Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 

   Chapter One

   It was a private showing.

   After years of friends telling me that I should do a show of my
photography I had broken down and agreed to.  Strictly private.  Well, my
work isn't exactly mainstream.  Although it was becoming more
"fashionable". Erotica and bondage.  The Goth culture had been slowly
eating away the barrier between fashion and erotica for years, kid's
wearing dog collars to school, underwear worn as the "top" layer instead of
being hidden.

   I'd made it plain to the gallery.  No one was to call me by name, no one
was to point me out as the "artist".  I wanted to see how people reacted
when they didn't feel like they had to be "nice" to the artist.

   Two young women were standing in front of one of the more graphic
images.

   "That is so porno..." the blond's voice trailed off and I couldn't help
but wonder where her thoughts were taking her.  I had to chuckle to myself,
it is a truth that most people will never admit, but what you see in a work
of art or photograph is a direct reflection of you and your thoughts. 
Quite literally, you see what you want to see.

   Then the other one, a petite Asian murmured, "I want to be her." If I'd
been even a few feet further away I'd never had heard it.

   "I happen to know that the photographer is always looking for new
models." I kept my voice calm, almost distracted.

   "What?"

   "If you really want to be her, I'm sure he'd consider you as a model."
Even in the dim light I could see her darken as she realized I had heard
something she hadn't meant to be heard.  She started to turn away but I
reached out and cupped her chin as she moved.  Our eyes locked.  "Will you
pose for me?"

   She nodded, just once.

   I let go of her chin, slipped a card into her hand and moved away.  Her
friend was so lost in her own thoughts she never noticed the exchange.  I
watched her for the next hour as she moved from image to image.  It was
obvious that her friend had wanted to leave for a while, but she kept going
back to several, a couple of them at least four times.

   When she did leave she turned and looked back at me one last time.  Once
again she nodded, just once.

   The rest of the evening I couldn't help but wonder what variations would
work for her form.  Hmmmm...  I think I'll always like those moments when
all that "might" be possible is still free from reality, just letting my
mind run with abandon and watching where it leads me.  I admit, it probably
made me seem rather distant the rest of that night, but it sure made it
more interesting for me

   The next morning I woke with her still on my mind, her petite form
embraced in rope, tied with my hands.  I don't know about anyone else, but
I have found that the dreams I do remember in the morning almost always
have some significance in my life.  I almost never know how, but looking
back later I do see a pattern.  So, with the dreams of her on my mind I
went to work.  I'm one of those fortunate people who actually has a job he
enjoys and a boss that stays away and just lets me do it.  It's also very
flexible, so unless I'm in a meeting it's not a problem when I get a
personal call.

   "Hello." "Charles?" It was a voice I didn't recognize.  A soft soprano
with a lovely lilt...  and very timid.  "Yes." "Uh...  well, I was at the
showing last night." I'm sure my face lit up at that point, I've gotten
used to how my body reacts and could feel my face heating, my pulse
quickening...  "Thank you for calling, love." I heard her breath catch a
little.  "Well..." The hesitation held all the poignancy of a boulder
hanging on the edge of a cliff...  "are you sure you want me to pose?" "I'm
sure.  I would love to get the chance, you are a very pretty young lady,
you know." "Uh...  I've never done anything like this, I mean pictures, the
bondage or any of that.  I mean, would I be any good?" "I'll be honest,
most people aren't, but until you try you never know.  Some people just
seem to lock up when the camera comes out.  Others, well, lets just say
that they find a freedom they had only dreamed of before.  I don't know
which it will be for you, but I know you'll always wonder if you don't
try." Her response was so quick it surprised me.  "I want to try, tonight."
"There's no rush, you know." "I know, I just need...  can you?...  tonight,
I mean." "Yes, it can be tonight." "Thank you," came the almost breathless
reply, "Um...  do you come to me, or do I come to you?" "You come to me.  I
have everything we'll need in my studio." "How do I get there?"

   We made our plans.

   I was waiting when the doorbell rang.  My studio is on the second floor
of an older building, so it took me a few moments to get to the door.  When
I opened it she was there, just as lovely as I'd remembered, but with too
much make-up on.  I stifled the chuckle that wanted to burst out of me
knowing it would hurt her feelings.  So many women think that make-up
"makes" them beautiful.  I've always believed that if you need make-up then
you will always be ugly in your own eyes...  and that's the one opinion
that's always hardest to fight.  With some luck we'd fix that tonight.

   "Hello, love, come on in." I could see the stress on her face, the
questions, the fear.  Now that she was here she was scared.  "You don't
have to do this, you know that." I could almost see a switch flip inside
her.  She looked in my eyes, nodded again and started climbing the stairs.
I closed and locked the door, then followed her.

