The fog rolled up my fishnets, like a nervous lover, cold and clammy, exploring my crevices. I shivered, and opened the blacked-out door, heading into the darkness.
A velvet curtain stood between my world and his, and I hesitated for a moment, like a girl on the first day of college, savoring the moment before her whole life changed. Pulling the curtain aside, I stepped toward my destiny.
“Welcome!” a shockingly perky girl shouted, greeting me with a bright, white smile that contrasted with the dark walls surrounding her. She had on a pink tutu, black bodice and glittery purple wings.
“Hi,” I squeaked in response, my nerves getting the best of me.
“Aw, are you a newbie?” she questioned, handing me a form on a clipboard.
“Is it that obvious?” I asked, taking a pen from the bouquet on the small table in front of the fairy girl.
“Nah, well, yeah, but don’t worry, being a newbie is good around these parts. Fresh meat. The boys will love ya.”
“Sounds intense,” I said, filling out my consent form and liability waiver.
“Only if you want it to be. We’re strict on boundaries here, so don’t feel like you need to do anything you’re not comfortable doing. The only person you need to impress tonight is yourself,” the girl said, sounding like the greeting card my mother got me for high school graduation.
I didn’t come to this dungeon for motivation. As cute as the fairy was, my ideal type normally, she was not what I was looking for tonight. So I said my goodbyes and headed into the party.
“One last thing,” the greeter said after me.
“Yes?” I asked, impatiently.
“What’s your scene name?”
“Tabitha,” I replied, closing the curtain and walking away.
She’d been my favorite cat as a kid, and I always admired the grace with which she twisted and curled, scratching her nails on her pole wrapped in rope. I hadn’t planned on using Tabitha as a scene name—I didn’t even know I needed a scene name until I was asked for one—but now Tabitha felt like home, a place I’d inhabited many times before.
Tonight, I was Tabitha the cat.
Slinking my way through the crowd, I tried not to look desperate as I searched for his familiar face. A sea of kink swirled around me, and I needed a rock on which to anchor myself. Caleb was to be my lifesaver, and distress set in when I could not find him in the dungeon depths.
“Hello there,” a woman in white said, approaching me. “May I…ning?”
“What?” I asked, unable to hear her fully over the moans coming from a cage next to me.
“May I be of service to you this evening?” she asked, louder this time.
Suddenly, something hard and strong hit me from behind, jerking my head to the side, shoving a soft piece of cloth roughly into my throat. “She’s mine tonight, Jade,” a voice growled in my ear, sending fear and excitement shooting through my body.
The lights went out as a canvas bag was placed over my head, muting the world around me. Disappointment set in as I heard the clip of handcuffs on my wrists. I told him rope, I thought to myself. I came here for rope.
Caleb and I had met three weeks before at a found art show downtown, both of us fawning over the curvaceous master of the Western-themed sculptures, exquisitely executed statues featuring characters straight out of my hometown rodeo—clowns, bulls, broncos—all created out of hay, twine and rope.
I’d spotted him from across the room earlier in the night, black buzzed head, crisp button-up shirt, emerald-green tie and slacks, and hadn’t been able to keep my eyes off of him since. He was extremely tall and very masculine, a shocking change from the short, feminine people to whom I usually found myself drawn, yet here I was, drooling over this well-dressed stranger.
“You like rope?” Caleb asked me as we stood next to each other in the line to meet the artist.
“No. I mean, maybe. I guess so. I don’t know, why?” I asked, flustered by his question.
“Well,” Caleb said, chuckling, “you’re fondling that piece like a lover, so I just thought…”
Caleb’s thought was interrupted by a forward movement in the line.
“Hello, welcome,” the artist said, taking his hand and shaking it. I waited patiently for my turn with her, but was too distracted to ask any of the questions I’d had earlier. I simply gave my compliments and left.
Caleb was outside smoking a cigar, an act that usually disgusts me but tonight I found myself aroused by the glowing ash. “Hello,” I stammered, standing awkwardly in the doorway, not quite sure where to go once I left this space.
“Come over here,” Caleb commanded, and I found myself gliding toward him, pulled by something beyond my own will.
“Get on your knees,” he said sternly, and I fell for him. Instinctually, I opened my mouth and looked up, eager to take whatever this stranger wanted to give me.
