A thin strap ist tied across the open door facing the backyard.
First I think it's a barrier for visitors.
Then I realize it’s a cat’s leash.
The cat’s name is Klook.
Klook is a giant black long haired Maine Coon.
His owner is a giant bald bearded Dutchman with a black eye patch. He is constantly vaping Cannabis, owns 120 typewriters, wrote a fiction series about a female Amsterdam assassin and wants to practice Shibari with me.
A year ago I didn’t even know Shibari existed.
Japanese Samurai originally used it to tie up and torture prisoners.
Then it became an erotic art.
Riggers tie naked women. Advanced riggers don’t have sex with them once they’re unable to move. The erotic lies in the subjection, and the satisfaction in not satisfying the arousal.
Now I'm in the rigger’s house. His kids are at school. Klook is in the kitchen.
„It’s an academic interest“, I claim. „I’d like to know more about the psychodynamics of Shibari.“
„Of course“, the rigger answers, and starts to talk about surrendering and absolute trust, safe words and the relief of being embraced by ropes.
I ask questions and nod.
I nod and ask questions.
Then something starts to tingle.
Something starts to dance.
Yes, no, yes, no, don’t be crazy, yes, yes, nooooo!!!
That’s too risky, I love taking risks, leave it be, I know I should but I’m hungry, hungry, hungry, yes, yes, no.
Yes.
I follow him upstairs. His bedroom is full of weirdness. Swords and Kimonos on the wall, ritual articles in a glass cabinet, countless typewriters, and a scuffed soft toy bear with an eye patch just like his.
„If I’m taking photos, I can put it in front of your pussy, so she’s not visible.“
Wrong movie, clearly.
That’s so seedy. Shady. Scruffy.
You can still leave, darling.
But of course you never would, my always-all-in-baby.
The rigger asks me to undress and remove my earrings, my necklace and my bracelets, and I do.
I ask him to close the curtains, and he does.
I wonder if that has been a good idea.
Above the bed there’s a construction for suspension.
There’s music in the background.
Perhaps for preventing the neighbors from hearing me scream, I think.
He tells me to sit in front of him with crossed legs.
„How do you feel?“, he asks.
„Scared“, I answer, but it’s a lie.
„You’re not scared“, he says. „It’s just nervous tension.“
„What a fortune you know me better than I know myself“, I think, but I keep my mouth shut.
He tells me to close my eyes.
He tells me to climb in his lap.
Yes, daddy, I think and feel like his little princess.
He’s dressed, I’m naked.
He starts preparing my body and my psyche.
He tells me to press my body against his, to wrap myself around him tightly with my legs and arms.
He holds my head between his hands and moves it.
I let go of resistance.
I trust.
It feels natural.
I surrender.
Finally.
Finally someone’s holding me. Someone’s holding me tight. Someone won’t let me fall. Someone won’t abandon me. Someone’s telling me what to do.
I don’t have to hold myself.
I feel my eye muscles spasm.
I crave to cry, but there are no tears.
Then he starts tying me up. Practiced and skilled, his hands move over my body, dance with the rope, tease me with letting it slip over my clit. My arms bound behind my back, my legs wrapped and unable to move, the rope around my chest bound tightly, cutting into my very flesh. Finally he connects all the ropes and pulls on one of them. My bent legs are dragged towards my torso.
A 177 cm woman in a tiny bundle.
No way to escape.
He sits and looks at me. At my exposed cunt. At my nipples. At his rope oeuvre.
Touch us, my nipples beg.
Lick me, my cunt cries.
But I’m still keeping my mouth shut.
„You’re looking smug“, the rigger says.
„I do feel smug“, I answer. „Proud of daring to do this.“
„Imagine staying in this position for a whole night“, he says.
He makes me sit on his lap again und pulls me towards him with the rope.
„Kiss me“, he says.
Then his daughter comes home.
She knocks at his bedroom door while he’s untying me and giving me aftercare.
Holding, cuddling, soothing.
„Go. Care for her“, I say.
For your real daughter, I think, not for me.
He leaves the room.
I get up and put on my jewelry with a big fat smile on my face.
Oh yes, do I feel smug.
Photo by Canva