   The top of the stairs opened right into my living room.  While I wasn't
rich, I did OK and because I was also a woodworker my furniture was all
made by me.  Simple, sturdy and functional.  I am also a collector of
sorts, posters, masks, statuary, pottery and of course part of my library
was tucked all around the room.  She was standing in the middle slowly
turning, taking it all in.

   "You have so much stuff..." "Oh, not so much, just what I've collected
over time.  Please, sit." She was still nervous, but I could see the
determination in her too.  She sat on the edge of my favorite rocking
chair, letting it move her ever so slightly, her tension and nerves rocking
it in a short arc, her head bobbing slightly as she focused on me.

   I sat across from her and relaxed into the sofa.

   "What's your name, love?" She jerked at the question, I don't think she
even realized that she had never told me.

   "Hanh."

   "You're Vietnamese then."

   "Yes, born here though."

   "Love, I don't need to know the details, not if you don't want to share.
The only thing I have to do is make sure you are who you say you are and
that you are of legal age."

   She nodded her head and pulled her small purse out from her backpack. 
Taking out her wallet she pulled a couple of cards out and rose to hand
them to me.  Our fingers touched as she reached me and I could feel her
tense as I took the cards.  I quickly looked them over.  Yes, it was a
picture of her on the Driver License and yes she was over 18...  by three
weeks.  Her birthday just after my own."Thirty years...  " I heard myself
mumble.

   "What?" The question on her face was plain.

   "Oh, sorry, I was musing...  time is an interesting thing."

   "Oh..." I left it at that.

   "OK, this looks fine.  I will need to get copies of these before we
finish, OK?"

   She nodded.  Obviously she didn't like talking much and I guessed she
wasn't very comfortable with touch either from what I'd seen so far.  I was
beginning to wonder if she'd be one who would just be a piece of furniture
when the camera came out.  I hoped not.

   I handed the documents back to her and she placed them on the table next
to her.  It was a detail that gave me hope.  She remembered that I'd need
copies later and left them where she didn't have to dig them out again.

   "Hanh, you've seen some of my work, you know what I'll be asking for.  I
need to know that you understand that and that you agree to the
consequences.  Some of what we'll do will cause some pain.  I'll do my best
to make it as little as possible, but it can't all be avoided.  You will be
completely incapacitated at times, possibly even including a gag of some
form.  You will be naked.  Do you understand and agree to this?"

   "Yes."

   This time it was my turn to nod.  I went to my desk and pulled a couple
forms and turned on the copier.  I motioned her over and showed her what to
fill out and where to sign.  While she did that I got the documents and
copied them, by then she was done and I caught her staring at me.

   "Do you have any questions?"

   "Yes...  I mean no."

   "Hanh, we can do this without you knowing what's going to happen, but it
doesn't need to be that way."

   "Um...  I don't want to know, but I was wondering why you want me."

   "Because I see something.  I've learned to trust that vision and when I
heard your comment last night I couldn't help but respond."

   "Ok..."

   "Are you ready?"

   "Yes."

   I offered her my hand and she took it after a slight pause and I led her
through to my studio at the back of the building.  I heard her breath catch
as I turned the lights on.  It's a reaction I'm used to, the room is far
larger than people expect in this neighborhood.  When I bought the property
there was an old factory here.  It was a run down area of town and nobody
was interested in it, but it was cheap.  Over time I had broken the
property into building lots and sold them a few at a time, in the process
tearing the old factory down.  All but this section.  It was now surrounded
on all sides by newer construction and no one remembered that it was even
here in the heart of this now residential neighborhood.  There was no
access except through my place or a loading dock that looked like normal
garage.  I made sure that it stayed that way, I like my privacy.

   The first room is about forty feet by sixty, steel beams spaced at
twenty foot intervals.  I'd put in a pair of dolly cranes in each bay
giving me quite a bit of flexibility.  This was actually the second floor.
The first floor I had divided up a bit more, making smaller "theme" rooms.
We stood in the doorway.  I could feel the tension in her hand.

   "Come," and I tugged her hand and led her down the stairs.  I opened a
door and on impulse picked her up and carried her in.  I kicked off my
shoes and set her on the bench by the door, then knelt to remove her shoes.
Here, by the door the floor was tile, but a few feet away the bamboo mats
began.  It was my Japan room.  I could partition it with shoji screens as
needed but most of the time I preferred a more open feel.  When I looked up
at her I could see she was relaxing again and I smiled.

   "A little nervous?"

   She nodded.

   "It's ok..." I reached under the bench for the baby wipes I knew would
be there.  "I'm going to take off your make-up, ok?" Then I took off her
glasses.

   As she nodded again I wondered if I'd ever get her to talk as freely as
I'd like.  It only took a few minutes to remove the make-up, fortunately
she wasn't like some who put it on in layers, almost like armor.  It was an
interesting feeling as I cleaned her face, I could see and feel the tension
as my hands moved across her skin at first, but then she seemed to relax. I
wondered what she was thinking when that happened, but I've learned to
leave most of those questions unasked.  Too many times it's destroyed the
moment when I did ask.