“Stay,” he commanded, leaning back against the wall and relaxedly smoking his cigar. In the moments that passed, I asked myself what I was doing there, on my knees, next to a busy street, destroying my tights, wind blowing my skirt up for the whole block to see. My girlfriend was waiting for me at the bar down the street, but here I was instead, obeying the will of a stranger.
“Stick out your tongue and curl it a bit,” he said, and I did, enabling him to place a warm ball of ash in me. It sat there for a while, turning to mush, and I wondered if I was supposed to spit or swallow, but then he kissed me, and the taste of salty sulfur in my mouth mixed with sweet tobacco in his, and my whole body lit on fire.
“What’s your name?” I asked, coming up for air.
“You can call me Caleb,” he said, and handed me his card. “Come by my dungeon sometime.”
The handcuffs were cold and tight but not wholly unpleasant. They weren’t what I had come here for, but they were doing the trick, exciting me, inciting fear. Caleb pulled me by them for a ways and shoved me against something cold, hard and possibly glass. I could hear murmurs of people in the background, but I focused on the sound of Caleb breathing. We had negotiated a general idea of what the evening would look like over email, but I didn’t want details. I wanted to be taken by Caleb, made to surrender to him, be bound to him.
And I wanted rope. I wanted lots and lots and lots of rope.
Rope was the only thing I’d been able to think about since meeting Caleb that night at the art show. I grew up around cowboys and vaqueros; rope was a part of my life early on, a thing both of function and show. I could lasso a plastic cow-head attached to a bail of hay by ten, a moving calf by twelve, but these days the closest thing I got to my cowgirl past was the gingham dress and braided pigtails I was wearing tonight, a dress I had bought just for this scene.
A dress I could feel Caleb unzipping right now. He ungagged me and uncuffed one hand, slipped my dress and bra straps off together in one stroke, and placed my arm by my side, repeating on the other side until I stood there wearing my fishnets, heels, a canvas bag over my head and nothing else. I felt a swell of vulnerability, exposed there for who-knows-how-many people, every freckle and scar, stretch mark and fat roll showing, nothing to hide behind. That swell turned into a tsunami of fear as I heard the unmistakable sound of rope pulled through gloves, a dry snake crunching through soft underbrush, ready to strike.
Caleb took a coil and ran it down my back, from the nape of my neck to the heel of my left foot, over and back up the right foot, circling around at my hips and scratching at my belly, bringing back sensations of childhood rope burn so clearly that I could almost smell the hay. This, I thought, relaxing my body, leaning into the large bulk of rope Caleb was now pressing against my front side, this is what I came here for.
Two large swaths of rope were placed on each of my shoulders, the weight of which felt comforting, like a hug from an old friend. Caleb pulled from each end of a coil on my right side and began wrapping them across my chest and around me, in a figure-eight motion, twisting and tying the ends around each other every time they met. His hands moved swiftly, and I could tell he had done this before. I, however, was in a brand-new place, one of submission and patience, two things at which I needed practice, apparently, as I fidgeted and slacked, making Caleb yank hard on the rope, putting me in my place. Soon, the rope bodice around my waist was so tight, I had no choice but to stand up straight and attentive.
Taking a second coil, Caleb began wrapping rope around my legs, tying cuffs on each ankle and eventually attaching them to rope cuffs he made around my thighs. I moaned as he pressed the rope against my fishnet-covered crotch and rubbed. I leaned my head back in pleasure and he yanked the rope on my chest, snapping it back up to attention for me. “I’m sorry,” I said, speaking for the first time since we had started. “I’m new at this.”
“That’s no excuse for slacking,” Caleb said sternly, pulling up my chin, pushing down my ass and correcting my posture. “I thought you were a lady. Act like one.”
I’ve never been one for pleasing men, preferring instead to date women I could easily push around, but I found myself inexplicably attached to Caleb, my pleasure bound to his approval. I will not move again, I told myself, and stood there like a determined statue while Caleb began attaching my rope to something squeaky and metallic.
“Take a deep breath in,” Caleb commanded, and as I did so I was lifted off the ground, my feet, arms and torso taking flight all at once. At first, I couldn’t breathe, the wind knocked out of me by the force of levitation, but then gradually my body settled into the feeling of flight, and I began to appreciate the dual sensations of intense pressure and freeing weightlessness.
