In real life, all kinds of people are in D/s relationships. They are not all young and perfectly formed. D/s relationships do not spring spontaneously into being.
In this story I wanted to consider how such a relationship might come into being between two people who are already friendly with each other and old enough to be cautious about what they are getting in to. I also wanted to highlight that the relationship is more important than the paraphernalia. I’ve had a lot of feedback from readers telling me that they recognize themselves in this story.
So, if you’ve never tried D/s, here’s a place to start and if you’re in the lifestyle, here’s something you might recognize. Either way, let me know what you think.
Other Bonds Than Leather
© Mike Kimera 2001
“Would I have to call you ‘Master’?” Caroline says, doing an Igor impersonation as she twists the word, “because I don’t think I could do that without giggling.”
“Not if you don’t want to.”
“But I thought the whole point of this Dom/Sub thing was to make me do things I don’t want to do.”
“No. The point is to make you do things you deeply desire and don’t dare to do.”
“What kind of things?” She’s still smiling, but with a real question in her eyes.
“That’s what we we’d find out together, Caroline. Isn’t that why you are here?”
“I’m here–against my better judgment if truth be known–because something about you tugs at me. I think it’s your voice. I’m perfectly sane until I hear your voice and then suddenly I find myself wanting…”
“I don’t know.” She laughs again, nervously this time. “For you to like me? To give me your approval?” Her voice lowers. “To invite me into your world?”
“So being here with me isn’t sane?”
“Well, look at me,” she says, holding out her arms. “What do you see? An older, heavier, woman with big thighs and small breasts who ought to know better. I mean, I’m going to be a grandmother soon.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. I take her right hand and hold it in both of mine. I pull her closer and say, “What I see is a woman who intrigues me. An intelligent, articulate woman whose sensuality and strength show in everything she does.” I kiss her hand. “I see a woman who honoured my request not to wear underwear (she actually blushes at this) and whose thighs invite me to explore.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” she says, pretending to be cross and pulling her hand away. “Words like that, spoken like that… How am I supposed to make sensible decisions when you drip words like that into my mind?”
“Listen to your lust Caroline. It’ll tell you what to do.”
Suddenly she looks serious. “Promise you won’t just play with me, Jonathan. Don’t make me into a fool.”
I match her tone, looking straight into her eyes, “I want you to trust yourself. I want you to trust me. Let go. I promise I will catch you.”
I can’t read her expression as she rifles my face for signs of betrayal or insincerity.
She looks away and asks brightly, “So do you have a dungeon, oh, Masterly One?”
“Yes,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow, whether in disbelief or disapproval I can’t tell.
“Follow me, please,” I say. I don’t look back–but I’m pleased when I hear her on the stairs behind me.
“Holy Penguins, Batman! It’s the Batcave.” Caroline slaps one fist into her palm in a very believable impersonation of Robin.
I stay by the stairs, switching on the spotlights one by one.
She moves around the room slowly, as if she’s memorizing an exhibition at the museum.
She starts at the leather Cross of St. Andrew with its restraints at the four extremes of the X. Then she circles the stocks, adjusted to just the height for her head and hands. Next the leather hurdle, which she bends over playfully, looking back at me for comment. I switch on the next light.
“Good God.” She stares at the whips and collars and paddles hanging on the wall. “‘Fucktoys R Us’.” Her eyes fall on the bench displaying dildos, buttplugs, restraints and gags. She’s like a sleepwalker now: her movements slow and her eyes going everywhere at once. She picks up an inflatable penis gag, and then drops it as if it were hot after she sees what happens when she squeezes the bladder. Her fingers move gently over the black silicon of the largest buttplug. When she turns to me, her nipples are erect under her summer dress, but her eyes are in shock.
“You… use all these?”
“Not usually all at the same time,” I say.
“Women let you tie them up and put these things on them–in them–and…” She’s speaking slowly. The reality of “my world,” the world she wanted to be invited into, is hitting her for the first time.
“Would you like to leave, Caroline? Shall I take you back upstairs? We can have a glass of wine before you go home?”
She shakes her head.
I switch on one more light and then switch off the rest.
In the centre of the circle of warm bright light is a gyniechair, complete with stirrups. It has straps at the wrists and neck.
Caroline stares. She has her back to me and is moving away from the chair as if she’s not aware she’s doing it.
I turn her gently by the shoulders until she’s facing me.
“Close your eyes please, Caroline.” My voice is calm, reasonable, compelling.
A small hesitation, a tremor of doubt, and then her eyes close.
I have to bend to kiss her. I hold her face in my hands, my thumbs gently tracing her cheekbones. My lips press hers–but it is her tongue that enters my mouth. She’s eager now. Her arms wrap around me; her whole body is trying to adhere to mine. My left hand is stroking her hair. Short, wiry, strong, sexy; her hair is a metaphor for the woman herself. The tension in her body passes slowly from anxiety to desire. I break the kiss but do not release her head from my hands.