   I put the wipes back in their place and just looked at her.

   "Hanh, one last time...  are you sure you want to do this right now?"

   "Yes...  yes, I'm sure."

   I took both her hands in mine and brought them to my face and kissed
them, each finger, the backs, both palms.  A wash of emotions coursed
across her face and I knew she was fighting her sense of fear of being
touched.  I would also bet that she didn't understand that it was fear. 
It's interesting when people do face the fears they don't even know they
have.

   I stood and lifted her with me, my arms slowly enfolding her.

   "You've never been touched like this."

   "No..."

   "You're virgin." She tensed, I could feel her skin heat under my touch.

   "Yes."

   "Just the truth, love, no judgements." I felt her relax again. 
"Alright, shall we begin?"

   I felt her head nod against my chest.

   I led her to the center of the room.  "Stand here, I'll be back in a few
minutes, ok?" She looked a little lost in that moment, a little scared and
under it all something burned.  That spark I had glimpsed the night before
as she stood in front of that image.  I made up my mind...

   "Kneel." My voice had changed, the years of command in the military and
later as a supervisor spilling forth, along with the sexual tension of here
and now.  Her head snapped up as she obeyed, confusion on her face.

   "We are beginning now." I knew the cameras I had around the room were
already recording.  What most people who see my work never realize is that
most of the best shots are from them.  I do compose a lot, but the ones
caught in the moment are always the best.

   "Did you follow my instructions about what to wear?"

   "Yes." She knelt at my feet, looking up at me.

   "Good." I slipped my foot between her knees and moved each apart.  "This
is the correct spacing."

   "Yes, sir." I smiled at the additional title.  Her hands were on her
knees and I took each and placed them just above her ankles, then took her
chin and lifted her head a bit more.

   "This is the display position.  When I ask for it you will come back to
this.  Now, stand."

   She rose at the command.

   "Display." It was almost as if a string had been cut, she dropped so
fast I thought she was falling, but she was absolutely in control.  It was
beautiful to watch, the clean and simple grace of something so many women
fought, just to kneel at my feet.

   I moved behind her, straddling her feet, and slipped my hands into her
blouse.  Cupping her breasts.  Her mouth was just inches from mine, her
throaty moan at my touch was a wash of air and sound I could never have
missed.  Her body was so tense I could feel the muscles of her back and
legs quivering.  Her breath was shallow, the muscles of her chest so tight
she could hardly take a breath.

   "Hanh, you must choose and no one but you can make that choice.  If you
truly want to do this you have to submit to me.  I cannot force you, no one
can.  Oh, I can force compliance, but not submission.  But here and now...
it's time to decide."

   I don't know what it is in a sub that allows them to submit, it has
never been a part of my nature, but I do know when submission happens.  She
didn't move, but she changed.  All the tension of the last moments melted
back into the depths of her.  Instead of feeling her body resisting my
touch, I was welcomed.

   I shifted my hands and slipped them inside her bra, my fingers feeling
for her nipples.  They were starting to harden and I tweaked them, feeling
them respond to the slight pain.

   "Thank you, love."

   I pulled my hands from her bra and let them roam across her abdomen,
finding her bellybutton and circling it with a finger.  I felt the small
shivers of her skin as places were tickled and I soothed them as my hands
passed.

   I stood, pulling my hands from her body and felt her almost rise, as if
her body now craved the feel of my touch.

   "You may relax, love.  I'll be back in a few minutes." I left her to get
the ropes I would need in the coming hours.  A tansu in one corner held
almost everything, but as I looked it over I felt that I should add a few
things.  I went to a storage room for those things and returned, she was
still holding the "display" position.  I was pleased that she would hold
the pose, but I knew she'd be very worn out by the time we were done as it
was...  "love, lay flat on your back, arms straight out from your sides."

   She obeyed immediately and I hid my smile.  In my years of photography
I'd had only a handful of models who wouldn't want to question every change
I asked for.  Oh, most of them never asked, but they would balk for a
moment as if running the idea over in their mind before agreeing to it.  So
many times that hesitation had ruined what could have been a beautiful
shot. I was beginning to hope that Hanh would be one of the best I'd ever
worked with.

   I gathered my ropes and equipment and started laying them out where I
would need them.  I could see her following my movements.  Next I set up
three still cameras and one video.  The video to fill in some gaps I knew
would happen as I worked.  The still's were all slaved to a remote I had
rigged into a ring I wore, so I can trigger them without leaving the scene.


   I was ready.