For the first time in my life, I let myself completely and totally surrender to the moment. Caleb was in charge. Of my body, of my mind, of my safety.
I didn’t know how much time had gone by, but Caleb kept on tying, twist of rope after twist of rope, and all I could do was yield to his touch, my body limp, held up by his mastery. Finally, he came over and placed his hands on both sides of my face. “Are you ready?” he asked.
A nodded a meek yes, and he took the canvas sack off of my head, revealing my view of the dungeon from overhead. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized I was in the center of a small room that opened off of the larger dungeon and had floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Everywhere I looked, I saw myself, bright red-and-white rope contrasting against my olive skin, hair dangling feet above the ground. I looked graceful, catlike, an aerial ballerina about to pounce on a toy, except I was the toy, and Caleb was doing the pouncing tonight.
I never wanted this moment to end.
“Excuse me,” I said, working up the courage to talk. “Um, excuse me, Sir?”
“Yes?” he responded curtly.
“Sir,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “would you be so kind as to honor me with a photo of your stunning work?”
Caleb smiled, filling my being with happiness. His smile was sorcery on my soul, and I had caused that magic. I had pleased him.
“My phone is in my purse,” I added, and he walked over to my pile of things, things someone apparently had brought from the place where he first grabbed and gagged me. A part of me fell in love with Caleb at that moment, seeing how well he had taken care of my things, and of me. My dress was neatly folded in the corner, my shoes and purse placed gently next to them. This was a man who understood the care fine apparel deserves.
I hung there, gracefully limp, completely bound to the shape and movement he had chosen for me, as he took photo after photo of every part of my body. Any self-consciousness I had felt before melted away with the salacious look of hunger on his face, his yearning and appreciation of my body wonderfully apparent. Again, I found myself excited by his happiness, proud of myself for being the cause.
When he grabbed me and kissed me, he standing straight and tall, me hanging face-to-face with his six-foot, six-inch self, I melted, letting go of every last bit of tension held in the most minute fascia in my body. I was wet, so wet I thought I’d drip on the floor, and my nipples were as hard as my clit, both threatening to make me come with the slightest touch.
Too soon, though, Caleb pulled away and put my phone back in my purse. Walking over to the pulley, he lifted me higher and higher still, until my hips hit the ceiling.
“Are you ready?” he asked me once again, making my heart thump, wondering what could possibly be next. We hadn’t negotiated anything other than rope suspension, and I worried about what he was planning, knowing needles and canes were being used in the next room.
“I asked, are you ready?” he said, yanking on the rope underneath me and sending me spinning. When I gave him the affirmative answer he was looking for, he reached up to my belly and steadied me.
With great ceremony, he untucked the end of a rope that was hidden beneath the coils wrapped around my torso. Catching my eye in the mirror, he smirked and then pulled on that end of the rope, sending me twirling, whirling and spinning toward the floor. My heart rushed as the hard, black bottom of the room came racing toward me and stopped when I did, only inches away from contact. I cried out, tears rolling from my eyes, aching all over from the red burns that were now covering my body.
Caleb laughed, tying my leverage rope to a post on the wall and reaching back into my purse for my camera. I didn’t care who was watching, I didn’t care what I looked like in the photos Caleb took; I just wanted to lie there, helpless, crying.
Caleb took a few photos and then put my phone back away, coming over and sitting cross-legged by me, my body hanging lifeless except for the heaving of my stomach as sobs released from somewhere deep within me, somewhere instinctually guttural. He rubbed my head tenderly and wiped my nose with a gray kerchief from his back pocket until my body stopped heaving and my breathing became steady once again.
Putting his handkerchief back in his pocket, Caleb walked over to the pulley and lifted me once again, this time waist high. Coming back over to me, he pulled my rope cage from left to right, sending my body swaying around the room. The rope stung, but I enjoyed the sensation. Caleb pulled me up and kissed me, pushed me away, and then spanked me on the ass as I came swinging back toward him. Back and forth we moved like this for what felt like hours, but surely must have been only minutes. I was wet again, dripping wet, and all I could think about was what kind of rope he had coiled in his pants.
“Please fuck me,” I babbled, unable to control myself.
“What was that?” he said, smacking my ass harder.
“Please,” I said, mustering up all of my courage, “fuck me. Sir.”
He jerked me toward him, lifting me up until we were face-to-face. “You think you deserve that? You think you’ve been a good girl?”
