By ThomasBXL
Welcome
You already knew, the moment he laid the straps out on the table, that this would not be a light evening.
You had flown in that afternoon. One week. No hotel. Your clothes, phone, wallet and papers locked away on a timer the moment you arrived — the arrangement you had both agreed to. There would be a festival at the end of the week. Until then, periodic checks, and the rest of the time his. You had said yes to that. You had said yes to exploring the edges you had only ever talked about.
He had let you watch while he prepared everything. The heavy leather cuffs. The wide torso straps. The hood with the front-buckle pecker gag. The headphones. The nipple clamps. The electrodes. No rush. No more explanation. You had already talked. You had told him you wanted the feeling of not being able to get out, of your mind eventually stopping its attempts to steer. He had only nodded.
Now you are already on the bondage bench. Not secured. Not yet. He walks around you, checks the tension of a strap, runs his fingers along the inside of a cuff. The silence is heavier than words. Your heart rate is already climbing from the waiting alone.