I’m hoping that @Dvi38 comes back. I only just discovered his work and I was blown away.
The piece that inspired this story in particular took my breath away like a tight fist on my pony tail holding me still as something is rammed into my mouth and down my throat. And I know that’s vulgar but it’s tax season and I don’t give a shit. Sorry. Not Sorry.
Look Y’all, I have a lot of fantasies regarding my kinks. I love romantic and nurturing dominance. I love thrilling peril scenarios. I love creative predicaments where I can imagine struggling between competing torments. And you all know I love the nuts and bolts of rigging, dissecting how the bonds interact with the damsel and turn her anatomy against itself while also framing and accentuating her strength, and femininity. Yes, by the way, properly places rigging on a vigorously struggling damsel can show off all of her strength splendidly while also allowing her the joy of still being overcome by even greater forces. Everyone wins. Everyone is presented in their best light.
But then there’s this OTHER kink of mine. It’s where things are darker. The camera is cocked just a bit to one side. The image is slightly out of focus allowing the lines of morality as well as the border between what’s real and what could be to blur. This is where my abduction fantasies live. The jokes are turned off. A soak in a bubble bath is replaced with my head held down into a pool of ice water, stealing my breath and eliciting uncontrolled panic. You see, I need this kind of intensity to realize the powerlessness that I yearn for. Because I’ve gone and made myself to formidable to be consistently wooed by a gentle dominant nature.
Sometimes I need to be mind fucked in cruel bondage with taunts and torments with no sign of relief and, in fact, strong suggestions that as bad as things are, it’s going to keep getting worse and worse until I’m eventually deconstructed on every level.
This is my deconstruction. Hope you think it’s fucking hot. But fair warning, this is where I show my dark desires.
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(The real me, in my real world.)
I am browsing. I’m leaning back into the old sofa in my playroom/basement-dungeon. I flip along through the bondage images on my screen. I swipe my phone with one hand and toggle my clit with the other, deftly maintaining a state of readiness and arousal for whenever I happen upon one that hits just right. Sleeping tied spread-eagle last night was wonderful, but I didn’t get to use my hands. And I have skillful hands. Everyone knows this. I grin with satisfaction and a bit of smugness at how easily I keep myself primed and how confident I am that I’ll be able to shift up into climax overdrive just exactly when I need to.
“Here’s something good…” My stroking slows down and turns more into a “kneading” action. I’m putting more focused pressure on my lips and around the rim between my thumb and the side of my index finger.
“Yeah, that’s definitely…” It’s one of @Rob66 ’s images. More correctly, it’s one of Dave Annis’ illustrated scenes. They’re always great. They have a rotating cast of characters. Each one is a cartoonish cliché of a damsel or a Mistress or a kidnapper. The damsels are bound flawlessly. Tight. Helpless in ways even I couldn’t escape.
“….that’s definitely going to work….” My head rolls back and my feet slide apart wider. My fingers flirt with the inside of my pussy. I can smell and feel my wet lust which turns me on all the more. I focus on the blonde damsel and translate the digital drawling into flesh and feels. The temperature between her thighs, pressed together and bound with cinched miles of rope. The soft pressure of smooth skin against skin inside with the sharp indenting, violating force of the ropes pinching through her muscles on the outside.
“get it Tina…” My hips rock and my head shakes but my eyes are steady and locked on the damsel. Her arms are pulled back behind and held up by the triceps and tethered somewhere above. But her wrists are stretched down maintaining her arms flat against her back other than the gap where her round ass forces her arms out at a slight angle. Her body weight is mostly on her knees which doesn’t both a slut like her or I. The weight of her balance, as she fights to remain at equilibrium, is focused down onto the crotch rope that invades her cunt and her ass. The slight expansion and contraction of her stomach as she breathes is enough to increase the friction of the soaking crotch rope. It shouldn’t be pleasant, but her body and mind are wired so as to translate pain into bliss.
“Yeah. That’s it right there. Go on…” I’m going hard now. I’m gasping. I’m not putting on any fronts or hiding in a shadow. This is where I can experience myself.
“Fuckkkk….” Everything is right. Everything. The scene. The feels. I am in the scene. I’m there. I’m the fucking damsel shrieking animal excited ecstasy holding back nothing.
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“Oh my head…” No idea what time it is. I’m waking up on my stomach. I must have crashed hard because I’m a “side sleeper.”
“…the fuck!!” I’m wide awake and I can’t move. I realize that when I try to roll to my side and go nowhere. I’m tied up. And that isn’t alarming in itself. I tie myself up for bed a few times a week so I can experience the millisecond thrill of helplessness before remembering that it’s just self-bondage. But I know my own bondage and this isn’t mine. I need to figure this out.
“Hey Tina. It finally happened. You got caught.”
“Holy shit!” There’s a guy laying right next to me. I’m such a bondage slut I didn’t even notice the big 200 pound man almost right against me. The shock triggers an involuntary effort to lurch away but even that attempt gets me nowhere. I’m too sprawled out and this bed is sagging in the middle where I’m positioned. Hang the fuck on. This isn’t MY bed!
“I’m surprised that you weren’t expecting this.” My skin crawls as he strokes my should and my arm with the back of his hand. The hair on his knuckles tickles and gives me goosebumps.
