This post contains explicit discussion of kink (rope bondage, restraint, sensory deprivation), intense physical sensations, and emotional vulnerability. It also includes descriptions of panic and dissociation. Please take care while reading.

I met Funiculosus on the Recon kink hook-up app. He’s very much into rope bondage – specifically shibari, the Japanese art of rope bondage. I have wanted to try it for years – I even tried to get my husband into it because I thought he’d enjoy the precise yet sensual nature of it. We tried a chest harness from the Whats The Safeword YouTube channel, but he didn’t enjoy it much. If you’re not into it, bondage can be pretty boring – a bit like fishing, Star Wars, or soap operas (I’m only into one of those things – if you know which, then we can be friends).

We chatted for a while before setting a date for me to come over and play. From his regular messaging, I could tell that he was getting excited about it – I found that really reassuring and it fed my excitement. He even arranged for a telephone chat to make sure that I arrived excited rather than nervous (or terrified). There was nothing about him that scared me: he worked hard to calm me – and his voice was amazing! A mid-deep voice, but with a very youthful energy (he’s six years older than I am), at once both calming but also full of life.

I didn’t think that this was going to be much of a sexual encounter, but rather a psychological/emotional meeting, so I was less bothered that my tummy was a bit skippy (which it had been the last few days). He kept saying that he sensed something about me; now I don’t go into for spiritual stuff much, and it can make me feel uncomfortable, but I was drawn to him too. I felt safe but without any logical basis for that beyond a few dozen text messages and one phone call…

I didn’t have to knock at the door because he was waiting. We looked at each other and I loved his smile and mischievous eyes. He told me that I was gorgeous, which I always find hard to accept. He didn’t mess around: “shall we start?” was all he said, and led me through to the next room.

The room was dominated by a black leather massage table, adapted with wrist and ankle restraints. There were ropes and other leather items that I couldn’t identify on a smaller table next to the larger one.

He directed me to take my clothes off and put on the beautiful white briefs and socks that he’d bought especially for the occasion. In no time he led me back into the space next to the bondage table, wearing only the briefs and socks. Then he slipped a silk blindfold across my eyes before putting a hood on me.

He positioned me, then drew the first strand of rope across my face, giving me time to savour the scent. He plied it across my lips, then drew the end across my chest, allowing me to feel the rough texture of the rope caressing my skin. The smell was that of honeycomb and summertime, it floated around me through the whole session. If I think about it, smell, which is always an important sense to me, became even more powerful during the play.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he commanded.

I obeyed and put them the right way for Shibari play, which he noticed.

He bound my wrists and slowly constructed the first chest harness of the day, each time the rope embrace tightened he checked out that I was comfortable, in that voice that vibrated inside my skull. I could feel his hands wandering over me, teasing and twisting my nipples, stroking my skin. I could feel his breath on my neck and back and belly. From time to time he would kiss me. He had a scent that I recognised from a very long time ago – it has no name, just a memory of first encounters and a connection under the stars of a long ago June night.

He took his time binding me, each fibrous loop of rope lovingly placed and drawn into a net that constrained my movement. I could feel my mind slipping somewhere – where? Somewhere warm and safe. He held me, put his arms around me and pulled his body into mine. Have I ever felt so reassured?

He moved away for a moment; my head tried to follow him. My body stayed where it was. When he returned he had something that buzzed, which he then moved across my body, sometimes on my skin, and sometimes on the ropes themselves, which spread the vibration further. He put it between my legs and briefly sent me into ecstasy.

“Not yet…” he said.

then he began what he called a dragon binding on my right leg, carefully working down and reducing, but not limiting movement. The tightness felt good, but the sensations were somehow different from my upper body. My torso is smooth, whereas my legs are hairy – the rope didn’t feel as textured down there, but instead it was more tickly.

He told me what was to come next. A stool behind me. He gently guided me backwards until my calves touched the stool.

“Sit, I’ve got you – you won’t fall.”

I sat, and he tied my left ankle to the leg of the stool. Then he bound my leg in other ways to limit motion more.

Then he moved to my right leg, already in the dragon binding. He tied that leg’s ankle, and then restrained the movement. If I tried, I could stand up with the stool attached to me. I felt more vulnerable seated though – if pushed backwards, I would fall and be unable to stop myself.

Funiculosus stopped to take some photos, which was a nice breather for a moment … but only a moment because he returned with the vibrating wand to drive me insane. Again playing with the ropes and my skin, and my crotch, he started to learn that my scrotal void is indeed very sensitive.

To my surprise, given the recent history of that part of me, I was hard. He liked that: it told him I was enjoying it.

Then he told me to lift my legs up, so I wrapped them around him and we kissed for a while. He asked if I’d like to try rebreathing. I’d never done it, but was up for anything – I was curious, if a little nervous.

“Don’t breath through your nose,” he told me, “only breath through your mouth.”

Then he put his soft warm lips over mine and breathed into me. I accepted his breath. I didn’t breath for myself. I let him draw the air out of me. We continued like this for a short while – I did feel a little lightheaded afterwards, but it was a good feeling.

