erotica #007: iris uses shibari + a sex dungeon to explore submission

I rushed down the wet, after-work, Brooklyn sidewalk, my dense, leather cross-body bag slung around my torso. Rain pelted the collar of my tan trench coat, which I’d pulled up over my already-drenched, icy, platinum locks. As a storm hung in a heavy smear over the New York skyline, I pulled open the oversized doors to the underground dungeon to which I’d been summoned at 7pm sharp. I had a very important appointment tonight. At least, according to my Dom.

As a Columbia-educated, self-proclaimed control freak, I’m always a little early to everything, except for today. It wasn’t supposed to rain and I’d gotten caught behind a slow-moving crowd trying to avoid getting their feet wet.

I met Sir on a popular fetish website. My desire: “to be owned and collared.” Truly, my deeper desire was to learn to lose control a little but I’d never quite felt safe enough. In the past, I loved to be Daddy’s Little Slut, then I’d immediately go back to my rigid, demanding and oh-so-predictable schedule as a junior partner at a prominent law firm in Manhattan. I like to attribute my consistent 80-hour work weeks to being a tremendously good attorney, but the reality is it’s my primary outlet for control in a very unstable world. I’d become quite the insomniac lately, and the fire that once blazed from within was now depleted, exhausted, hungry.

Sir’s desire: “to own a submissive who would give him something to push against energetically”… someone who would challenge his patience but ultimately be able to receive as much as he needed to give, because what he had to give was a lot. He needed intelligence and wit that could indulge his level of dark perversion.

Sir’s profile only showed him in the shadows, revealing portions of his face: his chiseled jaw, dark facial hair framing his mouth, a large, Roman, angular nose, prominent bone structure. His voice (from our phone conversations) was deep, intentional, a natural leader. There was something authoritarian in his tone… dominant… naturally. He was mysterious. He had given just enough for me to know I wanted it. I wanted his flavor, whatever that flavor was.

Sir was a seasoned Dom with a requirement for high protocol. I’d dabbled in both my Domme and submissive. I very much enjoyed the optionality of being a Switch but hadn’t quite found the right partner. I’d felt drawn to Sir for reasons I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

He had given me explicit instructions to meet. His domain, his rules, his desire. This was not a collaboration and that’s precisely what made it so desirable. He wanted me a certain way and I’d consented to surrendering control, given that the following boundaries would be honored:

• no blood play of any kind.

• if penetration were to happen at any time, it would be protected.

• safeword: “LOLLIPOP”.

• complete confidentiality.

• I’d answer to any titles or names pertaining to “slut,” “kitten,” “princess,” “girl,” “whore,” “Iris,” and “Daddy’s Little whore,” with the option to add more as trust built or it pleased Sir.

• Above all else, loving come downs after each scene — I needed to be held, petted, cuddled, tended to and given a significant amount of aftercare after each scene.
 

Sir’s requirements were the following:

• my hair must be down and styled nicely.

• hygiene must be impeccable: freshly flossed and brushed teeth, freshly showered, paying special attention to the bum and feet.

• makeup needs to be fresh with dark, kohl-lined eyes and naked lips.

• I must wear a fresh pair of fishnet stockings or a fishnet body stocking over his preferred garment.

• I must wear one thing that represents my submission to Sir.

• he’s to be addressed as “Sir”, always.

• This relationship is one of kink and fetish discovery but is not limited to kink and fetish discovery, should the desire arise. Everything practiced within the container of our relationship is consensual and may be changed at any point.

Styled over it: a pair of long, sleek, black trousers and an oversized blazer buttoned to below my bust, granting a glimpse of my bodysuit. A look that would easily hold up on its own but felt especially appropriate for an afterwork kink scene.

As I stepped inside the dungeon, I felt an immediate shift in the air and slowed my pace, heart racing at the idea of meeting Sir for the first time. I rounded the corner and stepped inside the deep-purple-hued private room and spotted him. He was tall, strong but not muscular. Handsome with a squeeze of geeky. He approached.

“Iris,” he said, his casual confidence a surprise. I was expecting something more…

“You were expecting me to be more formal?” he asked, extending his hand. 

“Yes! Exactly.” I exhaled a sigh of relief as his large hand grasped mine.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. Don’t worry. I’m not one of those freaks who can’t read a room and lack basic social etiquette. Just because I’m into kink and fetish doesn’t mean I’m a weirdo.”

“Thank God.” I giggled a bit as my body relaxed. “I guess I’ll get changed.”

“Please. There is a private dressing room if you walk down the hallway toward the back. Take your time. I’m going to get things set up.”

Sir put on some moody music and I re-emerged to find him looping a soft, red, flexible, cotton rope through his thumb and forefinger and around his tricep in a tight stack of ready rope.  I approached in my bodysuit and a pair of black fishnet stockings, just as he had requested.

“Oh my God,” he whispered as he ran his eyes up and down my body.

“Does Sir approve?” I inquired with sex in my eyes.

