My first experience with bondage was far from submissive. I was, in fact, quite bossy about the whole affair.
“Strap me down,” I told my girlfriend.
“You sure?” she asked.
After all, it was a king-sized bed, and what height I do have is in my torso. The wrist and ankle cuffs might well have been in the four corners of the country.
I nodded, took off my clothes, and lay gingerly down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as she secured all 4 limbs. The stretch was incredible. The tension meant it was exhausting just wearing the cuffs but not in a bad way – more like that feeling a dog has after running around the yard all day.
My girlfriend giggled at me. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” She was quite mousy and shy, a submissive herself. I’d had a great time informally dominating her, overwhelming her with suggestion and emotion until I had free reign over her incredible body. I was certain my momentary defenselessness amused her to no end, the reversal of fortunes.
“I’d be enjoying myself a hell of a lot more if you sat on my face.” Shameless, I know, but I loved to make her blush.
And she did blush. But she did as I said.
My head swam from the taste of her, the weight of her. The energy drained my limbs, making it feel completely unreal, like a wonderful dream.
Her husband watched us from the doorframe. Later, after it was all over and my straps let up, he poured me a cup of coffee and mused, “You’re awfully flexible, aren’t you?” smirking a bit.
“I suppose so,” I said.