   I moved to stand at her feet and looked down at her, arms spread wide,
her face a mix of fear and expectation.  Then I knelt and slowly on hands
and knees worked my way on top of her.  I kept myself from actually
touching her, just covering her.  I stopped when my face was above hers. 
"Do you submit yourself to me?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "Are you absolutely sure you do not wish to know what is going to
happen?"

   "Yes, sir."

   "Then do not speak again unless it is to stop me."

   She nodded her head once and closed her eyes.

   I laid myself down on her, feeling her under me, her slight form, the
warmth of her.  Then I reached out, took her hands and raised them to the
bamboo pole I'd laid above her head.  I raised my waist from her and ran my
hands down her arms and took her head in them, caressing her face, running
my fingers through her silky hair.  Then I kissed each eye, brushed her
nose lightly with my tongue and kissed her lips.  My lips made their way
around to each ear, little flicks, soft breaths, the brush of my beard
against her skin.  My mouth opened and my teeth found her neck.  Imprints
that would last only moments, nips and little sucks.  Then on, downward.

   When her clothing stopped my lips I moved my hands back in.  Exploring,
caressing, just feeling her.  When they came to the bottom of her skirt
they almost slipped underneath of their own accord, the velvet feel of her
naked skin drawing them higher, reveling in the willing form beneath their
touch.  At the feel satin of panties they stopped and one finger probed the
edges of the barrier.

   Reluctantly I pulled myself upright to stand at her feet again.

   What I had in mind would be far more enjoyable than simply taking her.

   I think the image of her laying before me, hands raised, ready to be
tied will be forever etched in my mind.  Standing there, knowing that she
had so willingly given herself to me with no knowledge of what I might have
in store for her made her as close as any can be to the epitome of
submission.  Oh, I have no doubt she had read about BDSM and had her
fantasies, maybe even done some cyber sessions and chatroom lurking, but
here and now she was putting her life and future in my hands.  With no
guarantees.

   In a way it was a most daunting moment.

   In that moment of hesitation she opened her eyes.  There was no fear,
just desire.  How can any of us know the desires of another's heart?  I've
never been able to and no one has known mine either, not without some clue.
I looked in her eyes and knew she held passion hidden behind walls built
over the years, and saw that passion pleading for escape.  Someday I hope
to get her to tell her side of this day.

   Desire.

   Hers, mine...  it was time to begin.

   I moved to her right hand and tied it to the six foot pole, checking the
lashings instinctively, then moved to her left.  People who have watched my
sessions have commented on how fast my hands can move, sometimes making it
impossible to follow what I've done.  I have to admit that while I don't do
it on purpose, I do like the fact that I keep my secrets.

   With her hands tied I took the next rope and slipped one end through the
suspension ring, evened it out and tied it to the ring.  Then after
securing it to the ends of the pole just beyond her hands I reached up for
the rigging point in the ceiling.  The hidden catch released with a soft
click and the hook dropped.  Picking up the remote I lowered the hook and
slipped the ring on the bail.

   Moving so I could help her I slowly raised the rig.  When she was fully
supported I stopped and checked the tie again.  All was good, no blue,
capillary response was normal.  I slipped off her shoes and socks and took
each of her feet and tied them to the pole I had waiting.  Now both hands
and feet were tied four feet apart, not too much of a stretch, but enough
to give me the room I wanted.  The pole and her feet were now about eight
inches above the floor.  I lowered her so she could take some weight with
her legs.

   I stood back and triggered the still cameras.  The program would take a
series of shots in several aperture and f-stop settings.  It also started a
timer running.  Shots would be taken at random intervals as well as those I
triggered.  Everything downloading to a comp in my office to slog through
later.  I chuckled to myself, the shoot was always the easiest part, the
time finite, the possibilities limited to that time, that person, that
experience...

   I pulled my knife from the sheath at the back of my neck.  It's an
unassuming blade, but extremely sharp.  As I moved towards her I judged her
response to it.  She wasn't afraid, curious and inquisitive.  Well, I had
told her that nothing she was wearing when she got here would go home with
her.  So I guessed she could put two and two together and my opinion of her
went up some more.

   As the flat of the blade touched her face I looked directly into her
eyes.

   "Are you mine to take?"

   She nodded, carefully.

   "Anything I desire?"

   Her pupils dilated at that, but she nodded affirmative.

   The blade slowly moved down, finding the first button of her blouse,
sending the button to the floor, the bundled threads parting like water
before the edge.

   "Any restrictions?"

   Her head shook, defiantly.  My free hand took her right breast and
squeezed.  Her sudden intake of breath let me know she'd understood the
message.  "Any restrictions?," I repeated.

   Her head shook again.  Her eyes were much more sober, the pride and
defiance still there, but muted by a touch of fear.  Just where I wanted
her.  The rest of the buttons followed the first in a quick sweep of the
blade, catching her off guard.  And I saw her recognition of the sharpness
of the blade so close to her flesh.

