Crouching Tiger

The chair felt firm as Sir Burt tied me into it. It was just a normal chair from a dining room set, but it was solid. Leave it to Burt to have the perfect chair for bondage. I tested the ropes that pinned my arms to the chair arms. Tight, with just enough give to not cut off the blood supply. He’d done the finger test after tying them, so I felt safe. Burt was good at making me feel safe.

He looked up at me from in front of the chair. He was tying my left ankle. “How does that feel?” he said with a slight smile. 

“Good, “ I replied. “Like I’m not getting out.”

“You’re not.”

Burt knew what he was doing. From what he’d told me, he’d been doing bondage since sometime in the 80s. He’d gotten into kink pretty early in life, so he was now in his 60s, although I would have said early 50s. He was tall and thin and sported something like a handlebar mustache.

I watched him as he finished the tie he was working on. He slipped two fingers between the rope and the skin of my ankle. It was such a casual gesture, it was like he was doing it instinctively, something he’d done so many thousands of times that he was doing it by muscle memory. It was impressive to watch, and it reinforced my sense of safety.

I’m an anxious person by nature, and being tied naked into a chair ought by all rights have triggered my anxieties. I should have been imagining that he was going to suddenly drop dead of a heart attack and leave me trapped in his apartment until I starved to death. But instead I just felt calm. Was that something about Burt’s personality, or was it a skill he had? If so, I wanted that skill. I wanted to learn what Burt knew. That’s why I was here.

About nine months previously, I had realized that I was kinky and interested in being dominant. I mentioned this to a friend of mine, and as luck would have it, Paul knew Burt, one of the most experienced bondage doms in the city. He’d introduced us and Burt had agreed to teach me about kink. So every two to three weeks, I would come over to Burt’s apartment and he would teach me bondage. He’d tie me up and then have me reproduce the tie on him after he let me out. He was a bondage top, but he clearly enjoyed having a guy more than 20 years his junior tying him up. For Burt, the bondage was the sex.

He stood up. “Now why did I tie you like this?”

I thought about it for a second. “A rope around each ankle, so I can’t move my lower legs out from the chair. The arms of the chair are keeping me from moving my knees outward.” I tried to raise one leg, but only got it about half an inch. I looked over the side of the chair. “And you tied the rope both over and under the rung, so I can’t raise my leg far enough to slip out of the rope.”

“And the arms?”

“I can’t raise my wrists or move them out from the arms of the chair, and the back of the chair keeps me from pulling my arms back enough to slide out. But you haven’t restrained my chest at all, so I can…” I leaned forward but quickly realized that the ropes just above my elbows, which he’d tied to the rungs of the chair back, meant I couldn’t come forward more than about three inches. Burt smiled a sly smile.

I struggled at the ropes for a bit. No leverage anywhere. Below my neck, all my planes of motion were cut off. Although my initial sense was that this was an easy tie to get out of it, the combination of strategic placement of the ropes and the structure of the chair meant I was trapped. I had a much better sense of how to do bondage now than I had 9 months ago, but Burt could still surprise me. I really admired his skills. I wanted to be like him, and I was grateful to him that he was slowly teaching me the skills so that one day I could do what he did. Some day, I hoped, I would be where he was, watching a novice guy struggling against the bondage I had put him in.

But right now, I was trapped. 

“Ok, let me out and I’ll tie you. This one seems pretty easy to reproduce.”

“No,” said Burt.

I blinked. “What?”

“Not yet. Let’s have some fun first.”

Burt got right up in front of me and then started pinching my nipples. 

I hadn’t realized until I started playing with Burt just how much I enjoyed having my nipples worked. Although Burt was mostly a bondage dom, he enjoyed tit play. So it wasn’t too surprising that he’d decided to give me a little torture. I wasn’t going to say no. 

He limbered his fingers for a moment, like a safe-cracker in some 50s heist film. Then he began to roll my nipples under his fingers. The mild discomfort slowly rose to pain, but the kind of pain that felt so good. I had no idea why I enjoyed this so much, but it was delicious. 

My cock rose. It’s strange. I wasn’t really attracted to Burt, but everything we did had an element of sex to it, and I had quickly become comfortable with being sexual with Burt. There was just something liberating about what we were doing. I think this moment was when I understood the paradox of BDSM; being restrained becomes freeing. 

“Let’s make this more interesting,” he said. He left the dining room and headed into one of the back rooms. My chair was facing away from the doorway he’d just gone through, so I couldn’t see what he was up to. Dammit! He’d suckered me again! He made all this seem spontaneous—the position of the chair, his suggestion that I take off my clothes, the simplicity of the bondage—but he’d thought it out beforehand. Burt never ceased to amaze me with the tricks he had up his sleeve. I was learning a lot about controlling a scene just be seeing how he set things up. He had something planned, and I had no idea what it was.

