It's funny how fear of the unknown can seem to be such an insurmountable obstacle. Afterwards, you laugh, and wonder what you were so afraid of, but this was still before, and my stomach was alive with butterflies. Like everything I ever ate in my entire life was rolling around, considering making a reappearance. I could pretend that I was only doing this for Wolf, but deep down, I had a lot of curiosity, and more than a little desire. I was going through with it, even if it killed me.
We'd read all about the Mine Shaft, a BDSM club, and had been making our plans for ages, but somehow that didn't make me less nervous. Eating dinner, Wolf talked casually, and I listened with one ear, hoping for distraction, but pushed my plate away after only a couple of bites. We were headed to the club right after we ate, and throwing up in front of a bunch of strangers was just one more fear to add to the list. I don't remember one word of our conversation except for his assurances that I was his, and he would take care of me.
I had spent two days agonizing over what to wear, but Wolf just laughed at me. He told me that I was going to take it off as soon as we got there anyway, and that unnerved me even more. It felt like a psychological advantage to look good when I got there; as if starting the evening out in a nice sexy outfit would make me less vulnerable afterwards. I had spent entirely too much time surfing the internet looking at perfect bodies, knowing that mine couldn't measure up. Fuck-me heels seemed like the next best thing, with black lace lingerie thrown in under my skirt and blouse for good measure.
I was as ready as I would ever be when we pulled up to the club. It was rather innocuous on the outside, and it felt kind of silly to be afraid of an establishment headquartered in an industrial office complex. Once inside, though, the butterflies returned, at least until I was able to surreptitiously examine the other guests. Just as Wolf had assured me, there were no perfect bodies, just ordinary people like us, hoping for an extraordinary night.
The front rooms looked like any small retail office, or that of a chiropractor, though the display of wares for sale would make the average housewife blush, including whips, chains, ropes, and various BDSM implements. There was also a changing room and small sitting room. Well lit, clean and white, they would prove to be a complete contrast to the playroom, and were probably designed that way intentionally, to ease the fears of people just like me.
After filling out paperwork, we were given a tour by a young woman with easily the most nearly perfect body there. I couldn't help but stare at her mocha colored breasts, as they strained to escape the beautiful corset she wore. It was a lovely distraction, and I spent as much time looking at her body as listening to the information she gave us sotto voce as we walked around the dimly lit, cavernous interior. She explained each station, and there were many, including a big area with lots of comfy couches, for talking, aftercare, and watching scenes being played out.
The playroom itself was a large warehouse space, unfinished concrete, with 20' ceilings, and the center of it was dominated by a winch, for serious shibari suspension. A heavy set young woman was swinging naked on the rope harness, and it was terribly hard for me to peel my eyes away, but the tour moved on, passing a spanking bench, an entire rack of various tools of discipline, and an area off to one side with a large table, that looked like a kitchenette. The beautiful young woman explained that this was for wax play, and I saw a gleam in Wolf's eye, as this was something we'd been dying to try. All too soon, though, the tour was over, and I began to feel anxious again, but Wolf took my hand, looked in my eyes, and said, simply, "Are you ready for me to tie you up?"
The combination of his words and the eye contact were the psychological equivalent of flipping a switch. Our surroundings and my nervousness melted away, and I smiled and took his hand. There are no secrets between us, and we talk about everything. There is no greater joy for me than submitting to him, and he can make me weak in the knees with his tone of voice. It isn't blind faith, though, but rather trust built from experience. He knows me frighteningly well, and constantly strives to know me better. Once we begin a scene, there are no choices for me, but he takes great pains to know what I need and want beforehand. And if something doesn't work, we discuss that, too, and fix it. He understands me better than anyone. I need his control, and my gift to him is my surrender.
Without another word, Wolf led me to the shibari station; a large oriental carpet under an ornate pergola frame in one corner of the room. It looked like an over-sized Japanese arbor, 8 feet high, and about the same dimensions square. He quietly but firmly instructed me to take off my blouse and skirt, allowing me to retain my panties and bra. I smiled, wordlessly thanking him for allowing me that security. He sat on the rug, opened his bag, set out the rope, and positioned me in front of him. Ritual and familiarity quickly took over, and the room and the few people watching quickly faded from my consciousness as I watched him with fascination. When he ties me, the knots he lays upon my body are his only focus, and I wait eagerly, willing him to be done so that I become a woman again, and not just the canvas he is painting. It is the most delicious sort of foreplay, forcing me to be patient, as I grow more and more desperate for his caress.
He always turns me this way and that, adjusting, tightening, but this night, every time he spun me, I was reminded that we were not alone. We had deliberately picked a slow night at the Mine Shaft, since it was our first public play, but there were still people watching. Pinpricks of fear began to return, and I willed myself to concentrate on his hands moving confidently across my skin, and not what people would think. He finally got the black woven poly rope knotted exactly as he liked, and began to tighten, the ropes biting into my flesh, making my breath catch, and limbs tremble. When I was snugly bound, secure in his net, he stopped and took me by the chin. "Pet, may I take off your bra?" His fingers were soft against my flesh, but his grip was pure steel, and I was forced to meet his gaze. In his eyes I found the reassurance I needed, and I nodded slowly. He pulled it off between the ropes, and my breasts were free within the rope harness. Now the only shield between my naked body and the eyes of strangers were my skimpy panties, and Wolf's rope. I held his gaze as if I were a drowning woman, and he my life raft.
He pulled me over to a corner of the metal framework, and began to tie another piece of rope to my wrists, one at a time. Easily, he threw one end of the rope over the top bar, and began to pull, raising my wrists over my head. Calmly, deliberately, he hoisted, until the increasing pressure pulled me up on my tiptoes. He stopped then, pulling me close, and looking deep into my eyes once again.
"Pet, do you want to be blindfolded? Yes, or no?"
We had discussed this before, and the possibility that it might narrow my focus, but now, there was an even more important reason. I was rapidly approaching panic mode, but as usual, he had sensed my mood, and realized that I needed to be isolated. My focus needed to be turned inward, so that the only thing I would really be conscious of was Wolf, and his control of my body. Helplessly, I nodded my head, unable to form the words, grateful that there was no need.
Always prepared, he immediately produced a bandana and fastened it tightly around my eyes. At first the added vulnerability just scared me, and the sixty seconds or so that I waited for Wolf's next move seemed like an eternity. His big rough hands finally began to lightly stroke my body, and I whimpered softly, but was shocked when I heard the unmistakable "snick" of his knife opening, and felt my panties being cut away, and pulled from beneath the ropes. Helplessness is undeniably sexy for me, but now all my defenses had been systematically removed. Wrists pulled high above my head, naked save for the rope, I felt my thighs being pulled apart, and the rope's insistent bite intensified.