“The way you present yourself. The way you beg for this. Did you not think it would catch up to you?”
“I gotta get out! I have to…” I know ropes and I know how to beat them. But these are tight. I can feel the bands of rope digging into my arms at the elbow and just under my shoulders. They pinch my skin sharply enough to inform me that they’re cinched, turning the oval loops into consecutive rings securing both arms to my ribs with no slack. I can wiggle my shoulders a little but I can’t pull my arms from my sides in the least.
The ropes binding my wrists are even tighter. My skin burns as I attempt to flex and twist. I abandon those efforts and instead stretch my fingers out looking for knots or loose strands. But I find neither.
“The funny thing is you warned us all how careful we’d need to be to catch you. All of your stories about tactics and awareness. You clearly weren’t just repeating lines from fiction. You knew what you were talking about. I had to be careful and patient.”
“No…” He patted and stoked the small of my back. That drew my attention to the tightness I felt in that region. I was being held in a hard arch. I was pulled back by a tether from my hair to my ankles. The tether was taught like guitar string. I couldn’t arch anymore than he’d tied me. I grunted from effort trying to lift up and take stress off of my spine. But I didn’t have any leverage. It was impossible to find any meaningful relief.
“I made a lot of trial runs at you, Tina. I had side rooms stages and ready to tackle you into when I would pass you in an empty hallway. Or I had a parked van with the door open along the path you take home. Over and over, you either sensed something was off or you simply followed your disciplined ways and changed directions, or waited until someone else came by or put your hand on your pistol and became alert. You were so fun to hunt Tina. You were a challenge.”
“What??” His hand began curling up my skirt, bunching up hands full, hiking it up slowly and methodically. That’s when I first realized he’d left me mostly dressed. I was still in my black sleeveless top and zebra print mini. The bottom hem of soft material eased onto the silk of my black panties and continued it’s crawl toward my captor’s hand. He wound my skirt up like he was reeling a fish into shore.
“I have to admit something Tina. I REALLY didn’t know what all the fuss was about. But that was before I got my hands on you. And now I get it. You’re something else. Something special. I can see it in the tension in your muscles. I can see it in the anguish on your face.”
“AAHhhhhhhooooo….” The moan seeped out of me like shame as his fingers traced over my pussy with a terribly satisfying pressure. I told myself to fight or flinch or just do anything but my body was paralyzed. I like to think that I was paralyzed from the way my legs were forced flat and splayed wide apart by the thick, tight rope forcing my ankles to remain crossed like an “X.”
Between the wide base of out-turned thighs and my center of gravity sinking me into the form fitting soft bed and the immobilizing back arch I was tied into, the only movement available to me was wiggling my fingers and flexing my feet. Shifting my weight enough to escape his intimate touching was delightfully impossible for me.
“I like the way you sound. I like the start of fear forming right there in the corners of your eyes. It’s so much more fun with a girl like you who gives me challenges. You cost me more, so I feel inclined to take more from you.”
“Grrrassssshhhlllee…” Of course I was gagged. My mouth wasn’t stuffed. I could painfully grind out a muted insult but I instantly regretted it when it sounds pitiful and shrill. My began to water. His fingers were exploring me now under my panties. He gave me enough time to attempt to evade him and to realize I could not. I let that despair sink in. He let defeat fill up my frontal lobe. And then he claimed his prize. I could hear him pushing my wet folds around. He penetrated me indiscriminately like slapping paint on a wall with a brush. There was so much pressure as he came up from behind me in the space between my wide open legs. I wanted so badly to close them on his hand but the ankle tie was like a steel bracket around my joints preventing any movement. His thrusts took on a steady and strong rhythm that began shifting me back and forth. My sweat was dripping from the effort of resisting the ropes and from my body’s hot reaction to his hand fucking me.
“Tina, all of your stories and comments were great but they also all left out some of the truth about you. You hinted around some. But you never came right out and said the full truth.”
“Hhhuuu….haaauuu…..uuhhhhgggg….ooooooooohhhhh….mmmmmmmmm….” My toes curled. My eyes fluttered light the wings of a nightengale. Your body prepares itself for a climax differently when it’s immobilized in bondage. You brace for it like it’s a violation, only, it’s the greatest, sweetest, sinful violation you can imagine.
“The full truth is that you not only want, you need someone who isn’t safe and isn’t your police friend and his wife or one of your virtual Doms to treat you like an object and show you the blurred lines between pleasure and pain and freedom and bondage and force you to be the thing you have always known you were but didn’t have the courage to become.”
“EIiiiiiiiii….eeeewwwww….ooo…oo..ooo….” I’m done. I’m melting butter held together by the ropes and nothing else. My molecules are humming as they vibrate from the release of orgasmic energies.
“You want hard treatment. You want tests that beat you, Tina. You want something that you can’t handle.” He starts again on my pussy. I’m nowhere near ready for more stimulation. My scream is piercing.
“YYEeeeaaaaaaiiihhhhhhhh….eeeeeeeiii….hhiiiiiiiiiiieeeeee……”
“Here’s the best part, Tina. I’m real. And you don’t know me. There is nothing that links us. Nobody knows where you are. I’m prepared to keep you for a very long time. It might as well be forever. Because I plan to use you up completely. Now don’t just lay there. I want you to grind on my fingers or I’m going to make it so much worse for you, slut.”