Shibari: Almost a Love Story

Ella responded with her hips first twitching, then demandingly rocking against my tongue.

I slid back up, to where her clitoris was not prominent but was easily found not just by touch but by the shudder that ran through her when I did.

I shifted position on the bed, taking my right hand off the thigh it had been lightly resting on to gently stroke between her labia with my fingers.

"Would you like," I began, having to remind myself to pitch my voice a little above a soft murmur, but she cut me off.

"You ... know what you're doing ... get on with it!"

I allowed myself to briefly savour the compliment.

Then, I wet two fingers with my own saliva before gently wriggling them inside her vagina.

She groaned deeply. Glancing up quickly, I saw her hands go to her breasts and squeeze.

With one joint inside her, I licked her clitoris lightly and felt her vagina clench too hard for me to be comfortable forcing my way further.

Instead, I kissed the inside of her right thigh as she relaxed just enough for me to wriggle inside until my knuckles were resting lightly against her labia.

Then, I settled down to tease her clitoris as determinedly as I had her nipples, not daring to try and bite and not comfortable, without recent practice, to try and suck but doing everything I could with my tongue.

At the same time, I kept my fingers moving in and out of her, able to push through the clenched tightness of her vagina now with the help of her own lubricant and curling up to rub along the forward -- top, in this position -- wall.

Ella sounded hedonistic. She was groaning, almost grunting on occasion, with sounds that verged on vocalisations until they became definite "oh, God," or "yesssss" or "oooh, right there".

I swirled my tongue on and off her clitoris, slipping over and between her labia but returning each time to the small, hard nub that, no matter how good she sounded when my attention was elsewhere, still produced the sharpest, most erotic responses.

I glanced up now and then through hooded eyes to watch her grab her breasts, knead them or pinch and twist her nipples.

That last sight sent another throb through my still-erect cock and I pressed harder against her clitoris, massaging instead of just stroking.

She shivered, gasping "yes!" with her belly rippling with rapidly clenching muscles.

I pressed my attack, reminding myself not to get over-enthusiastic and willing my tongue to move faster without fatiguing.

I felt Ella spasm around my fingers a couple of seconds before she bucked wildly, almost smashing her groin against my face as she came.

I kept licking as well as I could, my fingers speeding up, until she grabbed my hair and pulled me away.

I stilled my fingers, feeling a glow of satisfaction that was almost as good as an orgasm itself.

"You can stop now!" she managed to say, voice shaky and ragged. "I'm not multiorgasmic."

I managed to say nothing, instead of anything utterly stupid like "Well, you can't have everything," and gently pulled my fingers out of her as she pulled me up then against her, wrapping her arms and legs around me for an almost painfully tight hug as she quivered, hips jerking randomly against me until she stilled and groaned one last time.

"Fucking hell, are you sure you're out of practice?"

I kissed her. She had no problem with the smears she had left on my lips and the taste I still had on my tongue.

"I did have a fair bit of practice, but not for two years," I assured her when she separated.

She grinned up at me. "Well, that's promising! Now, you have a choice."

She moved a hand to shakily tap me on the chest.

I raised my eyebrows enquiringly as I shifted myself so I could bring my hand to my mouth and suck my fingers clean. She ignored that.

"You can finish undressing, put a condom on and fuck me," she said.

"Option two had better be good," I said.

She grinned at me. "Option two is, we go back to my studio, and I tie you, and then I play with you."

I froze.

My brain had glitched again. For a few seconds, I couldn't have moved if the bed had caught fire.

"Make no mistake, I will make you come, but I will play with you first," she continued.

I managed to find my voice in a suddenly dry throat. "...OK," I said.

She grinned wider. "So is it condom now, or?"

"Ropes, please," I said, in a small, supplicating voice.

She laughed and then remembered she had to untangle her legs, which were still holding me.

"Don't undress," she ordered as I scrambled off her. "I'll do that. Put your kimono back on."

I managed to put it on and belt it without getting anything wrong.

Ella moved with a visible effort and stood on clearly shaky legs before putting her own kimono on without anything underneath it. That image would stay with me.

"Bring your phone if you want photos."

I grabbed it.

She pushed me ahead of her to her studio.