   Gravity pulled the blouse apart, revealing the soft skin of her abdomen
and my free hand found it's way across her belly, around her side to her
back, pulling her blouse farther apart as it did.  I let the tip of the
knife trail down her chest towards her belly and my lips followed it,
pausing for a moment between her soft breasts, my tongue wetting the
material connecting the cups of her bra.  Moving on, I left a trail of
wetness across her skin, ending at her bellybutton.  I moved the knife to
her left leg, just below the hem of her skirt and inched it up and under,
following the contours of her flesh.  My other hand followed suit on her
right leg.

   I could feel her tense as the blade got higher, the muscles of her legs
began to tremble.  And with the touch of the spine against the thin satin
of her panties she took a shuddering breath.  My finger replaced the knife
after a moment and I felt her body sag slightly, the tension of the moment
easing.

   This time I didn't stop, I slipped a finger under the band of fabric and
began to explore the folds of her.  The soft hair no impediment to me, the
wetness lubricating and easing my touch.  Her breath was becoming shallow.

   "This is the first time you've been touched here." I said as I let my
finger run over her clit.  I sensed her nod more than saw it, my face so
close to her sex, the growing aroma of her arousal filling my senses.  I
dipped my head under her skirt and pressed my lips to the patch of cloth
between her legs, my hand moving to pull her tight to me.  I breathed the
scent of her and basked in the sweet musk.

   Moments passed unheeded.

   Slowly I set down the knife so I could pull that patch of cloth aside.
As my lips brushed her wet hair my tongue slipped into her folds, lapping
the sweetness of her sex.  Each stroke ended at her clit, just a brush, and
then gone.  Her taste was just as sweet and musky as the aroma had
promised. The nectar of her loins whetting my appetite for what would
follow.  It took only moments before I could feel her trying unsuccessfully
to press against my tongue.  She had no point of leverage and just swayed,
making the contact more erratic.  I could imagine the frustration, wanting
to feel the pressure, but having it come and go without any rhythm or
pattern.  I let her go like that, letting a new tension build in her.  One
she had no control of.

   Then in a swift move I sucked her clit into my mouth and pulled her
tight against me.  I sucked hard, my tongue doing a rapid fire routine
against the tip.

   Some things can be faked.  Some things can't.

   The flow of liquid filling my mouth and running down my chin can't be
faked.  And can't be denied.  It was a welcome surprise and I took my time,
savoring and relishing the delightful nectar.  In many ways I believe it to
be a gift.  A gift to both parties.

   I gently licked my way back down one leg and pulled my head from under
her skirt.  The look on her face was interesting and I had to wonder if she
knew just what had happened.  But that wonder could wait.  I was just
beginning.

   My shirt was now wet and cooling rapidly so I slipped out of it and saw
her eyes go to my pierced nipples.  I used the shirt to make sure I was
dry, then tossed it aside.

   Standing in front of her again I took her face in my hands.

   "You are beautiful, never doubt that." But I did see the doubt in her
eyes.

   I released her and turned to the wall opening the screens that concealed
a wall of mirrors.  They were behind the cameras and would allow her to
watch what I did.  Then I moved behind her, slipping my hands around her
torso, caressing her again.  Opening the swaying fabric, revealing and
hiding her flesh as I moved.  Then I moved to her breasts, my hands mostly
hidden in the folds of fabric, doing things she could only accept.  And
then I slipped my hands under the fabric of her bra, raising it and
exposing more flesh to air and view.  Peeks of her nipples flashed in the
mirror, my hands pinching, caressing and simply holding her flesh.

   My own tension led me on and I bent, my hands trailing down her body and
retrieved the knife.  As I raised it I saw her following it's trail.  Up
one leg, poised for a moment, holding the fabric of her skirt against her
sex, then up the exposed flesh of her belly to rest over her left breast,
pushing the fabric away as it went.  The spine rested against her nipple,
just a turn of my hand and the edge could cut, would cut, if...  instead I
used the spine to make the nipple harden.  The cool metal pulling warmth
from her body.

   I watched her face in the mirror.

   Her eyes started to close.

   The knife flashed between her breasts, finding the thin fabric between
the cups and sliced through in a second, the cups falling away and my teeth
found the flesh of her neck.  The growl of a beast rising from the depths
of ....

   I often wonder if anyone else harbors a beast...  and if they do, do
they allow it to play...

   Her eyes were wide.  Her mouth open, ready to speak or scream.  Then she
looked in my eyes through the mirror and I felt her relax again.  The marks
of my teeth faded and my lips found their way to her ear.

   "Very good.  Now watch."

   Slowly, using both hands I took the fabric of her blouse and slit it. 
From just below her nipple to her wrist, then repeated the cut on the other
side.  The edge made barely a sound as it sliced, the fabric parting like
water at the bow of a ship, the ripple a wave moving across her body.  In a
moment it was done and I pulled the remnants of the blouse from her back,
leaving her topless except for the hanging cups of the served bra.  Two
quick cuts and it too fell away.