“No, Sir,” I said, choosing my words wisely, knowing my pleasure depended on his whims, “I think you deserve it.”
Caleb chuckled. “Good answer,” he said, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling a condom out of his back pocket.
Oh please, yes, I thought, my mouth watering. I hungered to taste him.
My eyes were level with his zipper and I watched as Caleb exposed a dark black leather harness and gloriously large cock tucked into it. I wondered how he walked with that much hardness between his legs, but my thoughts were stopped as he came toward me and I opened my mouth excitedly. I was determined to take all of him, in whatever way he wanted me, for however long he wanted me. I was his to have.
He was gentle at first, letting me slowly suck, adjusting to his girth, adapting to giving a blow job without having my hands accessible, something that was surprisingly difficult. Luckily, Caleb had patience and helped guide himself into me. Soon, we had a rhythm and I took him deep into my throat over and over again.
In one smooth motion, before I even noticed what he was doing, Caleb pulled out, spun me around and placed his hands on the sides of my ass. It was only then that I realized I had been tied with my ass lifted and legs spread and hoisted to the height of his cock; it was only then that I realized he had planned for everything.
Caleb entered me with his gloved fingers first, slipping easily through my wetness deep into me, spanking my ass with his other hand. I squirmed as he fingered me for a bit, adding more digits as he went, pushing the rope into my clit with his thumb. I let out a pouting cry when he exited me, making him laugh.
“You want something?” he said, running the head of his cock lightly up and around my lips.
“Yes, please,” I moaned, pushing back against him, desperate to have him inside me.
“Yes please, what?” he said, moving away from me.
“Yes, please fuck me, Sir,” I begged. And with that, he entered me.
Caleb’s cock felt amazing, like it had been built to fit my body, filling me with perfect pleasure, hitting every place within me that longed to be touched. He grabbed the ropes suspending my ass in the air and pulled them toward him, over and over and over again, going deeper within me each time. A length of rope rubbed against my clit as he fucked me, and I wondered if he’d put it there on purpose. Of course he did, I thought, he did all of this on purpose.
From the beginning, Caleb knew exactly what he was doing to me.
My mind went numb as pleasure filled my body, rhythmically building to release. My whole being throbbed as the ropes bore into me with each yank toward Caleb’s body, his meeting mine repeatedly until every part of me was begging me to completely let go. “I’m going to come,” I sobbed loudly.
“No you aren’t,” Caleb said, spanking my ass as he thrust harder into me.
“Please, Sir,” I pleaded, my body pulling against itself, tensing in the ropes, about to come whether I liked it or not, whether Caleb liked it or not. “Please, Sir, I have to come.”
“Not,” Caleb said, pushing hard into me, “yet.”
I willed my body to cooperate, to wait until I had the permission it needed, but it wasn’t listening to me. I was about to burst.
“Now!” Caleb said, and with his one last hard thrust into me we both exploded. Caleb bent over onto me, spent, the ropes holding both of us. “Damn,” he said, reaching under me to caress my hard nipples.
“Mmm,” I moaned, unable to think complete thoughts. We floated there in silence for many moments, our bodies pressed together, sticky and warm. Eventually, Caleb pulled out, took off the condom, tucked his dick back in his pants and twirled me around to face him.
“Are you ready?” he asked, for a fourth time, bending down to meet me.
Looking into his tender eyes, I replied, “Yes.”
Getting up, Caleb released my body to the ground and began unbinding me, one loop at a time, his hands working more gently than before, caressing my bruised, broken being back to life. When all the rope was off my body, I began to shake, and Caleb led me from the mirrored room to a large, comfortable love seat on the edge of the main dungeon. Wrapping a blanket around me, he held my body as it acclimated to the world outside of bondage, the feelings of longing and release competing within me. I felt so comfortable there, enveloped in his arms, nestling into his protection.
“What’s your name tonight, darling?” Caleb asked, brushing some hair from my face.
“Tabitha,” I said, curling into his warmth. “Tabitha the cat.”
“Well, Tabitha the cat,” he said, allowing my body to melt into his, “you were a very well-behaved kitty tonight.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I purred, my lips meeting his. We kissed deeply, passionately, connected to each other on a visceral level, every synapse of mine on fire with his touch.
And in that moment, I was blissfully, wholly and completely happy.