# ~ # ~ #

When she closed the door behind us, I started turning to face her but she slipped around behind me to catch me in a secure hug.

"I think you're ready to try a proper suspension," she whispered to me.

I froze again.

"Would you like that?" she prompted.

"Yes, please!"

She chuckled, a sound I felt through her body pressed against me as much as heard. I could feel her breasts through our kimonos. It was shaming that I was so aware of that one thing, but enjoyable.

"What do I call you?" I asked.

I felt her shrug. "If you want to call me Mistress, call me Mistress. Or call me Ella, or call me Sensei or Sama."

"Sama?"

She giggled. "It's like Mistress. Sort of."

I could look up the details later, but I liked the sound it made. "Yes, Sama."

Her hand moved over my chest, pulling the silk of my kimono over my skin and making me gasp as it stroked my nipple. "Now, I'm going to need you to stay focused enough to still tell me if you get uncomfortable, or the instant anything is sore, understood?"

"Yes, Sama."

She moved her hand and managed to tweak my nipple with unearthly accuracy. "Good boy. Would you like to be a good boy or a good girl?"

"I normally don't like boy or man, but I'll take good boy from you."

"What about 'my boy'?" she asked.

"I will accept 'my boy'," I conceded.

"And was that your answer?" she prompted.

"Could I be a good girl?" I asked.

Her hand moved again, this time feeling out and squeezing my pec the way I had felt her breast. "Of course you can, my pretty," she whispered. "Now stand still."

So, I stood still as she moved off to lay out her rope. I stood, balanced comfortably a little forward on the balls of my feet, relaxed, let my eyes droop closed, and felt a delicious, anticipatory tingle as I recalled that warm, fuzzy but bright feeling of being in Ella's ropes.

Ella stepped back against me, her hands moving over my shoulders, back, hips, down the fronts of my thighs then around, pulling my kimono with them, then up, lifting the silk as she ran her hands up the backs of my thighs, then my buttocks, stopping to squeeze before letting the silk fall and moving her hands inside my arms to my belly, up to my chest, stroking lightly around the not impressive but still present definition where my pecs began.

"Mmm, good girl," she murmured, giving me a rush of gratitude at her acknowledgement I had last felt, before that day, as a child.

Her hands slipped back down and she untied my kimono's belt, opening it and then pulling it out until it slipped entirely from my waist and dangled from her hands.

"If we didn't have ropes," she whispered, before tossing the belt to one side.

She pulled the kimono further open so she could move her hands to my skin, avoiding my pants and the warmly still erect cock they restrained to stroke my belly then tickle up again, stroking around my pecs and then caressing them in a way that felt absolutely and unmistakeably like stroking a pair of breasts, not muscle groups.

She tickled my nipples, making me shiver and gasp, and giggled into my back.

Then she pulled the kimono off my shoulders, slowly and precisely, taking it down my back until it slipped off my hands, then taking it and, I could only assume from the sounds and the time it took her, folding it carefully.

There was a moment of stillness then before I heard once more the sound of rope moving through her hands, and this time the warm, fuzzy brightness was not merely a memory.

She moved my arms outwards. I had been not just prepared but waiting, I realised, for her to order my arms behind my back, or to move them herself. I had been primed for it, my muscles not tense but with the commands already lined up.

When she instead moved my arms to the horizontal, I felt my expectations simply evaporate and the entire situation become unknown and unknowable.

In most circumstances, that would be caused me no little stress. Distress, even. But there, in that studio, it felt utterly liberating. I was not in control. I had ceded my life for the next little while. I was freed from having to care.

She began with a harness around my chest, but I could feel it was not the one she had used on me twice already. It was sturdier, using more layers of rope around my ribcage above and below my breasts and my shoulders.

Instead of the converging bands that would impose such a classic squeeze on a larger pair of breasts, she braided a thick bar along my sternum to separate the top and bottom bands.

She moved around me as she tied, ducking smoothly under my arms and concentrating entirely on what she was doing, making only occasional probing glances at my face. I was aware of that but ascribed it no meaning.

My arms, though, were beginning to feel the strain, something I recognised as just another of my body's reactions.