“I want you to sit in the chair with your legs in the stirrups.” I let go and her head turns toward the chair.
“I want to explore the space between your thighs,” I say, leading her towards the circle of light.
She stops at the chair. We are in the struggle now, she and I; the dance has begun. I can feel her unspoken words pushing at me.
“I won’t tie you or gag you or blindfold you today, but I want you to do what I ask. If you decide not to, we will go back upstairs.”
I might lose her here.
A fire of anger that stirs my cock flashes through her eyes, but she suppresses it.
“If you hurt me, I’ll leave,” she says.
Touché. This is going to be interesting.
Caroline looks small in the chair. Without being told, she lifts her dress so that her sex is fully exposed. She has trimmed her pubic hair, but a defiant banner of grey-streaked curls covers her mons.
I stand between her brightly-lit legs and look intently at her sex. She squirms a little; uncomfortable at being so exposed.
“You look magnificent,” I say. Then, before she can reply, I say, “Please close your eyes and keep them closed. Keep your hands on the arms of the chair.”
She closes her eyes.
I count to ten. I know it will seem longer to her. She doesn’t speak. I smile: the dance has progressed.
I run my index fingers down the inside of her thighs. The skin is soft, getting softer as I reach the top. I stop just where the thigh joins the hip, both fingers on either side of her cunt but not touching it. Then I let go.
Her eyes are still closed. Good.
I unzip. Slowly. The sound is loud in the silence of the room.
My index fingers repeat their journey but this time lightly touching the outer labia.
I pull a condom from my pocket. I hold it close to Caroline so she’ll hear the packet ripped open and smell the latex. Then I lay it on the palm of her right hand like a promise. Her hand opens and closes on it; she says nothing.
On their third journey along her thighs my index fingers spread the plump outer labia wide. They don’t retreat this time but hold her open; she glistens like an oyster in the spotlight.
“Oh, God. Do it. Fuck me,” Caroline says.
I ignore her and kneel between her thighs.
Her labia are long enough to suck. I take each one into my mouth in turn, sucking hard to hold them there, then letting go.
“Don’t stop,” Caroline says. “Don’t you dare stop”.
Her clit is small but unsheathed now. I move the flesh around it with my fingers but leave it untouched. Then I turn my head and push my tongue as deep into her as I can. She coats my tongue and my cock throbs.
Still inside her, I turn the tip of my tongue upwards and try to scoop out her juices.
“Fuck, yes,” Caroline says.
I remove my tongue. It aches a little but it tastes wonderful.
“Keep your eyes closed but give me the condom please, Caroline.”
If she keeps the condom the dance will end.
She opens her hand for me.
When she feels the rubber slide into her cunt she gasps. Her face telegraphs her concern. Despite her words earlier, she’s still not sure if she really wants to fuck. This is happening too quickly.
A second or two later she realises the condom is stretched over three of my fingers.
Her laugh turns to a moan as the fingers find her G-spot.
When my tongue flicks across her clit she literally bounces in the stirrups. Her come starts when I suck her clit into my mouth and hold it.
I knew she’d be loud. The sound and taste of her make me dizzy.
I withdraw my fingers and remove the condom.
She is still breathing hard when I move to stand behind her chair.
“What a wet cunt you have,” I whisper. “What a sweet tasting slit”
Then, bending forward, I push my juice-coated tongue into her mouth. She sucks. Hard.
When the kiss stops she says, “Thank you,” almost as if she were talking in her sleep.
“Open your eyes, Caroline”
She blinks at the bright light as I remove her legs from the stirrups and help her down from the chair. She leans into me and her hand goes to my erection. “May I?” she says, moving her hand along the shaft.
“Next time, perhaps,” I say and move her hand away.
“Why not?” she says in a tone that gives me a flashback of her as she must have been as a little girl, stamping her foot to get her way.
I push my cock back inside my jeans. “Because I want my first come to be inside you when you’re bound to that cross.” I point at the X-frame across the room.
She steps away from me.
“Is that a power play, Jonathon?” she says.
“No, it’s a fantasy. I want you completely open to me. I want to feel you give your whole body to me. When you are ready.”
“You are a strange man,” she says.
“Yes,” I reply.
Mimicking my earlier action, she lifts my hand and kisses it. “Thank you Jonathon. I enjoyed today. But I need time to think.”
I put my arm around her and lead her back to the real world.
After she leaves I go back to the playroom, strip and sit in the chair. I can still feel her presence. She has promised to come back, tomorrow, when she has had time to think.
I close my eyes and work my cock slowly.
I summon her taste and smell. I imagine her asking to be tied to my cross. I concentrate on the image of her being pummelled into the leather and groaning with pleasure.
Caroline believes there was no bondage today. No restraints were used. She does not yet know that there are other bonds than leather, that all restraint is a matter of will.
As my spend slides over my hand and onto my belly, I think that my new bonds feel good. I shall wear them yet awhile.
© Mike Kimera 2001 All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without written permission from email@example.com
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