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Bondage is such a loaded word. What do you see when you think of bondage? Dungeons? Black leather? Dark, sinister tools and implements? (May I come over to your house tonight? May I bring a friend?) Sometimes people forget that kink can come in a variety of, oh, let’s just say it, shades. You don’t need to dive into the deep end right away if bondage is something new to you. Play light. Tiptoe into the world of BDSM (in a pair of high-heeled patent-leather boots, of course). Use your imagination before you reach for cuffs, whips, floggers, crops…those can come later. You can come right now.
But how do you even begin?
X-rated, X-rated, read all about it. My number one piece of advice for couples wanting to delve into new territories is to read some smut. (Which you’re doing right now, you good pupil.) Discover what makes you hard, what makes you wet, and decide first of all whether the words are enough. Maybe you can get off simply on hearing about what other people like to do. If not, then go slow. Choose a safeword. Check in constantly. Invest in a safety manual. And have fun. Sex shouldn’t be so serious that you can’t crack a smile while cracking that whip.
Admittedly, my novice days are long behind me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t remember the first shivery thrill of being tied down the first time. Bondage can rely simply on a command, like in my short story “Playing for Keeps”:
My training began as soon as we’d moved in together, our first night in our new house.
“Let go of the headboard, Sarah, and we’ll have a much more humiliating lesson tomorrow,” he assured me.
Staying still for a whipping, staying still on my own accord, is nearly impossible for me. Being tied down is so much easier. So much less work. There is no choice involved. No mental trauma. But holding steady, wrists overhead, body clenched, back and thighs and cunt whipped severely. That takes will.
Bondage can happen when you least expect it, like in one of the first stories I ever wrote, “Zachary’s Bed”:
Zachary’s bed is in the middle of his room, and I am in the middle of his bed. My arms are tied above my head to the curlicues of brass that make up the frame. My ankles are fixed to the railing, my legs spread wide apart beneath the thin, satin sheet. The bindings are simply old silk ties of Zachary’s, secure, but not constrictive. One of the ties has a painting of a naked lady on it. I look up and meet her eyes before calling out my lover’s name.
“Zachary?”
I wasn’t bound like this when we went to bed. It truly is amazing what I can sleep through.
Of course, once you grow accustomed to playing with ropes, there are so many ways to extend the pleasure. Like being tied down and shaved in this scene from my story called “Reunion”:
“He was a bondage geek. He loved tying girls up. God, I miss college. Everyone seemed to wear their fetish on their sleeve. Do you know what I mean? You could tell when people were discovering something that worked for them.”
“I don’t know…” I drawled. “There were also a lot of shaving-cream fights, and bringing beer into the dorm in big suitcases and that incident with the Jell-O in the washing machine.”
“Sometimes people need a little beer to discover what works for them,” Jill said matter-of-factly. “Like after one of those shaving-cream fights, Jason tied me down and shaved my pussy.”
“Are you serious?”
“He didn’t even tell me what he was going to do. He simply asked if I was okay being bound, and I told him I’d never been before. He took four ties—university ties, I swear—and he bound me down on his bed.”
Or being tied down and spanked, like in a short I wrote called “Obsessed”:
“After he came to the bedroom, he tied me down to his bed and he used his bare hand on me.”
“Only his hand?”
“That night, yeah. Later on, he used his belt. But that first night, he simply gave me a hand spanking.”
“And you liked it?”
“I loved it.”
“Slut.”
Or being tied down, stripped and flogged, like in my story “The Last Goodbye”:
He carried me back to the bed, spread me out, and tied me to Janelle’s bed frame like the bondage pro he was. He cut my skirt off, cut my T-shirt away, then ran his fingertips over the shaved skin of my pussy. I had only my thigh-high fishnets on now. Nothing to protect me.
“You know you’re a bad girl,” he said, “don’t you?”
I nodded, and then immediately whispered, “Yes, Connor.”
“And you know tonight I’m going to make you scream.”
Tears started running down my cheeks. I was shivering all over, but I managed to say, “Yes, Connor.”