When she finished that harness, I felt her working at the back of it. I ascribed that no meaning, either, until I felt an upwards tug. The realisation floated across my mind that she had attached an anchor line to me. The thought gave me a floating feeling that lead to, for a brief moment, a giddy uprushing.

Her hands moved my arms up, then folded them back to meet at the wrists behind my head.

I felt a cuff go around each wrist to hold them together and fell further into ropespace with the first actual restraint and my loss of available movement.

She bound each arm, forearm to upper arm, and I had almost no movement left. The position pushed my head down a little. It made me feel submissive, a sensation I had not actually felt yet that day. I welcomed it.

The rope attached to the back of my chest harness tugged again, and I felt it tighten, this time, until I was sure I could hang from it.

She walked slowly around me, her hand sliding over my back, side, and belly until she was standing in front of me. I felt no normal instinct to focus on her face until she took my face between her hands and moved my head assertively up until she could look me eye to eye.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked me, voice soft and low.

"Yes, Sama," I said, at least as soft.

She stroked my face tenderly, making me melt. "Let your legs relax," she whispered. "Hang."

Without thinking, without any caution because I was utterly trusting at that moment, I simply took all tension out of my legs and the rope held me with barely more than a small shift for stretch. The harness was secure and although it would not have been comfortable in any other circumstance, it was not painful.

Ella stroked my face again. "Are you in any pain?"

"No, Sama."

She ran a finger lightly around the bands above and below my breasts, and along my sternum. "It does not pinch?"

"No, Sama."

"Are you feeling any tingling or numbness?"

"No, Sama."

She smiled, lighting up my world. "Good." She stroked the back of her finger lightly over my left breast, and I shivered.

Ella slipped away from my sight, behind me, while that sensation still dominated my perceptions.

Then she stepped against me from behind, the silk of her kimono cool against me, her legs pressing into mine, her breasts felt through her kimono, her arms coming around me.

It was less a hug than a slow, snuggling, copping a feel. Her hands roamed over my belly and my chest, daintily moving over the ropes and caressing my breasts in a way that felt undeniably and intensely lascivious.

I gasped as she stroked my breasts and then my breath caught in my throat and all sound choked when she tickled my nipples.

My frozen moment broke with a long, helpless moan.

Ella chuckled, the sound warm behind me, then her hands slid down my belly again, reaching my waistband for the first time.

She ran her fingers around the fabric, not tickling but simply tracing, and flirted with trying to gain entrance past the knotted cord above my groin and at the back, before slowly untying it as she leaned against me.

She pulled off my pants and underwear together, moving gently and carefully, lifting them over my cock, which had settled during the tying but had returned to enough hardness to spring free when released.

Then she slipped the garments down my legs, kneeling with them. "Mmm, you shave," she murmured. "Good girl."

I had shaved my legs, for a long time. It had started when I did a lot of cycling years before, had continued because it was comfortable but had become, over time, a part of my self-image.

Ella lifted each foot, one at a time, out of the pants.

There was another long moment of hanging stillness.

Then Ella moved my legs slightly apart. "Take your weight."

I did so, stiffening my knees again before I had consciously processed her words.

She started around my waist, then the tops of my thighs, joining the bands in a diamond pattern until, I realised with a faint and pleasant feeling of surprised recognition, she had created a secure rock climbing harness with ropes. I had climbed, once, years ago, with someone I was briefly friends with.

So I was already feeling an almost gigglingly happy feeling of expectation when tension on my hips lifted them, lifted my feet away from the floor and swung me forwards slightly to hang canted like a superhero taking off.

I saw the floor slowly moving below me as I swung gently back and forth, and felt like I was among the clouds.

Ella walked slowly along me, trailing one hand over my body.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, Sama," I said dreamily.

"Is anything pulling uncomfortably?"

"No, Sama."

"If you stay here for half an hour, would anything be sore?"

That made me actually think. I suspected I would be, but it was a hard concept to grasp. "I don't know, Sama," I admitted.

"Good enough," she whispered, stroking my cheek before disappearing from my view again.

She tied a secure cuff around one ankle and foot, producing with ropes something that felt as snug and secure as a compression bandage, then pulled up until that foot felt higher than my head while the other dangled strangely.

