I lay on the bed, my mask pulled tight and my vision cut off. With a start, I feel the bed move and my heart starts to race. My beautiful four-poster carriage is being wheeled somewhere and I have no idea where.
A small sliver of brightness peeks through the leather mask that blocks my eyesight and I lick my lips. It’s colder, wherever we are. My nipples harden and my skin goosebumps as a chilly breeze runs across me.
Somewhere I hear an announcer type voice call out, “Number Five is presented to you as one of your Offerings.”
I feel overcome with emotion. This is literally the moment I have been waiting for my entire adult kink life. Ever since I started attending munches and growing more comfortable within the kinky community and my identity as a submissive, I craved something more. Something deeper, darker, and scarier. I wanted to push my limits and most of all, I longed to be a plaything.
I have served several Dominant men over the years in my community in my years and each has taught me more about who I am and how I serve. I am thankful for their training and the relationships I have had. All of it has prepared me for this.
“Five. It is our wish that you be blindfolded during this session and that you do not make a single sound. If you consent, nod, and snap your fingers twice. If you wish to withdraw your consent or stop, merely speak and we will end the scene.”
With confidence, I snap my fingers and hold my breath.
Before I can fully process what is happening, there are multiple sets of hands on me. Some are soft, with nimble fingers and sharp nails that dance over my sensitive skin. Others are rough and calloused, holding me in place, flexing power into my submissive state.
I want to cry out, the sensations that have been building for so long have crashed into me like a runaway truck and are desperately seeking a release.
But they said to be quiet.
They said I wasn’t to make a single sound.
I am a Good Girl.
So I swallow my groan of ecstasy and try to obey.
I can’t tell how many people are watching me as I struggle to control my aching body. I could be in a room with only a few or I could be on stage.
A sharp blast of cold air startles my senses. The hands on my body continue to caress and hold me, but there’s something else touching me now. It’s rough and fibrous, scraping along my skin. My senses lock on as the sensation grows more and more familiar. Everything in me wants to cry out with joy and wild abandon.
I would know that feeling anywhere. It’s the feeling of a hank of rope being dragged across your skin. If submission is my calling, rope bondage is my soulmate. From the texture, my guess is that it’s jute. The excitement in my body pulsates and I grit my teeth to keep any sounds of pleasure from escaping.
The hands move my body at will. Bending me, holding me, and positioning me as the rough rope moves across my skin. I feel my robe being removed and my skin exposed as I am leaned up against a warm chest. My arms are carefully being positioned behind me and bands of rope being stretched tight across my upper arms. I have spent enough time in rope to know that I am being put into a takate-kote or box tie. My rigger briefly holds both of my hands and I instinctively know to squeeze them, completing the safety check to make sure the ropes are the right tightness.
“Good girl, Five. I think we will hang you from the ceiling. Nod once if you can hold a futo.” The whisper in my ear fills me with pleasure and I straighten up, proud of my performance so far, and nod.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would get to spend my time as an Offering in rope. Slowly I am pushed over into a kneel, my face crashing into someone’s lap, my ass in the air. Soft hands caress my face and run through my hair.
“You are such a good girl, Five.” A different voice this time, a softer and more feminine voice, is next to me. A fluttering kiss is pressed upon my temple and I can’t help but arch myself like a cat, eager to press my body into the welcome embrace.
Before more pets or more sweet kisses can be bestowed, I feel the rope start to brush across my leg. Slowly, someone lifts my left leg and bends it, touching my toes all the way to my butt. A multitude of hands reach out to steady me, holding me balanced as he repeats the wrapping motion, pushing me forward as he ties it off. The rope spirals all the way around my leg, tightening with each pass as he completes the spiral futomomo. They take their time here, gently pulling frictions tight and using a firm hand pressure to readjust his lines. I am balanced there, on the bed, exposed. My leg trussed up, my arms bound behind my back, my face shielded by a mask, and my ass in the air–still holding the enormous butt plug they insisted I wear.
The hands on my body never stop. It’s a sensation overload as they caress me and hold me. The textures of skin, silk sheets, rope and leather overwhelm me. My arousal is almost painful as I grit my teeth, determined not to cry out. I feel more rope being added, tension lines being checked as another line is added. A hand grabs my long brown hair and pulls my head back, enough to get my attention but not enough to truly hurt. A tie is added to my hair and I feel the rope being pulled taut on my other ankle. It’s a strange sort of discomfort but it’s one that I welcome with everything in my being.
The smell of rope, cinnamon and candle wax permeates the air.
The sensations running across my body crash in a tsunami of pleasure.
My lip bleeds as I bite it, determined not to cry out.
I am a Good Girl.
