Bondage Sessions: How I Got Started

As I reflect back on many years of sessions with professional dominatrices, trying to scratch a specific itch that could never quite be reached, I realize I've experienced some wild and incredible things. From profound pleasure to extraordinary danger, and everything in between, I've seen a lot. I'm starting a process of writing these experiences into stories so that others could learn from my mistakes, and maybe even experience some vicarious enjoyment. These stories are based on real experiences, but names, locations, and some details have been changed so that no individuals can be identified. I have not chapterized these stories as they are not necessarily intended to be serial.

I don't know when I first started fantasizing about being tied up and dominated, but it was early in my life. Though I would often daydream about being controlled or restrained by other people, I stuffed those fantasies down deep, believing they were abnormal and weird. In my late teens and into college, I became aware that BDSM was more prevalent than I realized, with entertainers like Madonna pushing it into the forefront of society's judgemental gaze.

In my 20s, with some disposable income, but a very vanilla life, I agonized over how I could bring some of these fantasies into reality. After years of lurking on bulletin boards and forums, I made the leap into online classified sites. These sites provided an attractive path to explore this world in a secret, compartmentalized way. I spent at least a year just reading ads, contemplating what might happen if I responded to one, but not finding the nerve to actually do it.

Discovering that there were several BDSM / fantasy "houses" in the area finally pushed me over the edge. I rationalized that these houses could represent a safe way to dabble in this world, mitigating the risks that had kept my paranoid mind on the sideline. You might ask, what risks was I worried about? I'm a nervous, shy person by nature, and I thought I might be arrested, found out, robbed, beaten, blackmailed, you name it. As I researched these bdsm houses, their relative safety seemed to be that they had established reputations, rules, and privacy practices.

I finally worked up the nerve, and emailed one of the houses where I had seen a profile of a dominatrix named Sharon, who had striking photos of herself in goth bdsm attire, and a profile describing much of what I though I wanted. After several hours, I received a somewhat curt reply stating that Sharon was available but I would need to call to make an appointment. It took me several days to muster the courage to call, and when I finally did, the receptionist asked for some personal details like my birthday, which I nearly gave before realizing I could just make something up (though I would probably need to remember my fictitious details, in case they asked!) With that, I had an appointment with Sharon just a few hours after my call.

Though it was my first time with a professional dominatrix, surely a magical point in time for any hobbyist, it may disappoint some to read that I don't recall many details of that session with Sharon. I was nervous as hell, but I recall being completely enraptured being tied up by a woman for the first time, and then somewhat disappointed when the session came to an end with no sensual contact of any kind, let alone an orgasm. I recall that at the very beginning of the session, when I had presented my "tribute," she had responded to my payment simply by raising her eyebrows and commenting dryly, "Exact change." I didn't immediately understand why she said this, but later became aware that this is one of those situations where a tip is expected. Sharon had me keep my underwear on throughout the session, and though she seemed more than proficient with rope bondage, the time went by feeling scripted and mechanical. Reflecting on the entire interaction, I have often wondered if my mediocre experience was a result of my failure to tip properly.

After this experience, I continued reading the adult classified ads, with more interest in independent dominatrices, especially those who seemed to have established histories. One in particular kept catching my attention, and I'll confess it was mostly because she was absolutely stunning in her photos. Her name was Jeanette, and her listing seemed to focus on bondage and restraint. I emailed her, and eventually scheduled a session.

I remember more about my first session with Jeanette, probably because I wasn't quite as nervous as I was with Sharon. It still felt like I was stepping into a world of illicit and improper behavior, but maybe it was less risky than I initially thought. I arrived at the appointed time and place, and found that it was a beautiful old row house in the middle of the city. Jeanette met me at the door, and I was blown away. She was even more beautiful than her photos could show. She had curly, dark hair with porcelain, freckled skin; slight in stature, with an impossibly perfect hourglass body shape. Plentiful cleavage poured out of a tight, black bustier which came to an end and inch or two above black silk panties. I was transfixed, unable to speak until finally she smiled, turned and led me up a dark, wooden staircase with a door at the top that opened into a small, wood adorned playroom with a small bed, and bdsm toys hanging from the walls.

I did a few sessions with Jeanette, and found the time absolutely enthralling as she explored different types of bondage with me. I recall one flashbulb moment that found me, hands tied behind my back, feet strapped to each end of a metal spreader bar. She had put me into this predicament on one side of the room, then instructed me to waddle over to the bed. As I did so with short, noisy, uncomfortable steps, she laughed and laughed at me and my ridiculous situation. That session, like each of the others I did with her, ended with one of my hands untied, and Jeanette prompting me to masturbate. Eventually I found myself really longing to end the session with a handjob or some kind of "assisted" orgasm, and I ended up asking Jeantte about this, and she politely indicated that it wasn't an option. In search of more direct sexual contact, I went back to the classified sites again, though I wasn't exactly sure how to look for this, and my insecurities prevented me from asking directly. It occurred to me that it might be an unwritten rule in the pro domme community, and I might just be out of luck.