“I do. Did you bring an offering for me, Iris?”

I opened my hand to reveal an array of tiny white butterflies.

“What exactly are these? And please explain the meaning.”

I began to clip each tiny, sheer, delicate butterfly into my hair. “These little clips are an offering of my willingness to allow you to expand me as a woman, but to always see the innocence in my heart. It’s sometimes challenging for me to give up control, but I trust that I can try with you and these are a little reminder to go slow with me as I learn to let go.”

Sir paused, taking in my offering.

“Thank you, Iris. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Sub bring anything like this before. I like your ingenuity. Shall we get started?”

“Yes…”

“Yes, Sir,” he corrected.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Turn around.”

His tone immediately changed as I turned away. I could feel him as he stepped back to take me in. He began to drape the soft, red rope over my shoulders. He slowly ran the worn pads of his fingers between the rope and my skin.

“Are you okay with being suspended tonight, Iris?”

“I’ve never done it, but if it pleases you, I’d like to try.”

“Good. Put your hands down by your side. I’m going to get started. If there is anything that feels painful for you, please let me know. It should feel secure, like a tight hug.”

I did as I was told, as he began draping the rope, gently tugging my body with each knot, slowly turning me to face him. He focused on his craft, designing, tying, looping, securing and then double-checking his work with each tie. I enjoyed the repetition, the gentle tugs, my arms being bound to my sides. He began creating an intricate braid over each breast connecting to a single column of knots down the center of my body; a tie known as The Dragonfly.

I felt myself fall into a peaceful meditation of sorts as we sank into a trust exercise of surrender and control. My body began to relax even more deeply. As he moved to tying my bottom half, I found myself wanting to lean into him.

“Try to stay upright, Princess.”

I corrected myself and refocused.

No one had made me feel so open before. It was dominance but not aggression… something I didn’t even know I’d been craving my whole adult life. I never knew a man could do this… knew how to do this. I wanted more.

Sir moved to his knees and began to work on tying the rope into a precise fishnet pattern down one of my legs.

“Part your gorgeous legs, Princess,” he commanded, as my pelvis met his face, just inches apart. I felt my body turn on at the mere mention of the title, Princess. My legs parted, as commanded, and in an almost hypnotic state he inhaled deeply while the corners of his mouth peaked ever-so-slightly. I peered down at Sir, with his face right at my crotch and smirked. He gazed up with authority.

“Oh you like this, do you?”

“I absolutely do.”

“Oh you’re in trouble tonight…”

I nodded with a side-smile as Sir finished braiding each leg over my fishnets and when he was done, he checked his work. He walked a slow lap around me, studying his ties, and my body, before coming around to face me again. His long fingers reached inside the knot that sat just at the crux between my breasts, at the tip of my solar plexus. He lifted his head to mine and looked me straight in the eyes while pulling my body into his with the knot. I gazed into him. 

This was deeper than a play scene.

“You smell delicious.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, our faces so close I could smell his skin.

The side of his neck throbbed with a steady pulse. I gazed down at his mouth and then back up into his eyes. He took me in, just millimeters from my swollen, bare lips, then pulled away and out of his trance.

“Ready to be suspended?”

I nodded. 

Sir turned the music up a couple of clicks and as “Give Me All Your Love” by Alabama Shakes flooded the room, Sir began clipping me into the suspension ropes, hoisting my bound body up and into the air; head jolting slightly with each pull from his long, strong arms. My body rose with each thrusting drag from the pulley, his arm muscles flexing with each pull. I hung vertically at Sir’s eye-level, arms bound to my sides, as he took my face into his right hand and kissed my mouth firmly. Helpless…

As I dangled, bound, in a suspension, sex hung in the air along-side us. Sir spun me ever so slowly so that my feet faced him, took my right leg into his hands and extended it, resting my ankle in the crook of his thumb and forefinger. He took my slender foot into his hand and cupped it firmly before running his nose up the length of my shin, then moving back down to the ankle and along the arch of my foot.

I’d never been worshiped like this before; studied, cared for, memorized. I noticed Sir’s energy had deepened into something much more primal.

He’s a foot man.

As I reveled in feeling his kisses travel down my ankles and over the top of my right foot, I could see Sir fall into a meditative state, engulfed in the scenery in front of him. He stepped back and inhaled.

“Princess, you are an orgasm in suspension.”

“It makes me happy that it makes you happy, Sir.” The words melted out of me before I had a moment to think. I’d never said those words. I’d never had the opportunity. I’d never felt this surrendered, or, ironically, this safe. I wanted him to inhale me, seduce me, consume me. I wanted to feel the breadth of his perversion. 

My pussy responded and if my whole body weren’t bound, I would have spun around to touch him with my own hands, to take him with my own mouth.

I could see Sir’s cock began to stir. He loosened his belt and unfastened the top button of his jeans as he slid the flat of his wet tongue down the curvature of my toes and took my big toe into his mouth. I moaned with pleasure.

“You’re being very loud over there, Princess. Do I need to put a ball-gag in your mouth?”

