one of those in years.
She had an objection to anyone taking photographs of her naked body. “Sir, please don’t take pictures of me with no clothes on.”
The lens cap clicked as he removed it. “I won’t take pictures of your face or breasts. The knots are the real stars.”
This experience topped her list of oddest D/s encounters ever. She didn’t say a word as he focused on the hand splayed against her tummy and snapped a few pictures. He did the same thing with several other knotty parts, including the hand
The ancient art had less to do with bondage and everything to do with aesthetics. While she might be immobilized, she wouldn’t be tied open for her Master’s pleasure. She appreciated this shift in purpose from her previous experiences, but she also feared it a little. Some of the positions could be uncomfortable for the submissive to maintain.
“Sit on the edge of the platform, Pet. I’ll move you around as needed.”
Lydia didn’t remember there being a platform in the center of the living room before, and there wasn’t one now. He’d referred to the massive white coffee table that didn’t match the rest of the natural decor throughout the apartment. The heavy plastic-coated piece was smooth, the sheen worn down over the years with the agony and ecstasy of any number of submissives.
She sat on the edge of the chilly structure, happy she’d worn boy shorts to keep her lower half covered.
Not that it mattered. Sir didn’t seem to notice anything about her. He studied her with the critical eye of an artist, assessing her under an unreadable, cool blue gaze. For a second, she mourned the friendly, open face he’d allowed at dinner.
But this was the real Sir, and she had asked for this.
“Hold out your right hand.”
She did, expecting to find a rope slung around her wrist. He sat on the table next to her. The fresh pine scent of his soap filled her senses. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she hadn’t realized he’d showered after dinner. Using a small-gauge rope, he tied a series of intricate knots around her fingers and hand. By the time he’d worked his way to her wrist, delicate tendrils of peace had begun to wind down her arm. She marveled at the beauty of his rope work.
Then he lifted her hand over her head and brought it down behind her back. Her elbow stuck up behind her head, her forearm providing a bit of support for her neck. The satiny slide extended across her back and under her arm. Sir knelt on the floor near her feet and wove a pattern that framed her breasts.
Lydia longed for him to wind the ropes around her breasts, but he avoided touching them completely. Part of her felt a little cheated. She’d never once spent time with a Dom who didn’t try to have sex with her. Even Wilder.
By the time he finished, she struggled to remain still. In addition to tying her right hand behind her back, he wove her left hand into his design so that it lay immobilized and splayed across her abdomen. The bulk of the design covered her upper body, but he’d incorporated decorated lines that ensured her legs were denied freedom of movement.
He stepped back, his critical eye roaming his handiwork. “Beautiful. Pet, you look absolutely enchanting in ropes. How does it feel?”
It may have been an enchanting pose, but it wasn’t sexy. It didn’t expose her intimate tissues or make her feel at all vulnerable. If she were forced to stay tied up like this for any significant period of time, perhaps long enough for a good flogging, it would become torture. “It’s not very comfortable, Sir.”
His absentminded nod could mean he expected her response or that he didn’t care about her comfort. “I’m going to take a few pictures. I think you’ll be able to appreciate it when you can see all the details.” He rummaged in a nearby cabinet and pulled out a thirty-five millimeter camera. She hadn’t seen one of those in years.
She had an objection to anyone taking photographs of her naked body. “Sir, please don’t take pictures of me with no clothes on.”
The lens cap clicked as he removed it. “I won’t take pictures of your face or breasts. The knots are the real stars.”
This experience topped her list of oddest D/s encounters ever. She didn’t say a word as he focused on the hand splayed against her tummy and snapped a few pictures. He did the same thing with several other knotty parts, including the hand
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