The ropes in the dream seemed to change color. Sometimes natural, sometimes black, eventually settling into a kind of very deep maroon that was mostly red. Maybe I would even call the color “merlot” or “port” if someone had asked me to name it.
I was on the floor in some dimly lit place I couldn’t recognize. In the background, softly, far away, some excellent raw black metal was playing; it could have been Enslaved’s Yggdrasil album.
I also was gagged. Not with a ball, but with soft lengths of suede. It was wrapped several times around my head, first going with twisted strands into my mouth, then, on future passes, with broad, flat, luxurious swaths over it. I’d never really enjoyed being gagged for very long before, but I found I rather liked it now.
Somehow, several different sets of knots were being done at the same time, or at least, that’s what it felt like. Some parts of me were already effectively immobilized by previously completed ones. My arms were bound down behind me. My lower legs were together, my knees crooked so they lay to my side. As He worked behind me, I realized He was in the process of tying a harness.
I felt almost drunk, but also perfectly clear. Exactly how it should be.
My heart raced. I was as close as I could get to a sort of hyperventilation, but with every breath still deep rather than shallow. Every inhale brought the soft friction of the rope and the knowledge that I was bound. Every graze of His fingers against my flesh to make a knot, every pull of the rope as the harness was formed was almost too much.
When I failed to contain a whimper, or I shifted in my bonds, I would hear Him chuckle softly, and sometimes He would tsk admonishingly at me, which of course only deepened my shameful arousal.
“You hungry little slut, are you going to cum already?” He chided me. “Remember you promised to be a good girl and be still for Daddy.”
His voice almost ruined me. I tried not to, but I swear at the sound of it, I only felt the knot more keenly against my pussy. I shifted and let out a pitiful, desperate squeak as it pressed into me. I tensed my whole body in an effort not to simply burst and start rocking myself against it to find release.
His laughter washed over me again, a warm tide of humiliation for the barely contained hunger that made me His slut. It was as though I could feel the individual sound waves coming at me in slow motion. I could feel the pulse in my clit begging, begging…
I was almost in tears. I felt my cheeks redden in shame that I was so sensitive. I knew by the time He was done, if I hadn’t cum already, He would barely have to lay a hand on me and I would shatter into a million pieces. I thought of His affected frustration if I came too quickly, without permission. How He might jerk me upwards from the floor and bend me over and how I would tense in ecstatic anticipation of His hand coming down on me.
Eventually the harness was finished. As He paused, I imagined, to admire His work, I tried unsuccessfully to control my breathing. The next sound was the sound of His footsteps walking away. I lay with my head turned to one side, the wrong side, of course, on the floor. I thought of trying awkwardly to raise myself enough to turn it about, but I sensed I ought not to despite the questions rising in me. Where was He going? He couldn’t leave me here. Was He getting something?
But then I heard the sound of a pulley, and I felt the distributed tension on the harness, somehow both more confining and more gentle than I would have guessed, and my heart skipped. Of course! What I couldn’t have seen, what I didn’t yet know how to feel in what He had done had been Him tying me into further ropes to suspend me, but it now made perfect logical sense.
The next pull of the rope lifted my head from the ground. I imagined I could no longer be blamed for turning it, and I had to see… god and did I see. Those hands, His hands whose every vein and bone and line and contour I would hold in my mind forever, pulling the rope, hoisting me up, up, slowly up to a convenient height for whatever He had planned to do to me.
The sight of them, and the jerks of increased tension on the knot with every pull had me in a state of euphoric agony. I tried to focus only on the motion upward. I tried not to see anymore, to let my eyes go black this time on purpose.
But I couldn’t stop myself from hearing Him.
“Maybe we should show Daddy’s friends what a hungry slut you are.”
The words hit me like a semi-truck. WHAT? My head snapped up, my eyes snapped open, and suddenly I realized I was in a long hall lined on one side with red velvet stage curtains, which He was now pulling open to reveal several rows of people watching from behind what appeared to be a wrought iron railing.
Oh my god. How long had they been here? Had they been listening the whole time, too? My mind flooded with images of these people, this to me improbable and seemingly endless sea of faces quietly giggling to each other as they had listened to my pitiful whimpering, to Him laughing and chiding me to be good.
And now they were all looking at me. At my helpless, suspended, naked body.
I turned beet fucking red. With mixed hope and horror I wondered if I would soon match the color of the rope that bound me, a sort of camouflage, and become one ridiculous wriggling maroon-merlot-port-red shape suspended from the ceiling.
My mind spun in impossible circles of shame, and some part in the back I knew was even rather upset. For so long I had never thought I would want our experiences shared in any way. The sudden shock of it split me open like a knife in my sternum, and I tensed and squirmed in my bonds.
OH GOD. Ball lightning from the knot I had momentarily forgotten was pressed against my cunt. My eyes, which I had squeezed shut, shot open again. I had been so close before, I was STILL, somehow, so close. How? How could this be happening?
Was I really about to cum with all these people watching? Why was the shame and the shock not forcing it down?
I scanned the small crowd. A number of people held drinks in their hands, many were talking amongst themselves. A woman with short, dark, curly hair and a flute of some kind of wine in her hand smiled up at me as she whispered something into the ear of the man whose arm she was locked with. I could practically feel her smile, her lip pulling over her teeth. The man turned from her to look at me and broke into a grin as he nodded at her.
Their eyes reflected sheer debauched mirth at this entertainment. I could feel it radiating from them, reaching me in warm waves that, in spite of myself, were now undeniably being absorbed by my tortured, sensitive pussy.
Oh god. Did I like it? Was I actually about to cum BECAUSE all these people were watching?