Bondage Ritual

© 1996 by Mark I. Chester

(Caveat to the reader: In the gay world of bondage and discipline, feelings of psychological submission can be reinforced by referring to the bottom as a boy, although in reality the "boy" is of legal age. This is similar to adults who refer to their sexual partner as "baby". Their sexual partner is not actually a baby, my sexual partner in this story is not actually a boy. This seems silly to have to declare but in this age of sexual hysteria, such a declaration is not only desirable, it is necessary.)

My little boy buzzes my bell. His footsteps up three flights of stairs trip off memories that send me somersaulting back through intense physical and psychic experiences. He offers and I take and in my taking I give back to him. We meet on another plane. Another reality. There is no yesterday. No tomorrow. Only life as we experience it, second by second.

The camera has always been a part of that intense interaction. A funny sort of orgasm. With film I mirror him back. I draw him out. And out of our reality we create fantasy for ourselves and others. Jack-off fantasy for both the body and the mind. Intense. Obsessed. I wonder at the fear and fascination that these images set off in other people. I wonder at how far I have come from my Midwest middle class adolescence...

He carries my duffel bag without my directing him to do so. He knows respect in action and attitude is far more important than a thousand shallow Yes, Sirs. So he offers me respect as a full time gift. In return, I take him to places that no one else can touch.

Some lessons he requests from me because he knows he needs them. Others I create. For this lesson we will perform a magic bondage ritual for a friend and two filmmakers. He turns on to my photographing him because the photographs come out of our shared sexual explorations. He is somewhat concerned that the outsiders will affect his hard dick. But I know that once we start the actual physical restraint that bondage will be the only focus that he needs. I have faith in bondage. I also have faith in his dick. With a mind of its own, it tells me how good he feels.

It is just one more step in the training. One more exploration of the trust that has been built between us. In making himself vulnerable to me, he discovers how much I care for him and in return how deep his love for me is. Each time we play we stake out new territory. Sometimes it is physical. Sometimes I mind fuck his head. For me it is usually a combination of the two.

We set up and arrange our play space together. Bondage is not something that I do to him. It's an exploration that we embark upon together.

"Undress." I could have taken his clothes away from him, but I didn't. The turn-on for me is to take what I want, because it is all freely given. My ropes are laid out like a sacrament and I flash on my ropes as ritual totems, imbued with my energy. My magic is released through them. They are my hands. My life force. My way of touching him and holding him all over. All at once.

I like holding him and he likes to be held. Like complementary yin/yang, we fold into each other's curves. He has strong ethnic good looks and a flush of dark hair which I stroke. I want him to feel me and know me through my hands. So I feed him some touch.

Lightly stroking him, the sense of his body swaying and gently shivering, feeds me back. The energy cycles and zaps us like an electric current. Making him sit on the edge of the bed with his eyes closed, I oil and massage him; back, shoulders, head, tits and cock. First with my hands, then leather gloves, and then with a hand-held vibrator.

We are dealing with layers of sensation that are built up, one on top of the next. Slowly, bit by bit, I want him to give himself over to me. The control transfers, the balance shifts, and he yields to me more and more. I can feel the tenseness in his muscles begin to release. The pressures of his job, bills and taxes slowly melt away. As they are left behind, we enter a new space together.

His nipples, large and firm, his jockstrap bulging with increasing dick, are fair game for my play. Slowly I increase the amount of stimulation that he soaking up. Squeezing, twisting, gently stroking. Building up and then pulling back just when his body begins to arch and tense. And then building up once again. I want to take him right to the edge. To see the look in his eyes: turn-on, terror, lust and desire. But for right now he is with me. Right with me, step by step.

I want him to feel. Not see and think, just feel. So, I gently pull a stocking bandage over his head and piece by piece create a form-fitting hood for him out of duct tape. Sticky, silver, almost like something out of a sci-fi movie, the mask materializes bit by bit. As each piece is fitted, I hear a slow moan from him. Only part of the moan is a physical response. The rest is the psychological realization of what he is giving up.

His eyes are now covered. His mouth is taped shut. Tape runs in a line from under his chin to the top of his head making speech and even small movements of his mouth difficult. Only his nose sticks out from the silver mask. There isn't a rope on his body and yet there is nowhere for him to go. It is irreversible. By allowing his head to be contained, taped, controlled, boxed-in by me, he has given up his body and spirit to me. I like that. It reminds me of a novitiate in marriage to his godhead, but with dark, mysterious pagan-like sparks.

Like a blind man he feels his way to the center of the bed and lays on his back in the middle of a shiny black leather hide. He lays waiting expectantly. I let him lay there for a while. Heating up the leather. Heating up my vision. And he is quite a vision- silver head, jockstrap, shit kicker lace-up hiking boots, and body glistening with mineral oil. His breathing is deep and strong as waves of stimulation roll over him. A heater roars from above. Bright lights used for the filming gently lick his body. Smells of leather, shoe grease and mineral oil- drift up past his nose.