An unexpected solution to my problem came when I found Marianne. She was a tall, older domme who didn't check all of the boxes for me in terms of sheer beauty, but seemed very proficient at bondage and I sensed she might be more lax about the unwritten "rules." My first session with her was in a small, messy apartment on the outskirts of the city. I was initially put off by the run-down neighborhood and grungy appearance of her apartment, but my imagination quickly went to work and I began to find it thrilling to be out of my element, and putting myself in the hands of someone who appeared to live on the edge of poverty.

Marianne's playroom was essentially a bedroom with some coiled ropes and other BDSM implements strewn around the room. There was a large armchair, what I guessed to be a queen-sized bed, a dresser, and space for little else. As I entered the room, she told me to sit on the bed, and she sat across from me on the armchair. In addition to her height, which I guessed at almost six feet, she was voluptuous and sturdy. Not overweight, but muscular and large-framed. We were about the same height, and I guessed nearly the same weight as well. She had somewhat masculine looking facial features, and I found myself wondering if she was a trans woman. She was wearing a very tight red and black leather strappy halter top, and black leather pants. We eyed each other for a moment before we spoke, and I noted heavy makeup on her face; bright red lipstick and generous amounts of foundation and eyeliner.

Marianne was quiet and friendly as we dispensed with the formalities of a professional dominatrix session. Then, her demeanor changed. "So," she began loudly with a lecherous smile that seemed over-the-top, "you told me on the phone you like bondage, and you want to be tied up. Tell me more."

"Yeah, that's basically it," I said, "I'm into rope bondage or really any kind of bondage."

"Okay, I can do that," she said, frowning slightly, "but what will I do to you once you're tied up?"

"Well, maybe untie me and tie me up again? I don't know, I'm pretty new to this." I said, tentatively, and she laughed. "I get it, you really like bondage," she said.

She had me take off all my clothes (including my underwear) and sit on the edge of her bed. It had been a long time since I had been completely naked in front of a woman, and I felt vulnerable and embarrassed. My cock betrayed those emotions and began to stir, fueling my humiliation, and perversely my arousal at the same time.

I watched as Marianne gathered a few lengths of rope from a drawer in the dresser, then approached me deliberately, one step at a time. Only then did I notice her black stiletto heels, which seemed unnecessary and yet completely in-character as she stepped across the faded, stained hardwood floor toward me. She stopped as her thighs made contact with my knees, placing her hands on my knees and pushing them open, then taking one more step forward into the "V" between my legs. I could smell flowery perfume on her body, so close to mine, almost overwhelming but incredibly feminine. She put her hands on my shoulders and said "Face down, on the bed, hands behind your back." My cock was completely hard at this point, pointing up in salute toward her her body, inches away.

I quickly complied with the instructions, pushing myself fully on to the bed, and rolling over on my belly, with my hands behind my back. With my face enveloped in the bed's white comforter, I could smell Marianne's perfume in the fabric. As I felt her climb on to the bed behind me, I relished in the sensations of my naked body, face-down on a strange woman's bed, her perfume still permeating my nose, and the cool soft white fabric against my rock hard cock. I felt her leather pants straddle my legs, and sit on the backs of my thighs. As she began to tie my wrists together with rough rope, she said "You sure are a trusting person to come into a stranger's home, strip naked, and allow yourself to be tied up. Not sure I'd do that."

She worked quickly to bind my hands, then lowered herself to my feet and quickly cinched my ankles to each other. "Now, lift your feet," she said, and as I did so, she joined the rope binding my ankles to that around my wrists with another rope. "All hogged up!" She proclaimed, kneeling with her leather pants on top of my shins, pushing them down into my knees. She reached up and put her hand on the back of my head, and pushed my face hard into the white comforter. I made a surprised "hmph" sound at the force against my mouth and nose, then felt her hand twisting the back of my head, so that my face turned to one side.

Marianne leaned back and regarded me for a moment, running her hand lightly over my body from head to toe. Then she pushed on my feet so that my body rolled sideways. My feet came to rest on the comforter behind my knees, and as I lay on my side, still very much hogtied, my hard cock was freed from underneath me to stick out like a flag of surrender. She took this all in, then said primly, "You need to be gagged." Simple as that, as if there were nothing unusual about having a man hogtied on her bed, except that he didn't yet have a big red ball gag in his mouth. This, she quickly remedied, pushing the smooth ball into my mouth, and securing it in place by buckling the straps behind my head. Then her face was right in front of mine, and she breathed "Perfect" as she planted a slurpy kiss on to the exposed portion of the ball gag, then ran her tongue around my stretched lips. I was surprised an pleased at the sudden intimacy, and her pleasure at causing my helplessness seemed genuine.