I do as I’m told.
They told me to be quiet.
“Steady, Five. It’s time to fly.”
I brace myself as best I can, relaxing my body into the ropes and testing the friction. Slowing my breathing and sinking into a calm state, I give a subtle nod of my head to indicate I am ready. The first wrenching pull as he pulls my leg up, extending my stretch in a very difficult and painful way, makes me grit my teeth to keep from crying out. The hands caressing me start to hold me up, keeping the stretch from becoming unbearable as another line pulls my torso up. Inch by inch, they pull and I feel myself pulled and lengthened, leaving the safe comfort of the bed as I fly into my suspension, my single futo knee higher than the rest of my body as I float, face down, willing myself to not struggle. The disorienting nature of being blindfolded is both enticing and scary as I settle into the ropes and feel the burn of the knots that are holding my entire body weight.
“Good girl, Five. You’re an accomplished rope bottom in your own right.” Yet another voice calls out to me and I cherish the praise.
A faint buzzing sound reaches my ears and I slowly swivel my head side to side, eager to identify where it is coming from. Before I could lock onto the sound, something cold and wet is slapped directly onto my pussy. A small mewl escapes my lips as I struggle to regain control and not flail–and thus tighten my ropes even more. An immediate feeling of failure descends upon me and the fear of disappointing the Collective and no longer being able to play makes me tear up.
“Quiet, Five!” A sharp rebuke came, followed by a slightly harder slap on my ass. The vibrations of the slap caused me to clench, my butt plug growing more and more uncomfortable, but I am relieved when the hands continue to run across my aching body. There’s the soft tickling caress of a feather or something soft, and the ominous prick of something sharp, cold and metal. My body struggles to remain in the meditative state as the sensations build. The buzzing noise grows louder as I lay there, bound and suspended off the floor, at their mercy. A sharp pinch on each of my nipples lets me know that the toys are coming out. I wiggle slightly, feeling the pressure change as the chain and clamps I now wear shift.
Hands explore my thighs, stopping to tweak my butt plug and run a soft finger across my clit. I quiver as someone else blows gently across my aroused skin, causing me to squirm and fall even deeper into my binding. Every moment that I hang there, suspended in this room, a different sensation hits me, intensifying the experience even further
The incessant buzzing is growing ever louder and I start to feel my anxiety rise when a deep chuckle sounds close to my ear.
Before I can process what is so funny.
Before I can acknowledge that the buzzing sounds like my very own wand vibrator.
The resulting wave of pleasure is so intense that despite the blindfold, I can see bright stars behind my eyes.
I let out a gasp, arching into the ropes and reveling in the intoxicating combination of pain, pleasure and sensory deprivation.
“Sweet Five, how quickly you come! We’re just getting started, I do hope you aren’t worn out already.”
Before I can acknowledge that I am ready for more, ready for whatever the night asks of me, I feel the rustle of a crotch rope being positioned around me. The buzzing of the vibrator growing near again as it is tied into place, just at the top of my mound where it can torment me all night long.
I gulp. This is what it means to be an Offering.
I am back on the bed, my aching arms and legs untied with care. Soft lined leather cuffs hold my wrists and ankles in a spreadeagle position as I await what comes next.
“You have beautiful tits, Five. I bet they will be even more beautiful when I am done decorating them.”
The light, feminine voice near my ear makes me startle but I manage a slight nod as I try to imagine what my chest is about to be decorated with.
“Your skin can wear blue and red so well. Perhaps we will have to start there.”
Something very hot drops onto my nipple and I squeak. The pain is like a pin prick but it soon fades and I can feel something stuck to my skin.
She is dripping hot wax on me.
“Too hot, Five? Nod your head yes or no.”
I shrug my shoulders slightly and bite my lip.
“Excellent. We will continue.”
The wax begins to fall on me faster, drops landing all over my chest as she moves around the bed. It no longer burns but rather feels strange and warm, a layer spreading over my skin. The temperature changes as each drop shifts from hot wax to drying wax, and finally the cool wax that makes my nipples ache with need.
“Good Girl, Five. Your tits are so beautiful. I think I might just leave this candle here.”
I freeze as I feel a steady stream of wax pour out into a puddle in between my breasts and the firm base of a candle settle in between them. The heat from the flame warms me but also warns me to keep my movements very, very still lest I burn.
“Show us just how still you can be, Five. And maybe you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination.”
I take a deep breath, willing myself to stay as still as possible to please The Collective. This is my moment. I sink into my cuffs, embracing the constant drip of the wax as it pools on my breasts, the heat from the candle competing with the slight chill in the air that has my exposed flesh pebbling up in anticipation.