I winced at the thought of a ball-gag in my smart little mouth, but something about the idea was a turn-on. I neither consented, nor dissented. He continued to suck on my toes, trading between right and left foot, slipping each toe through the diamond opening of the fishnets. Another moan erupted from the deepest parts of me.

“That’s it.” Sir paused his foot worship and stepped away to grab something out of his bag, then returned with a bright red ball-gag.

He took my face into his hands. “This is for loud little girls who can’t stay quiet while Sir pleases himself.”

He took my chin between his thumb and forefinger and brought my mouth to his, kissing my lips with one delicious movement. I leaned in as much as the binding would let me. He tasted so good. My belly pulsed with desire. I wanted so much more.

“Ah, ah, ah, little Princess,” Sir reprimanded me as he took the red ball-gag and placed it gently in my mouth, fastening it behind my head. “This will hush you, while Daddy plays a bit more, so we don’t disturb anyone else. OK?”

I nodded and muffled, “Yes.” My pussy responded once again. Never did I think being bound, suspended and this out of control would turn me on so much, but I reveled in the surprised delight and fell into an even deeper surrender to him.

“Christiansands” by Tricky filled the room as Sir walked around to my feet once again and, taking each foot in his hands, he ripped the stockings with a dramatic yank and I heard the soft popping of nylon.

Slowly, Sir fully unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the denim apart to reveal his big, beautiful, fully aroused cock. He reached for it with one hand and, taking my toes into his mouth again, began stroking himself. I moaned as I caught a glimpse of his arousal. This felt like being behind the scenes, a fly on the wall, observing a man in his pure bliss. Not here to please or kowtow to my bossy little mouth, but to be the perverted man with a foot fetish using me for the slut I really was deep down inside.  

The taboo-ness of my thoughts turned me on even more. Women aren’t supposed to think like this… to want to be used as little sluts or see men perv out on them, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to be here with him fully without all of the conditions I’d been taught to believe about men, about women, about how sexuality should be to stop me from experiencing my own utter enjoyment of this moment. It didn’t make sense, it didn’t have to. I just wanted to be in pure desire without stopping myself.

I let out a muffled moan once again as I looked down at Sir. He gazed into my eyes, and without breaking eye contact, ripped my stockings up the backs of my calves. Continuing to stroke his cock, he began to lower the pulley. I moaned again, this time to ask a question. Without skipping a beat, Sir intuited.

He let go of his raging hard cock and lowered me to the ground. “Because I’ve had enough here and it’s time for the princess to take Sir’s cock in her pretty little mouth,” he said as he unclipped me and assisted my body into a kneeling position. He removed the ball-gag, gazed into my eyes and kissed me.

A meditative state of pleasure came over me. I was in subspace. He knew he could do anything he wanted at this point. This was where he had to pay even closer attention to what was happening between us, so as not to damage me or cause distrust but to indulge my fantasy while not losing himself in the scene. He was the dominant. He had to be in control at all times while serving my desire.

He faced me and took his erect cock in his hands. Peering into my big brown eyes, he took my chin in his right hand and offered his cock. I paused, mouth salivating. I gazed up at him with an open mouth and eager tongue as Sir offered his cock to my warm, wet mouth, and I leaned in to graciously wrap my lips around him.

It had been months since I’d had a cock in my mouth, and never one this beautiful. I took him deeper, stroking the shaft with the thick of my wet tongue. With still no use of my arms, Sir kept a protective watch, thrusting into my mouth as the music took over, sending both of us further into the rich, thick trance of desire we shared.

He bent over while his cock pulsed in and out of my hot mouth and began to untie my arms, letting him feel all of me take him without limitations, without restraint, without conditions. The cotton ropes dropped to the floor as I urgently took him with both hands; one hand on his now dripping, throbbing penis and the other on his ass, bringing him even more deeply into my mouth. I wanted to be his cum slut, to be the one to bring him over the edge with gusto and take him so far out of control that he lost the ability to contain himself.

This was my full fantasy: to be bound, suspended, gagged, worshiped and indulged like a slutty little cum slut. And he was giving me this moment. A part of me was, at least. My naughty thoughts raced through my head, heart racing alongside.

I paused. “I want to be your cum slut, Sir.”

“Hold out your tongue, princess,” he said as he released an unbridled crescendo, his sweet nectar spilling out over my mouth and face. I licked him up, swallowing all of him with vigor and delight before he leaned down and kissed me, tasting himself. Out of breath, hearts thumping, I smiled once more, peering into his eyes.

“It’s time to get you cleaned up, Princess.” He reached for a nearby washcloth and began tending to me.

As the scene came to a close, Sir brought me to melt into him. He embraced me and wrapped me in his girthy, masculine chest. Still coming back into my body, I felt safe in his arms. He stroked my hair as we unraveled our pleasure-filled evening together, and he allowed me the time I needed. And we both knew it: This was not a one-time play thing, this was the beginning of a series of stories that would be told through us.  

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