Whiplash

You know it's a good scene when the space just fades into the background.

We started kissing and my vision clouded in lust. This would not do. We had previously negotiated that we would do a scene where he was the bottom and I was the top, and my lust was not making me in control enough to top. Besides, he could always use being knocked down a few pegs.

A strong push on his shoulders and oof, into the wall of the dungeon. A hard kiss from me and some leaning in are enough to drive the message home. Removing his glasses makes him that much more vulnerable.

The rope comes out and I bind his arms, bringing a crotch rope securely between his legs. I reinforce and reinforce and reinforce the binding, wrapping length after length of rope around his torso, making sure he can't shrug his shoulders and make the bindings come off. I have to go around him rather than reach around like I usually do; the man's just too damn big. But each rope goes on tightly, tugging hard after each wrap, while my hands smooth it on, around his torso.

I give him a few pinches of his nipples, made more sensitive by the binding. Some hair pulling, too, as I work to create the process in which this giant of a man goes from brat to so completely lost in my power. His eyes glaze and he fades away a bit. I'm gaining on him, but the balance is still paper-thin, easily tipped.

We had an agreement that if he could get out of the ropes, he would top me. Kissing him, I'm a bit unsure of my handiwork; while a part of me wishes he could get out, the stronger part of me wants to make absolutely sure he can't. Because there's a devilish look in his eye as he shifts in his bonds and I know he's pondering ways to get out. I am so fucked if he does. That is the danger of playing with other switches; there's always the chance of them turning the tables on you, for every horrible thing you've done to them.

The next rope I take out and tie him, making to cross all of my t's and dot my i's. Extra reinforcing under the armpits to prevent him from shrugging out of the ropes. Extra ties to the restraints around his wrists. Finally, all movement of his arms is stopped. I'm kind of disappointed he only struggles a little bit, admitting his inability to get out. I can see him get a bit more bottomy but I think I can do more.

I love how strong my body is, and I love how my center of gravity is so much lower, especially compared to tall guys. And the center of gravity of this one is located at about my neck, which makes him so very vulnerable and he doesn't even know it.

Strongly secured, I grab the nest of ropes between his shoulder blade and pull. Thrown off balance, he does everything he can to stay upright even though I drag him across the room. This is one of my favorite parts of rope, and about being larger. I lean back and twist, sending him flying to my right, then to my left, then jerking him just a bit to reinforce how precarious his balance is. I taunt him, reminding him of the laws of physics that allow me to be the one in control.

It's time for step 2.

Shoved into a folding chair, his height advantage disappears. I rock him gently, petting his hair because he's already halfway to subspace. He feebly tries to mouth off to me and I pull his head back, kissing him soundly. I let his eyes close and the litany begins.

Down and down I lead him with my words, urging him to focus on my voice, rocking him gently. Deeper and deeper he goes, relaxing more in his bonds as I barrage him with my language. The better it feels, the deeper he goes, the deeper he goes, the better he feels. I make him feel so good now, make him feel so safe as I wrap my arms around him.

I decide it's time to start my mischief. A trigger that puts him under right away. I reinforce it a few times and awaken him. He's groggy and I question him, his eyes are increasingly drowning in helplessness. I send him under with my trigger and he goes so deep, no hesitation at all. More repetitions of deeper and deeper, leading him downward like on a spiral staircase.

I can see and feel him go even more submissive, even more willing, his brain even stickier to receive my suggestions. He's already so turned on from his helplessness so I add in his pleasure trigger. I love installing it in all of my favorite subjects, a word that when uttered or typed by me causes the person to be more and more turned on with every use. It works perfectly, making him arch his back and I encourage him through some light rubbing of his very hot cock. Mmmm, yes.

And I decide to reach a bit, to see how far I had him, how much he had given in both physically and mentally.

"And right now or in a little bit you will say "Yes, sir," to me, signalling you are completely submissive to me."

I ask a question that I expect a yes answer to, and don't get a yes sir response. I'm ready to give it time; eventually he'll give into it. He starts trembling all over and he's not at all communicative when in trance. Fuck. Suddenly I'm terrified that he's going to break out into tears, that I went and triggered something accidentally. I went too deep and too fast.

Bringing him out of trance, I start questioning him until he asks, in a small voice, "Could you please ask me a question I can answer 'yes' to?"

"Are you feeling so very submissive?"

"Yes, sir."

Buh. Just like that, and his reply hits me right between my legs. It was incredibly, unbelievably sexy, and reaffirmingly right and for a second I felt alright with myself, gender-wise.