   I pulled her tight to my bare chest, skin...  the touch of her...  to
me...  and my hands wandered for a while.  The knife an ever present focus
as it wove patterns and danced on her body.

   I slipped a finger under the band of her skirt and let it follow the
tight line, wondering.  Skirts are always a slight dilemma, to cut it
away...  or leave one item for her to take home.  I let the knife part the
waistband and the fabric settled lower on her hips.  The bright white of
her panties a stark contrast between her skin and the navy fabric.  I
caressed and smoothed the compressed flesh from under the band, my fingers
testing the difference between her skin and the satin of the panties.  I
love to touch, to let the sensations flow from my skin.  And it's very fun
watching a person's skin react to my touch, to see it tense and release, to
feel it shiver and twitch as my hands move.

   I slipped my hand into her panties and ran my fingers through the soft
hair, then one finger found the slit of her sex and followed it.  I
explored her, feeling the soft, moist flesh.  Following the contours of
her, finding the opening that had yet to be penetrated.  It was so very
hard to resist the temptation to let my finger slip inside where none had
been.  Instead I collected the moisture available and slid my hand further
behind.  She tensed as my finger found the closed ring and explored it's
tight opening.

   "Are you mine to play with?"

   The tension faded slowly, in steps, as she made her choice...  once
again.  In many ways I was being surprised with this little treasure.  I've
known too many "subs" that would take months, if not years, to let
themselves even this far into their submission.  And far more just
pretended to submit, all they wanted was the game.  True submission will
never be a game, the "sport" of the evening...  always a limit to what can
and will be done or explored.

   Players...  they don't even make good models.  Always too tight, too
closed.

   Sweet little Hanh...  And my finger slipped inside the tight ring in
response to a slight push and the release of a long, slow, breath from her.
I held still, letting her get used to the feeling.  My hand moving with the
rhythm of her body.

   Thoughts of others moved through my mind.  Comparisons being made to
this sweet young woman.  I couldn't help wondering what had led her to this
place, where submission was such an natural seeming thing.  I've know a
very few "natural" submissive's, very few and so very far between.  Just
like I've known even fewer "natural" Masters.  Almost everyone comes to
BDSM through some other paths, to find it resonating with something deep
within.

   Then I felt her push against me and I moved my finger deeper and slowly
started to rock her body, holding her tight.  My hand cupping her sex,
feeling her begin to moisten again, the heel of my hand rubbing her clit. I
could sense her trying to control the motion and I let her, for a short
while, then I started moving in counterpoint, throwing off her rhythm.  I
heard her groan.

   I chuckled in her ear.  "Little hanh, you are my toy.  I get to choose
if you get what you want, not you."

   She groaned once more and did her best to press against me.

   I pulled my hand from her panties.

   Taking her skirt in hand I cut it from her and her panties followed with
two more cuts.  She was now completely naked and I couldn't help but wonder
how long it had been since anyone had seen her this way.  I chuckled to
myself as I thought of it being her mother, giving her that last bath... 
and what her mother would think of this revelation tonight.

   I moved from behind her and slowly took in my toy's body.

   Have you ever heard of someone "devouring" someone with their eyes? 
Mmmmm...

   A delectable little feast.

   I guessed she was about 5'2" and maybe 110lbs.  Her hips had a nice
swell to them and just a touch of a bulge in the belly, the last vestiges
of childhood.  Her legs were well muscled and firm, not the slim and
waifish lines that so many women seemed to want, that I find so unnatural.
I suspected that she played sports to some degree.  The smooth flesh of her
abdomen rose to her breasts, A cup if my eyes judged right.  Arms that also
showed real strength.  I know subs who believe that they have to be weak,
both physically and emotionally, but I always found them to just be playing
games.  Real submission takes strength most will never, ever, contemplate.
And the strength, resiliency and flexibility Nawa Shibari takes...  no, no
weakling could ever be my slave.

   ...  and I was thinking of little hanh as mine.  This little treasure
before me had sparked my passion as none had in years.

   I let a long slow breath exit and worked to clear my mind of the
thoughts of possession, for now.

   Her eyes held all the promise of the young.

   Memories of others flashed in my mind.  My first sub...  well, at least
she claimed to be a sub.  The facts bore out other truths.  Then there was
the one who simply wanted the game.  I had given up on playing games long
before she came, but she'd been so willing...  until real submission was
required.  And there were all the ones who passed in moments, always
thinking that a Master had to be a domineering brute, never seeing that
force will never make him real.  Oh, I had played with force, but I found
it utterly unsatisfying.  I always came back to the simplicity of thought
and the paths of submission that brought far more than a few moments of
pleasure.