His head is wrapped like a mummy's, so I lean close and talk to him in a whisper. "Relax, little boy. Let go. Sink down into the mattress as far as you can. Let it go. Let the tension flow down your body and drain out through your feet."

As his remaining tensions are released, I exhort him to listen to my voice and focus on my words. To look out into the darkness. As if it were a dark room and he was an explorer into the darkness. "If you look closely enough, you can find an eternity of stars sparkling brilliantly at the far recesses of this blackened void."

While I plug pleasure pain into his tits and dick, I hold my leather glove over his nose so that he breathes in my smells with every breath that he takes. Slowly I tighten my hold over his one contact with the outside world and feel his nostrils under my smooth leathered fingers.

"Breathe deep, little boy. Take me in." He breathes deeper and stronger. His arms are free. He could easily push me away, if he so desired, but instead he relaxes into me.

"Good, little one." I relax my hold on his nose and gently hold his silver face and kiss him tenderly. I photograph him laying on the bed - alive, moving, and feeling. Really feeling. The click of the camera causes a series of low groans from him. He can only imagine what he looks like to me, but he knows what he is feeling. If I can even come close to what is flowing through his body, the pictures will be another chapter of dream fantasy for us to share with the world.

It is time to step up the stimulation. I take out my ropes and begin to lay lines across his body, anchoring them to the screw-eyes in the floor down below the bed. I start in the middle of the rope and tie knots in a number of places down its double length. The ropes caress and curve under his thighs and then snake down his legs. Additional ropes come up from the sides of the bed. I pull them through the double line of rope running down the center of his body and then back out to the sides of the bed, creating a series of diamond shapes. Each additional line of rope across his body is another line of heat. Maybe even hot ice.

The ropes flowing out to the sides of the bed emphasize the natural mounds of his chest muscles and the delicious ripples in his abdomen. Part of the turn-on for me is that his muscles have developed naturally through years of dance training and hard sweat in creating visual fantasies out of deserted gardens. This boy is no machine made monster.

At intervals I talk to him. Whisper, exhort, flatter, jerk off verbally in his ear. Weave dream fantasies as tangled and tight as the ropes that twist and wind around his wiry lean body. The web around him grows tighter and stronger. The lines of rope interlace back and forth so that no matter what part of his body he moves, he feels the pull everywhere else. He is inextricably connected and intertwined with himself.

I whisper through silver into his ear, "Move, little one, move for me. Let me see you move in your web." He begins to move. The ropes may look pretty to some but most importantly, they are real. And so he moves.

Every new line of rope limits his motions a bit more and a bit more. When he moves, he discovers what range of motion he has left. That realization seems to engorge and harden his cock more and more until it looks like some exotic ripe flower about to blossom. For me the erotic vision of him alive and moving in my ropes is a mental hard-on. It also teaches me where the bondage is working and where it needs to be reinforced. It gives me the next step to be followed; the next line to be laid.

Up until now his cock has been struggling to get out of its jockstrap prison. It seems that everything I do simply makes it pulse and grow larger. So now I release it and watch it bounce and throb. I use a six foot leather cord, a gift from another bondage master, to tie up his dick and balls. I weave it back and forth between the rope on his body and his dick and balls, creating a second separate web - supporting, restraining, binding and enlarging, his impossibly rock hard dick.

And now I am nailed to the wall. He is so turned on he begins to struggle to touch his dick. But his tied hands can't reach his cock, only making him all the more turned on. This is really a vision of someone obsessed and blessed as he moves in his rope work. In my mind's eye, he is not a victim caught in a spider's web, but the renaissance man who was squared in the circle to represent the natural form of the universe. If possible, his dick gets harder and its color grows deeper.

We are now on a path from which there is no retreat. So I dangle him over the cliff, while carefully keeping him safe. I put alligator clips on his tits and use a hand vibrator on his restrained and tied dick. There is nothing left that he can do, but feel.

Every once in a while I take the clips off his nipples and put them back on with a snap to take him one step higher. I can tell by how he moves that he is lost in a whirlpool of sensation. Of smells and feelings. Lines of fire that crisscross every part of his body from his head to his feet. A fire that grows hotter and hotter until he is consumed in the heat of its passion, like a star that explodes and becomes a black hole.

He is not the only one that has been affected by this passion play. My breathing is just as high as his. I collapse on him and we lay together listening to the harmony of our intensified breathing as it slowly quiets down.

But this is not the end. The releasing is just as important as the tying. The sighs that come from him as the ropes are loosened and released make my dick hard again and send visions of our just climaxed trip racing back through my mind. As each rope is taken off, it is re-rolled so that when we end we are exactly where we started.

We are amazed and pleasured at the depths to which our relationship has developed. After a rest and a talk, we clear the space, pack and he again carries my gear for me.

"Thank you, Sir."

In the dark, exhausted, having taken not only his energy, but my own right to the limit, I relive and visualize our exchange once again. And when my mind flips out on what we will explore in the future, our next lesson, I explode knowing that the photographs that I have taken of him are the result, the final climax of our trip.