I heard his boot-steps on the hardwood floor behind me, and I started to turn my head to see, but a moment later things went black as he slid a padded blindfold down over my eyes. Burt wasn’t the kind of dom to own a huge collection of expensive gear, but the stuff he did own was high quality and strategically useful. I couldn’t see a thing. My world contracted to hearing and touch.

“When it’s my turn, you’d gonna regret this,“ I said.

“Maybe. But not until then.” There was a playfulness in his voice that soothed the flicker of anxiety I was feeling. I knew I was safe. Burt wasn’t going to hurt me.

No, actually, Burt was going to hurt me, I realized as I felt more pressure on my left tit. He just wasn’t going to harm me. 

A moment later I felt the pressure on my left tit reproduced on my right tit. It was firm, constant, steady. It was definitely tit clamps. 

I took a deep breath and relaxed into the discomfort. My cock, which had momentarily deflated, swelled up again as the discomfort increased. He was slowly getting more aggressive. I grunted in pain.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” 

“Like a bitch,” I said through clenched teeth. 

Burt leaned over the back of the chair. He was a few inches from my left ear, tugging gently on the chain that ran between the two clamps. “Don’t fight it. Just feel it.”

“I know I…”

“Stop analyzing it. Get out of your head. Just experience it.”

“Easier said…Gaagh!” He tugged sharply on the chain to cut me off. 

“Get into your body. Feel it.”

He eased off, but just a little. I was breathing in fast, shallow breaths. My nipples felt like they were on fire, but in a good way somehow. “I don’t know how much more I can take.”

“That’s too bad for you then. We’ve got a long way to go.”

What I was going to say in response disappeared when he yanked hard on the chain. Instead, I growled.

It was a deep, ragged noise that rumbled up through my throat as I exhaled. I had no idea where it came from.

“That’s what I was looking for,” said Burt with satisfaction. “Keep going.”

I tried to say something but he clamped his right hand over my mouth. “Don’t worry. Just keep going. Trust me. Feel it.” 

Then he yanked on the chain again. 

The growl repeated itself. I didn’t know where it was coming from. Burt took his hand away from my mouth. As I breathed in, I snarled, a strange deep rasping sound that made my lips and nose vibrate. 

And suddenly I was sinking into myself, down past the rational part of me that needed to be in control, down into something more prehistoric, something more bestial. Some animal piece of me I had never met before was waking up. It was in pain and it was horny and it was angry

I snapped my head to the left, snarling and bearing my teeth at my tormentor. He was just out of range. I pulled forward, but was stopped by the ropes above my elbows. I strained at the ropes, trying to get leverage. I needed to hurt him the way he was hurting me. But I couldn’t get free. I began to growl my rage. 

“There we go, tiger!” 

Burt was mocking me, even as he was tugging on the chain. My fury was rising. I tried to stand up but my legs were bound to the chair legs and I couldn’t get my torso far enough forward. I tried to pull my arms outward, but the sturdiness of the chair and the ropes at my wrists thwarted me. I tried to rock the chair, but Burt’s weight pressing down on the back kept it stable.

My cock was dripping. The pain and rage and frustration were coming out however they could and I felt alive, powerful in some primordial fashion that was overwhelming everything but my instincts. 

Burt shifted his weight and switched which hand was pulling on the chain. I realized that his right arm was close to my head. I lunged for it and felt the flesh of his bicep between my teeth. I bit down. Burt shouted from the unexpected pain and yanked his arm away. The pain on my tits eased because he had let go of the chain. Success! I had made him regret fucking with me.

“Deserved that, I suppose,” he said, ruefully. Then he came around in front of the chair. He knelt down in front of me, buried his head in my crotch, and began sucking me as he pulled on the chain with one hand.

I don’t usually come just through oral play. But the combination of the pain on my tits and the sensations on my dick proved to be too much. I needed release. With a noise that was half groan of pleasure and half growl of animal rage, I shot. He pulled back his head so I sprayed my seed into the air instead of his mouth.

And with that, my rational mind started to surface through the flood of animal feelings surging in me. That animal, that beast, began to descend into the primordial darkness it had been lurking in. 

Now, my tits just hurt.

“Deep breath” Burt said. I sucked air in as he unclamped my nipples. Then a surge of pain shot through me and I rocked the chair. “Easy there, tiger!” 

I slumped in the chair, exhausted and dazed, still trying to reassemble the collection of thoughts I call my self. He reached up and pulled off the blindfold.

I blinked for a second as I remembered that I could see things. Burt was kneeling up on his knees smiling calmly at me. His face was shiny with my jizz but he seemed unconcerned about that.

“Just relax and process,” he said, as he began to untie my feet. “Intense scenes take a lot out of you, so just sit there and let me do the work.”

I watched him, distantly and with some detachment, as he undid the other ropes around me. My mind was too flooded with thoughts and feelings and memories for me to do anything else. I didn’t quite know what to make of what I had just gone through, but there was one thing I knew with certainty. I wasn’t the same man who had sat down in that chair half an hour before. 

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