But she lifted the remaining ankle, supported it while she quickly tied a similar cuff about it, and then lifted that until I was bent upwards in the one position I had told her I found really sexy. I almost did giggle.

My head was not pulled back and was in fact now hanging, pressed forwards by my arms, but that hardly mattered. I wanted her to take a photo of me, hanging and naked and on display, but I simply didn't have the urge to ask. I was too much of the present, not acting upon it.

She pulled one leg higher than the other, then passed some ropes about the lower leg to hold ankle closer to thigh, until I realised I had even less freedom of movement than I thought.

That realisation, too, made my brain warm and fuzzy.

She did something similar to my other leg until I couldn't straighten it while, at the same time, trying to fold it tighter would mean pulling me higher.

She adjusted my position, tightening the rope to my chest to arch me higher.

A breath came out of me, a sound that might have been a moan of pleasure or relaxation or satisfaction or all three.

Then, when I thought I was already as helplessly secured as I could be, she very gently pushed my folded arms up, further back.

It was a stretch and she was well aware of it, moving gently and slowly and whispering to me to tell her when I reached my limit.

When she did, she backed off a little. When her hands came down, my arms did not.

I was held, taut in so many places if not in all, back and legs and arms feeling a gentle stretch that contributed to the tingling pleasure that was suffusing my entire body, my head drooping, eyelids drooping, lips parted. When her hands caressed my cheeks, I was in heaven.

"Good girl," she murmured, gently lifting my head.

My eyelids drifted open until her smile lit up my entire being.

"Good girl." She kissed me gently.

The world reeled about my head as I felt her lips against mine, her tongue against my lips, her tongue against my tongue. I was incapable of responding, merely receiving.

She did not seem displeased.

"You are such a pretty girl."

She stroked my face, hair. "We should get your hair out of the way. Would you like your head tied up?"

"Yes, please, Sama," I whispered.

Smiling, Ella pulled off my hair tie, gathered my hair, then somehow tied it up so my head could no longer droop.

"Mmm, that really was the finishing touch," she murmured, looking me over. "You really do look so fuckable."

I swear nobody had ever told me that. Had ever called me fuckable. I adored it. I was so pleased she thought so, I thought I'd burst. I didn't even consciously associate that with what she might do to me next. I just adored the compliment.

She strolled around me, looking at me. When she passed out of light, my eyelids drooped closed again.

I heard a faint footfall now and then, but for a time, I just hung. I really do have no idea how long it was.

Then, she kissed me again. My eyelids stayed almost closed, seeing changes in the light as she moved in front of me but feeling so much I did not want to interfere with that by looking.

Then her hands stroked my chest, and sensation exploded inside me.

She caressed just underneath the top rope band, above my nipples. "I love seeing a pair of breasts hanging free from a tightly bound body," she whispered beside my cheek.

I didn't even think of the physiology. Before, when she had referred to my breasts, it had just been the word, and it had worked upon me. But I knew very well I had no spare tissue on my chest, just enough pectoral muscles to be visible against my lean build.

But it just didn't matter. I took her at her word, and -- even without any experiential reference -- I felt her touch as if against soft, hanging breast tissue, and I felt arousal flair hot and sweet within me. I felt my erection, very much present and physical, at the same time as her lingering touch gave me the ghostly sensation of slight weights hanging from my chest.

"I love seeing nipples so exposed, so ready, so defenceless," she whispered against my other cheek, rubbing gently against my face as her fingertips slid down my chest and gently squeezed the two nubs her words had made the focus of my existence.

I gasped, the sound strangled in my throat as my body tried to react several different ways at once. I could not remember my nipples ever being so sensitive.

I was aware of, without consciously seeing it, her smirk. She rubbed my nipples gently and I tried to arch even further in my harness, my cock pulsing so hard I almost couldn't believe she hadn't touched it.

"Mmm, good girl," she murmured, her fingertips lightly teasing my nipples with a feathery touch that made me moan helplessly.

"You sound so nice," she whispered in my ear, before moving away.

I didn't see where she went, I didn't hear her, I was too busy panting with arousal and trying to understand how sensitive my nipples had been, how much pleasure she had given me. That had not happened to me before. I had always enjoyed having my nipples played with, and particularly pinched, but nothing had ever felt that good.