   To me, bondage was a tool.

   D/s was the Way.

   And a wise man never leaves a tool unused.  The challenge is in choosing
the right tool in the moment.

   The breath ended...

   And I turned to my tools.

   Tonight I had chosen rope.

   I scanned the selection I'd pulled earlier, choosing.  The black spoke
to me.

   I took the first piece loosened it and formed a bight.  Then returning
to her I laid it against her skin.  Yes, the right choice.  I moved behind
her, placed the bight at the nape of her neck, then worked the ends over
her shoulders and between her pert breasts.  Before moving in front of her
again I took time to caress her body more, to cup her breasts, to run my
hands down her sides, to watch her shiver with the light touch and slow,
long strokes.

   Once in front of her I started the knots that would run down the center
of her body.  I still remember the first time I did this tie, getting the
placement of those knots right took practice.  Years of practice had taken
all the doubts away now and my hands moved swiftly.  The last knot...  I
spent some time on it, making it a triple and keeping one side in a tight
lump, almost a point.  Then I moved around and pulled the ends up her back
and through the bight at her neck.

   In some ways I prefer being in front during the next steps, but I wanted
the best shots for the cameras, and there are other rewards doing it from
behind.

   Running the first of the weave just under her armpits I let the hemp
slowly drag across her skin, my hands following in a soft caress.  In,
under, back, around, through...  it was almost as if I was touching every
square inch of her front as the weave wound her in a bodice of rope.  The
last lacings, just above her hips pulling the final knot just into place. I
finished the back and moved in front to check and adjust my work.

   I've seen many variations of this tie and each time I'm drawn back the
elegance and simplicity of it's lines.  It's unrestrictive nature a
contrast to the obviousness of the rope.

   I picked up a camera and started my shoot.

   As I moved around her I gave instructions, she followed them without
thought.  The beauty of her body, clothed on rope, was an inspiration and I
knew there would be some very nice footage by the time I was done with her.
It took about twenty minutes to get all the shots I wanted and I knew she
was now beyond her limit, not by much, but when the ropes came off, she
would feel it.

   I released her feet and pulled her legs closed.  At first she tried to
take more weight but soon felt the burn.  I lowered the pole and laid her
gently on the floor.  After releasing her hands I pulled her to me and
bundled her in my lap.

   Everyone reacts to release from the rope differently, but the returning
blood flow always at least tingles, like an arm or hand that been "asleep".
And for some the pain it very intense.  I knew the Karada tie wouldn't
cause the same discomfort.

   At first her breathing was ragged, but she calmed quickly, then suddenly
clutched at me, pressing her naked body hard into me.  The immediate need
for comfort overriding all other instincts.  Right now it was her hands,
arms, legs and feet that were the focus of pain.  I held her and as the
pain ebbed I smoothed her flesh, bringing different sensations than pain to
reawaken her senses.

   As the sensations of pain were replaced with comfort and gentleness I
could tell that the Karada tie was beginning it's insidious work.  Every
movement was working the ropes woven around her body and eventually
transferring it to the knot riding on her clit.  The sensations of pain
being transformed into those of comfort and in turn working her towards
arousal.

   Feeling the shifting tension in her I began making my touch more
playful, more erotic and suggestive.  Caressing her belly between the
weaves of rope, running my finger towards her sex and darting away, the
soft caress of a nipple becoming a pinch or twist, the soft warmth of my
breath becoming a nip on her neck.

   I let her slip out of my lap and kneel on the floor.

   "Display" the command rang in the small room.  And she moved, there was
a split second of hesitation, but it took less than 3 or 4 seconds for her
to assume the position.  I heard her grunt as she arched her back and
placed her hands on her ankles.  And when her head reached it's proper
place a long hiss escaped her pursed lips.  The ropes running between her
legs were being drawn tight against her clit, every motion of her body
directly acting on that sensitive little nub.

   In the next minutes I took more rope and tied her wrists to her ankles,
then bound her calves to her thighs with a spreader bar between her knees.

   I picked up my camera and became the "artist" again.

   This time I had very little direction to give her, the ropes and
position keeping her in the pose and restricting almost all voluntary
movement.  Of course there was the little, automatic, movements, the slight
sway from side to side and the subtle corrections of balance that are
completely natural.

   Little hanh would be learning all about those automatic movements.  And
also learning that the harder she tried to stop them the more her body
would move on it's own.  The shifting expressions on her face were
beautiful and so expressive of the lessons she was learning.  Her eyes had
closed and she was concentrating on the body, it's motions and the
sensations that the rope brought to her clit.  Her breathing was getting
deeper as she started to drop into what is commonly called `sub space', a
form of meditation that can allow a sub to take more than they believed
they could.

