Yvan, also known as member QueerYvan, is a historian of sexuality. In an ongoing series, he shares some of his favourite fetish encounters (in a whole lot of detail), as well as occasionally fill us in on the history of kink.
For The Rope Warlock
I went to his apartment in the afternoon. The 8th floor views over Marseille were magnificent - 180 degrees, from the mountains to the sea. All of the city lay before us, basking in the light. I was breath-taken.
I had never met him before but had admired his photographs on Instagram and wanted to be in them. His manner was easy, and we bonded over some shared interests. When he hugged me - a hug that lasted minutes - I knew I could trust him enough to let him bind me in his rope. It had been years since I had done this, but his aesthetics and my new-found patience had made me want to try it again. I don't very often explore submission with people other than my partner, but I wanted to see how I would look in his rope and was prepared to give him what he wanted for this to happen. Sex is transactional, even when no money is involved. Currencies of aesthetics, pleasures and emotions drive intimacy.
He blind-folded me first, taking me to my inner-world. I felt vulnerable but secure in his warm hands. He undressed me down to my underwear and I could feel his eyes all over me. He asked if he could touch me, and I told him: "Anywhere you like." He put me on my knees, and touched my chest, pulling me back against his legs. All of the time, he followed my breath and kept bringing me back to myself. He was clothed; I was naked and his to play with. I was getting off on the imbalance of power, as, I am sure, was he.
His first ropes grabbed me. I remembered the feel of rope on my skin from years ago, with rough jute pulling tight against my skin. These were soft and did not bite me. Quickly, ropes flicking around my body as he moved, I was bound with my hands behind my back, my wrists locked together. I felt helpless, a state I know I am aroused by. I did not resist, but patiently sank into a space where he could play with me and tease me. I could feel myself submitting, and glowed.
He bound me in elegant ways. I could feel a twisted column up my back, a handle to drag me around with if he had wanted to be rough. He made a cage for my head, and wrapped his ropes around my closed eyes, around my neck and face, binding my mouth like a gag. Sometimes he pushed his fingers into my forced-open mouth, reaching for the back of my throat like a cock. Sometimes he pulled my nipples, twisting and hurting me and squeezing my flesh between his cords. Sometimes he spanked my arse, flushing my blood through me and making me swoon. I was tied so that I could not move. I let him do anything. I was a landscape for him to explore.
His ropes wrapped their way down my back and around my cock and balls. He bound me tightly, playing with me roughly, separating my balls from my body, stretching them and making them hard, leaving me feeling exposed and horny. My cock was starting to throb, engorged with blood that could not pass his knots. He played with me, softly at first, feeling the veins thickening in my cock and my balls taut and swollen. Every movement was sensitive. I could smell my arousal. He rubbed his finger around the opening of my cock, teasing out the precum and placed it on my lips to taste. No words were said. I let him do what he wanted. My world had become nothing but the sensations he gave me. I was held tight by his ropes, taken prisoner by his desire.
He bent me over the sofa, and I leant back to spread my cheeks for him. For a long time, he did not move. I assumed he was taking photos of me exposed for him. When he came closer, placing his hand on my lower back, I breathed out. His hands rubbed over my body, over my cock and tight balls and hairy arse. He put one hand on each cheek, and I felt his beard between my cheeks. My knees were pushed apart by his, and he ate my arse deeply, pushing his tongue as far into me as he could reach. I tried to move, but I was tied in such a way that I was unable to - I could only lie still and let him rim me as much as he wanted. I was lost in my pleasure, his hand gripping me by the balls to pull me back onto his eager tongue.
He took some more rope, and bound my legs and feet, spreading my toes and making it impossible for me to move. He laid me back against his body, arms wrapped around me like a homoerotic Pieta, and organised my cock and balls to play with. His fist gripped tightly around my balls, and it felt like he was watching my face as he squeezed them, gradually intensifying as whispered moans started to escape my open mouth. He would stop, but not surrender, following me intensely as I managed the pain of his crushing grip. He would let them go, and I would feel relief flood in until he grabbed them again. The ropes were pinching hard on my scrotum, burning tight, making me throb in delight. Sometimes he would pull on them, stretching them so far from my body that I would move. It was the gentlest agony. He would roll them around in his grip, bringing me to the edge of suffering, but still filled with enough pleasure to make me not want to stop. I said nothing but listened to my moans increase. The pain felt orgasmic when he released me.
He rubbed his fingers over the end of my cock again and let me taste my precum again. There was so much. I was so excited, enervated by the anticipation of what he would do next, desperate for him to give me pleasure, but keen to let him enjoy me as he wanted. The rope held me tight and reminded me constantly that this was his game. He only used my pleasure to tease me. I could see nothing with the rope still wrapped around my eyes.
He put one hand along the side of my cock, and moments later slapped his other against it, crushing me. The stinging shock made me wince, and everywhere I moved his ropes stretched against me, intensifying their grip. I could do nothing to stop him and I was so turned on at the thought that my cock became harder. He slapped me again, and I sucked my breath in. A series of little slaps followed, intensifying as I felt my body tighten, my cock exploding with sensations somewhere between pleasure, annoyance and pain. When he stopped, I felt desperate. When he beat me, I struggled, and this aroused me more. He would sometimes take my cock in his hand and wank me until I could feel my balls tightening, and then pull away, leaving me groaning in frustration, precum dripping onto my stomach, wet against my skin. He kept playing with me like this, teasing me, disappointing me, edging me closer and closer to an orgasm that he would never give me.
When he untied me, I felt like I was in space. My body felt light, as if it had been freed from the burden of holding itself while I had submitted to the pleasure he gave me. We said goodbye, and I rushed home, craving relief. In the bathroom, naked in front of the mirror so I could still see the faint marks of his rope, I got myself hard and jerked myself off with one hand cradling my swollen balls, regarding in the mirror how swollen and excited I was, feeling my cock harden and finally be able to spurt out all of my pent up frustration that he had bound into me. When I came, I felt like I was high. I could still see faint marks from his cords around my wrist.