Author: bound_to_please

Rubicon, Part 1 [FM] [Msub] [Fdom] [bdsm] [huml] [cnc] [hypno] [bd]

She was determined to make it happen.

“Aren’t you gonna ask why I made sure you got a full night’s sleep every day this week?”

“I assume I’ll find out in a bit.” Even though his confidence was a thin veneer over strident anticipation—and she knew it, and he knew she knew it—he grinned anyway. For reasons that would never become clear to him, it felt important to put up some resistance before they began, even if it was mostly for his ego.

She sighed and smiled back. “I have never loved that expression on your face more than right now,” she said.

In retrospect, that should have worried him more than it did.

He stretched languidly beneath her, pleasantly adrift in curiosity. He tried to keep his mind from cycling through the possibilities, wanting to stay present and engaged in the moment for her. She had treated him particularly well that week, and she had promised to reward him with his favorite arrangement: being cuffed spread-eagle to the bed—almost too tightly. Long ago, she had dubbed the position “the lazy submissive”. He wriggled subtly in anticipation of the bondage. Read more »

[fffm] [fm] [bdsm] Patience and Pegging

Three gorgeous women stood around me in a loose triangle, conspiring. I couldn’t see their facial expressions because my eyes were at waist-level; I was not standing, but on my knees, in their midst.

I wondered what they were feeling, and what a potent complement it must be to my experience. My wrists were secured behind my back in a pair of snug but comfortable velcro cuffs. There was a cool breeze from a window that teased my uncovered skin; they remained clothed and unfazed.

Somehow, I was not dreaming.

“Do you know how many men would kill to be in your position right now?” Asked Page, grasping my bearded chin with her fingertips to tilt my head back until we made eye contact. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes that made my heart pound even faster.

My mind was blank, unable to find purchase in a whirlpool of emotions that I couldn’t wait to drown in. I felt the addictive thrill of uncertainty and nascent panic, a cocktail of neurochemicals that told me:

“Run, before they tear you to pieces!” Read more »

Patience and Pegging [FFFM] [Msub] [Fdom] [bdsm]

Three gorgeous women stood around me in a loose triangle, conspiring. I couldn’t see their facial expressions because my eyes were at waist-level; I was not standing, but on my knees, in their midst.

I wondered what they were feeling, and what a potent complement it must be to my experience. My wrists were secured behind my back in a pair of snug but comfortable velcro cuffs. There was a cool breeze from a window that teased my uncovered skin; they remained clothed and unfazed.

Somehow, I was not dreaming.

“Do you know how many men would kill to be in your position right now?” Asked Page, grasping my bearded chin with her fingertips to tilt my head back until we made eye contact. There was a predatory gleam in her eyes that made my heart pound even faster.

My mind was blank, unable to find purchase in a whirlpool of emotions that I couldn’t wait to drown in. I felt the addictive thrill of uncertainty and nascent panic, a cocktail of neurochemicals that told me:

“Run, before they tear you to pieces!” Read more »

Stories of a Certain Kind [FM] [Fdom] [Msub] [bdsm]

“Write me stories,” she said.

“Write me stories, and I’ll do to you whatever wicked things you do to your heroes.”

So, I wrote.

Tale upon tale flowed from my fingertips to hers. We were a team: I brought her raw materials, she crafted them into encounters. Her standards were simple and constant: Challenge myself. Balance indulgence with torment.

I filled the stories to bursting with my fantasies, page after page iterating over them from every angle. The possibilities lit up my mind constantly. She took plenty of liberties: Sometimes she would do exactly what I wrote, as if following instructions. Other times, I would not understand the connection to my prompt at all, until she would whisper the epiphany to me as her hands kneaded my most sensitive parts.

The result was that I never knew what to expect, never knew what nuanced wickedness my words might have unlocked, could never add in a detail without weighing the probability that I might be designing my own doom. She made it clear I would regret it if I went easy on myself. When I wrote weak stories, didn’t pour myself into them, didn’t give her enough to work with, there would be a consequence every time. Bruises, denial, scars. She would find a way to make me feel paradoxically judged and liberated. Read more »

[F/m] Stories of a Certain Kind

“Write me stories,” she said.

“Write me stories, and I’ll do to you whatever wicked things you do to your heroes.”

So, I wrote.

Tale upon tale flowed from my fingertips to hers. We were a team: I brought her raw materials, she crafted them into encounters. Her standards were simple and constant: Challenge myself. Balance indulgence with torment.

I filled the stories to bursting with my fantasies, page after page iterating over them from every angle. The possibilities lit up my mind constantly. She took plenty of liberties: Sometimes she would do exactly what I wrote, as if following instructions. Other times, I would not understand the connection to my prompt at all, until she would whisper the epiphany to me as her hands kneaded my most sensitive parts.

The result was that I never knew what to expect, never knew what nuanced wickedness my words might have unlocked, could never add in a detail without weighing the probability that I might be designing my own doom. She made it clear I would regret it if I went easy on myself. When I wrote weak stories, didn’t pour myself into them, didn’t give her enough to work with, there would be a consequence every time. Bruises, denial, scars. She would find a way to make me feel paradoxically judged and liberated. Read more »