He then told me to lift my feet up. So I lifted them up and positioned them on the bar at the bottom of the stool while he tied my legs into this new position. I was now very vulnerable: I could not steady myself if I had tried. Indeed, I couldn’t move. When I tried to move I could hear the ropes creaking as they rubbed against each other, their coarse twine nestling into my skin.

While he was tying my legs, he brushed my feet and noticed that I was ticklish there. “Often I am ticklish everywhere,” I said.

Sometimes he would put a gag in my mouth. It was a “pecker” gag, but it was soft and more like the teat of a baby’s dummy – comfortable and reassuring!

Yes! What is it with this whole situation that I feel so safe – so held!? I am floating on a cloud of bliss – in complete surrender to whatever this stranger-who-is-not-strange-to-me should choose to do.

The the doorbell goes. “Sorry, I’ll just be a minute… DO NOT MOVE!”

I am left there, perched on the stool. I don’t know how long he will be. Fuck! This is HOT!

He wasn’t long: Amazon delivery.

There was more tender kissing, caressing, and hugging, before he slowly, meticulously, removed the ropes. Finally, he removed the hood and looked up at me smiling. He was happy. I was spaced out – but very happy.

He gently helped me to stand, before offering me a glass of water.

He told me about the next tie he was going to do. A box chest harness. Simpler than the first, but I’d be wearing a different hood. He gave the hood a name and explained where the name came from. I do not remember what he said, other than his words were music to me.

I was calm, yet excited for more.

He showed me the marks from where the rope had pressed against my skin. I loved the look and texture. A new idea for a tattoo, perhaps?

I stretched a little – the more I relaxed the longer we could play for.

He put the hood back on me, and padlocked it in place. He always padlocked his leather gear into place – including the gags. Not that I could have taken it off if I’d wanted to! He had such attention to detail – and the concentration I sensed in him was magnetic. Maybe that focus is something that helped me feel safe – there was nothing quick, hurried, or slapdash about any of his movements.

While he worked he said that he always gave 100% because he so appreciated that people came to him, often without meeting him before, and put their complete trust in him. I felt such a deep faith and connection with him.

Trust is a decision. It can be easily given – and easily lost – but once lost cannot easily be given again.

Whenever his head moved into the orbit of mine, I would try to kiss him, or lick him, and to explore what little of his body I could access from my warm and comfortable rope prison. He had beautiful ears, and smooth warm skin. His neck and throat were lightly fragrant with that scent from an age ago that I could not exactly place. And, fortunately, he did not wear deodorant, although I was only able to explore his pits once.

At one point, he got a riding crop and slapped my butt a few times with it. That woke me up and made me laugh out loud. I often laugh during sex, with joy, or because it tickles, or even because the pain is delicious. This was delicious pain. I could have taken more, but I was happy with whatever he chose for me.

The vibrators came out again and made my legs weak with pleasure. Knowing what they were – and that there were two of them – was exciting. He kept adjusting the speed and which one went where. There was no danger of orgasm because they were never anywhere long enough to tip me over the edge … and I did not want to go over the edge: I wanted to stay in this happy, floaty, dream-state for as long as I could. How would I feel if I did cum? Would I want everything off me ASAP? I didn’t want it to end. Ever.

He stopped, long before I was ready, but that was good – he had another course for me in the bondage banquet.

Once again, the ropes slithered off me, stroking me with their rough skin, contrasting with his delicate, warm, soft hands. He would stop and kiss me, or hold me. And I loved both is kisses and his embrace.

I was reminded of the two guys at the Lord Clyde giving the BDSM corporal punishment demo, how the Dom would repeatedly hold and reassure the sub and how wonderful I imagined that would feel.

It was much better than I imagined – feeling that kind of touch – touched me deep in my psyche.

What was that mental space like? In some ways, it was like an autistic shutdown, one where I retreat inside and go preverbal, but in this instance whilst I might be struggling to speak and was inside myself, this wasn’t a retreat – it was something else. Something new, and for the moment beyond anything words can express. I keep returning to the idea that this was in someway “spiritual”.

From time to time during the session, he’d put headphones on me to further reduce the distractions from the sensations of rope or his touch. I loved that – what was it about the lack of auditory input that I loved? Sometimes sound – talking in particular – can be oppressive: it demands our attention and there is no easy way to escape it.

I guess its the same with the blindfold – light can also be oppressive.

Turn those senses off and the sense of touch and smell magnifies. His touch was like life to me, it could make me laugh or sigh. His smell was like oxygen to me – it told me he was close.

Once again I stood unbound, but with the leather hood on that much better restricted sight and sound than the first hood.

I was carefully led to the leather table I had seen when I first entered the room. He helped me get my legs onto the table, then told me to lie down and shuffled me into the right position. He tied my hands above my head, exposing my armpits, and then moved to my legs.

He pushed my calves against my thighs, and observed that I was quite flexible. he began another tie on my legs. When tied, my legs could be separated, but I couldn’t extend them. He counted the loops to make sure that he would have an exactly correct length of rope to use. The second leg was slightly tighter than the first, which I preferred – I realise that (probably up to a certain point) I prefer the ropes tighter rather than looser – “tight” equalled “safe” in my mind.