   I picked up the short whip I had close at hand and sent the tip to land
on her right breast, the random nature of the leather letting fall directly
on her nipple.  She went ridged with the sudden pain and her body became a
statue of corded muscle as the mingling waves of pain and pleasure washed
through her.  I circled her, the whip finding her flesh time and again as I
watched her arousal rise, her body moving to bring herself to orgasm,
striving for release.  The rising tension as she labored towards climax.

   The knife in my hand darted out and sliced the crotch rope.  The knot
working at her clit falling away depriving her of the final stimulus to
achieve release, a long moan of stifled passion escaping her as it dangled
between her spread thighs.  Her eye were locked on mine, the desire so
prominent, the need an excruciating pain.

   I knelt between her knees and slid my fingers into the dripping folds of
her sex and let the heel of my hand press against her clit as my middle
finger found the opening to her inner reaches.  My other hand took a nipple
and pulled it away from her body, my mouth taking the other nipple a
sucking it with all the force I was able.

   As I felt the flood of her release I slipped my finger inside.

   I felt the shudders of her body, heard the sighs and moans, and gently
explored her.  In this modern world of active youth most young women have
at least torn the barrier within.  Little hanh was no exception.  I
wondered if she'd be disappointed knowing the truth.  The "mystique' of the
maidenhead was still a powerful force in many ways, but the realities of
modern life made it almost as rare as a unicorn.

   I let my finger slip in and out as she gently rocked against me, my hand
still caressing her clit, my mouth working her nipple.  My other hand
carefully found the knife I had set aside moments ago.  I released her
nipple, pulled back and began cutting her free of the ropes woven around
her body.  As the last rope fell away I slid out of her and stood, picked
up the camera and went back to being the artist.

   The patterns of the rope were still on her flesh, her skin, inflamed by
passion had made them stand out like white lines on a black page.  It only
took a few minutes this time.

   When the last shot was taken I removed the ropes binding her wrists to
her ankles and pulled her to me.

   As her head touched my bare chest the tears came.

   Her arms wound around me holding me in turn.  This was another time of
release, the release of things so many will never understand.  No one who
has never been part of a complete submission can ever understand what
passes between the two.

   The Dom takes responsibilities that can and do go beyond the realms of
fantasy.  Many Doms claim that true submission as the ultimate goal, but
when faced by a true sub, find nothing but excuses.  The reality of a true
submissive and the responsibility scares them to death.  It's one thing to
want to be in total control and another to actually be.

   And the sub, the simple idea and desire for submission is as far a cry
from the reality as flying a kite is to walking on the moon.

   The truth is always obvious.  It's in the excuses.

   As she calmed I stroked her.  My hands wandering her body without intent
other than comfort.  We sat there for some time, letting her find herself
again.  When her hands started their own explorations of me I knew she was
ready to move on.

   I led her hand to one of my nipples.

   Her touch was tentative and shy, almost afraid to feel the flesh and the
ring passing through it.  Her head shifted to see better and silken hair
flowed like water across my flesh.  Soon her hands started exploring more,
feeling my skin, the forms and structures of me.

   Finally I felt and heard a soft sigh of simple content.

   "Come little hanh," I told her as I slipped her off my lap and rose.  I
held out my hand for her to take and she rose with me and followed.

   I led her to a room I had barely touched in my modifications.  It was
the locker room of the old factory.  Rows of 50's era lockers with hardwood
benches between.  The beige tiles a sea of cold on bare feet.  The full
height urinals and stalls at one end with the tublike wash stations next to
them.  And the large, communal shower, big enough for twenty.

   I stopped briefly to shed the rest of my clothing and led her into the
shower.  As we walked down the line of shower heads I turned each on hot,
crossing back and forth so that as we reached the end a wall of steam was
beginning to form.  I adjusted the one centered at the end and pulled her
under the water with me.  The warm water cascaded down her slight form
accentuating her curves, highlighting her small breasts, turning her long
hair into a waterfall of back rain.

   I reached for the soap and slowly washed her.

   There is a time and place for cruelty, for callousness, for unremitting
domination, but here and now it was a time of reverence and bonding.  And
that is the true domination.  Violence, humiliation and obedience are one
side of the proverbial coin, love, care and submission another face.  I'm
not sure when I learned that true power is present in every act, in every
facet of life, but I knew that my power could be a gift or a punishment in
any moment.

   And this sweet one was as close as any had ever come to the true heart
of my power.  Closer, I thought, as she tried to envelop me in her embrace,
her small arms wrapping around me, her legs entwining with mine, her face
buried in my chest.

   Here under the gentle rain of the shower I opened my heart.

   And damn all the pain that flowed out, the torrent of my tears hidden in
the cascade of water.

   Yes, a Dom is human.  Yes, the most enduring pains of life are those we
lock away in our hearts.

   I didn't know where this little one would take me, but the dance had
begun.