The look in his eyes is what makes it, though. Amazingly vulnerable, submissive, with all of his carefully-crafted walls down. And I had done this. He had trusted me enough to get to this state. I realize that my legs are shaking. And not just because I've been standing for most of an hour.

He's so beautifully submissive and I tell him that before guiding him over to a couch, because we both need to cuddle. He kisses my shoulder gently and sweetly as we watch the rest of the dungeon, finally brought back to the reality of the space.

I'm just about to ask him for some more of that sweet sub adoration when he stands up and goes back towards our stuff, leading me by the hand. I'm a bit surprised by him being so assertive but I go, deciding that it would be prudent to pack up all that rope that I used.

I'm trying to teach him how to daisy chain my rope when he growls at me and backs me into the pillar. Grabbing my hands and putting them over my head, he presses against me and I just give in a little, deliciously. Such a great fuzzy-headed feeling, tinged heavily with lust as he uses his weight advantage against me.

Satisfied, he sits back down on the chair and I kiss him again, then spin off to the center of the room, taunting him, making sure that he knows that I'm not going to be tamed easily. His answer is to grab me by my corset laces and spin me around the space, breathlessly. He throws my words about grabbing ahold at the other person's center of gravity and throws them back to me.

Facing me, he grabs the back of my hair and says something to me, and I feel that instantaneous surge of fear and I'm just gone. Fear is the fastest way to switch on that subby side of me.

After that I kind of only remember bits and pieces.

Being so grateful that he drags me around and tells me what to do because I don't want to think, I just want to do what he wants. Sitting at his feet and feeling him pet my head. Sitting on his thigh and being tossed around so easily, like a rag doll. Him calling me a pet name. Feeling his hands over my nipples, especially him rubbing upwards with his palms and the small bondage of having my bra straps pulled down my shoulders. Hair pulling and petting, dragging his fingers through my hair. Nibbling and sucking on my neck until it was polka-dotted with hickeys. All of these things come to me in fragments; I honestly can't remember most of what happened in any type of order.

He's big into eye contact and it's exhilarating, but he asks me what I see and how different it was from earlier. And it's true, there's more intensity, more focus, and his eyes are less big and glazed and dreamy, but that vulnerability is still there from earlier.

I was so wet. So wet that it soaked through my skirt (no underpants for me) and into the fabric of his pants, which he pointed out and made me feel. He also allowed me to feel myself, and how absolutely soaking wet I was. He would have even let me get off, but sometimes getting off is difficult and would have thrown me out of the headspace. Besides, I was content to be tortured for a while longer.

One sequence was seared into my brain, a kind of centerpiece of the night. He had me on his lap again, facing away, and testing my reaction to his metal claws. Down my arms, across my back, leaning me at first against him then away from him. His claws on my windpipe, digging in slightly but just enough to send another large jolt of fear reflex in me which just made me more pliable. But the scraping was intense and my skin felt overstimulated and sensitive and I knew that he would listen to any feedback I had, as we were both fairly new to one another.

I was so grateful when he gave his assent to allow me to sink back down to his feet and be petted again. I think at this point he knows it makes me feel both safe and subby.

He'd been talking about gags the week before and I had that weird tickle about them. I had been disappointed when he'd taken the claws out of his bag, and while sitting on the floor I finally admitted to myself that I really wanted to be gagged by him.

The next part stands out in crystal clarity, repeating itself in my mind, unbidden, on the drive home.

Shyly I kneel between his legs and look up before asking him if he could please gag me. Instead of a ball gag like i had expected, he takes out a strange spring-loaded device and explains what it and its companion are for.They would hold my mouth open, and as time went by and my jaw tired, they would hold my mouth open wider and wider. And it's new and unexpected and so I'm a little uncertain, but I can tell that it would turn him on so much. And trusting him would turn him on and I do trust him with this.

He carefully slips each spring in my mouth and takes his hand away. My mouth suddenly seems so vulnerable. His finger explores my mouth and he mentions the devices' usefulness for forced oral sex. The devices also prevent me from speaking which is so frustrating, and I feel helpless. His eyes are fixed on me and I feel so utterly, completely lost. So far gone.

He removes the gag all too soon; he'd promised that it would slowly cause my mouth to open and for it to be more and more uncomfortable, but it wasn't. It was a constant pressure, reminding me continually of my state of submission. It bound me, like rope. Strange.

He brought me out of my subspace, slowly, making me focus on him and clear my head until I had returned to myself. The dungeon was closing and it was getting late, time to go home.

Even now, a week later, I still have that feeling of whiplash, of switching so thoroughly and so completely, and the intimacy it created for me.