Once secure, again the toys came out and he edged me back and forth to the precipice of an orgasmic oblivion. But he was a master not only of ropes but of the bodies they encircled – he was not done with me yet!

Somehow he was on top of the table – on top of me. I pulled my legs up to touch his back because I loved his touch anywhere.

I think I must have asked for more rebreathing, because he did it again – I was so perfectly willing to surrender myself to him! I even shared his breath. Besides, I liked the smell of him – like a humid summer morning, still pleasant and not overwhelming, but with an earthy layer to him.

The emotions were overwhelming – the intensity of feeling towards him was overpowering – I felt that I would do anything for him – let him do anything to me. At one point I think I said that I felt like I loved him.

“You mustn’t do that,” he said gently, “I’m already spoken for.”

The weight of a filed marriage bore down on me: “I’m too broken to love anybody anyway,” I said. He held me and reassured me that I am not broken.

I think he showed me my legs in their beautiful ties because I have a vivid image of them. But I felt super-spaced out and the world of light felt like a hallucination. I thought I saw aeroplanes at one point.

Lying back on the table with the hood resecured, he proceeded to the final dish in this dinner of BDSM.

He put rubber mitts on my hands before fastening them inside leather bindings. My ankles were bound in leather. Then straps were laid across my torso, starting at my chest and working down. My feet were still free and could move, but he had a trick for that: ready made loops that ensured feet had no movement.

“What will I tie next?” he asked.

“My head!” I said.

I could hear the smile as he said “that’s right!”

He passed rope through a ring in the top of the hood, which vibrated slightly as the rope passed through it.

Then I could not move at all, except perhaps a tiny bi of my head. My arms, legs, torso could not move at all. The straps felt comforting rather than oppressive.

Then the phone went, and for the second time he left me – with the headphones on. This time completely immobile and isolated – but safer than the first time. He might have still been in the room, that’s one of the wonders of sensory deprivation is that you just do not know where your Dom is. That is such an emotionally charged feeling – of vulnerability and safety all at once. Like the sublime state of steam and ice in a jar.

When he returned, he put his hand over my mouth and nose. The blackness was utter. The silence was profound. No sound of breathing, or of creaking restraints. Just me and my head – that was a delicious feeling. But there was a slowly rising and irrational panic, although I knew beyond a shadow of any doubt that, if I made a move though, he would release me. And he did: he could read me perfectly.

He moved to the other end of the table, where he took the vibrating wands out again and set to work on my crotch. For the first time, he went near my butthole, which elicited a scream of pleasure. He moved around that whole area. I don’t know how long for, but probably for less than the other times he’d played with me there.

Suddenly, then sensations changed, it was like a vibrating warmth there – very different from the (what I now think of as) dry sensations of the vibrators. Perhaps nothing changed except my mind, but I had gone from thinking that I could take this and love it for ever to “oh my god – I think I’m gonna cum!”.

Funiculosus told me afterwards that he was in two minds at this point: would he let me cum or would he send me home frustrated?

I started to scream profanities in pleasure as the entire universe exploded. His hand slapped over my mouth. I had warned him that I could be loud.

I lay there, spent, as though I had been the one working hard to pleasure the other.

All I’d had to do was surrender.

He came and kissed me again, before removing the hood so that I could see where I was, and the rubber mitts, and the black canvass straps across my body. There was a slight discoloration of the immaculate white underwear. I could smell my cum.

Gently removing the straps, he took care not to disturb me too much, encouraging me to stay on the table. He lovingly rolled each strap up and put it to one side. All his ropes were already neatly coiled. “I can’t stand it being untidy,” he’d told me earlier. I always thought that Shibari would suit somebody with OCD.

He moved to get on the table with me, but I said that I thought I could walk, so we went to the sofa, where I just curled up in his warm embrace and continued to float.

“I ended it a little earlier than I’d planned,” he told me, “because I could see you were a long way under by some of the things you were saying and I needed to make sure that you’d be safe.”

While I rested in his arms, he told me about his job, family, and husband. He was clearly quite hyper from the session – indeed, he told me a few times that I was taking him somewhere.

So that’s subspace. Floaty, calm, wonderful, safe, held, loved, loving, emotional, deep, not just deep but profound.

And Domspace is it’s equivalent.

And the two meet and snap together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle – one completes the other.

That is a spiritual connection based on an exchange of trust and a fulfilment of that sacred charge.

---

The days afterwards…

The days afterwards I spent trying to pin down the feelings I had while under the rope master’s control, trying always to connect with those moments – that long now of immediacy and mental suspension.

I have been feeling both peaceful, but also energised! I have run further than at any time since my heart attack, and I have slept better, and I have managed a Monday gym session for the first time in many, many months! My focus at work as a little better also.

I realised that whilst this was certainly an erotic experience, we kissed, he held me, I did in the end cum – it was at no stage about sex. Sex for me is often animalistic and primal and can be difficult to express for that reason, this was – also beyond words, but for a different reason – I remember him saying at one time during the session that this was what the Buddhists call “Nirvana”.

Is that what it was a taste of? If so, naming it as a spiritual experience is accurate.

I need to feel it again.