Considering me for a long moment, Marianne slid off the bed and on to the floor, circling the room slowly as if contemplating her next move. I continued to catalog the sensations of my bound body, finding a nearly complete delight of fantasies realized, troubled only by a growing ache in my jaw, a dribble of saliva running down my cheek, and my fiercely stiff cock yearning for attention.

Marianne climbed back on the bed and slowly began to untie the ropes that held my ankles and wrists together, and loosed the giant ball from my overflowing mouth. The process of extracting the ropes from my body seemed to take much longer than their initial application, and my arousal slowly ebbed toward impatience. I wondered to myself whether this was the conclusion of our session, surely well ahead of the agreed upon hour. Thankfully, there was more to come.

After sweeping aside the ropes that had been previously used to tie my wrists and ankles, Marianne laid a white towel on the armchair across from the bed, and instructed me to sit on it. I did so, and she quickly untangled the three lengths of rope that she had used previously, which had fallen into a heap on the floor. She retrieved one more short piece of rope from a cabinet, and then knelt in front me me, again forcing my knees apart so that her chest pushed between my legs. She proceeded to tie each of my hands to the chair's armrests, then each foot to the corresponding chair leg. It was such simple bondage position, and yet quite effective, as I was completely immobilized, short of tipping the chair over. She observed me for a moment, and then said quietly, "No, it's not quite right, is it?" and began untying my hands. As she did so, she leaned over me, so that he long hair draped over my body. I found this action intoxicating, and my cock resumed its previous state of enthusiastic attention. She pushed my arms behind the chair, stood and circled behind me, and bound my hands behind my back quickly. This was slightly uncomfortable for my shoulders which were levered at an odd angle by the chair-back, but I tried to ignore this and focus on the feeling of my hands, tied behind my back, and then being secured from there to horizontal rail between the chair legs.

"One more thing..." Marianne said, coming back in front of me. She pushed my knees toward each other, which felt unnatural as my legs were spread due to my feet being tied to the chair legs. She tied my knees to each other, as close as they could get. "There," she said, coming back in front of me, "that's better." I sat there, fully naked with my chest forced out by the unusual angle of my arms, my cock sticking up between my semi-closed thighs. Marianne reached back and retrieved another white towel, and placed it across my lap, pushing my cock down between my legs, angled up against the towel. She then fumbled around the room for a moment, finally coming up with a large vibrator (which I would later learn was a Hitachi) and plugged it in to a nearby wall. I had no idea what to expect at this point - was she going to stand there and use the vibrator to bring herself to orgasm while I watched helplessly? I had seen scenes like this in porn videos, and the idea was appealing.

But Marianne had something else in mind. She turned on the vibrator and placed it in her crotch, as if to begin the process I was expecting to see. Then she approached me, straddling my legs, and sat down on my lap, in just the right spot so that the vibrator buzzed between us, in contact with her leather-clad crotch, and right on top of my towel-covered cock. The sensation was immediately intense. Waves of pleasure poured through me, and my mouth dropped open. She immediately clamped a hand across my mouth and slid forward even further so that our noses nearly touched. She started slowly rolling her hips, faster, then slower, then faster again, increasing the pressure of the buzzing wand of rapture against my cock. I had a short moment of panic, realizing that I was going to come fast. Was this what she intended? We hadn't discussed this at all. But there wasn't going to be any choice in the matter, with my hands and feet tied, her hand firmly holding my mouth closed, and the vibrator causing sensations I had never before experienced. I began to shudder, and one of her fingers curled into my mouth, salty and profane, probing and intruding. I gave myself in completely to all of the sensations, and came hard, jerking and grunting around her finger and into her hand.

Marianne slowed, then stopped her grinding against my lap, eventually standing up with her hands on my knees, peering into my face. When I finally recovered my senses, I managed to say, "I think I came on your towel." She looked at me with a smirk and responded, "Yep." "Is that what you wanted me to do?" I asked, with a touch of guilt. "Honey, you did exactly what I wanted you to do." She said sardonically, and began to untie my knees, feet, and hands. After the requisite post-session small talk, I quickly departed. For the rest of the day, I could smell her strong perfume on my body, even after showering. While that might sound romantic, it was not ideal for the rest of my day returning to work.

I did several more sessions with Marianne, finding that she tended to repeat the essentially the same formula in each session. While that worked well for me initially, I eventually longed for some variety and began to seek out other domme partners. That session was a turning point for me though, in terms of discovering how much more fulfilling a session could be, and that there were pro dommes out there who were willing to bring me to climax through their own machinations.

It was just the beginning for me though, on what would turn into more than a decade of some of the wildest experiences imaginable; and some of them even beyond the boundaries of imagination.