John had been the one to suggest shibari. Harold had heard of it, but he still blushed and stammered that he would have no idea where to begin with the Japanese style of bondage. Smiling, John assured him that it was easier than it looked, but they didn’t have to if Harold wasn’t comfortable. Harold has been apprehensive, “Are you sure?” But the longing, hopeful, puppy dog look that John tried to hide melted Harold’s resolve, and he went to buy shibari books and rope that same day.
Harold was relieved to find that the beginner knots weren’t as complicated as he’d expected, just like John had said. One evening, they’d picked a design they both liked and Harold set to work tying John up. They both fell immediately into an easy silence, interrupted only by Harold occasionally instructing John to hand him a rope end or to move that leg or to hold out his hands. John obeyed, all while in a blissful haze, the sensation of the rope sliding across his skin and the gentle pressure of Harold’s hands making his nerves tingle. He felt warm all over. Safe. Secure.
John didn’t know how long they’d been seated on the bed when Harold stepped back to admire his handiwork. John’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at the sturdy black rope pressing into his skin. He was tied up in a cross-hatched pattern that stretched across his shoulders, chest, and back, and looped around to bind his ankles and wrists. Around his neck was his black leather collar. He looked like a present wrapped up with a bow, and he loved it, but Harold was still hesitant.
“You’re absolutely certain about this?”
“Relax,” John replied, examining the rope around his wrists. He clamped one end in his teeth and pulled it tighter. Harold winced. “You’ve executed all the knots perfectly,” John observed.
Harold sighed. “It’s not the knots I’m particularly worried about.” John looked up at him, tilting his head. “In case you haven’t noticed,” Harold said, “you get tied up quite frequently. I don’t understand why you would want me to tie you up here.”
John looked down at his bindings and pondered them carefully. After a moment, he answered, “In the field, being bound and gagged is about being powerless, and having your power taken from you. But in here… it’s about willingly giving the power to someone else. Someone you trust.” He smiled up at Harold, and Harold smiled back, looking much less anxious. “Now,” John added, “stop standing around and put the gag in.”
Harold chuckled as he gagged John with a knotted cleave. “I’m sorry, who is the one in charge?” Unable to speak, John gestured his head in Harold’s direction. “That’s right. On all fours, now.”
John obeyed facing the headboard. It was surprisingly comfortable, leaning on his elbows and resting on his knees. Not very dignified with his ass in the air, but as Harold leaned over him and clipped a leash to John’s collar, John didn’t mind.
Harold hung the loop of the leash over the corner of the headboard before starting to undress himself. As he unbuttoned his vest, he began murmuring praises. The more time they’d spent together, the more they’d found a balance between subjugation and submission. Sometimes, Harold was loving, and sometimes Harold was cold, but no matter what, John was always obedient.
“You look so good all tied up for me,” Harold murmured, “I love to see you on your knees for me.”
John felt his nerves tingling again. The warm haze from being touched all over was quickly replaced with hot, pulsing arousal. John sighed, blinking rapidly.
Harold worked quickly to remove the rest of his clothes. He joined John on the bed and lubed himself up before taking the leash from the headboard and looping it around his wrist. Pulling gently, Harold coaxed John into raising his head, saying, “I want to see all of you, even from behind.”
John wanted to nod, but the least in Harold’s hand was constricting his movements, so he made what he hoped was an understanding grunt around the gag. If they had to stop for any reason, John and Harold had settled on a hand signal for John to make, but John didn’t expect he’d need it.
Stroking John’s thigh, Harold positioned himself behind John. Harold’s erection had been growing since before he’d finished the ropework, his hesitance notwithstanding. As concerned as he had been for John’s safety and emotional well-being, he couldn’t deny that John looked good all tied up. John was beautiful any way he offered himself, but Harold liked the visual effect of the rope tracking over John’s skin. Taking another look at the rope knotted over John’s back, Harold slid himself into John’s ass.
The leash slackened as John tossed his head back, pushing against Harold’s hips.
Harold smacked John lightly. “Naughty,” he scolded, “Be patient.”
The sting made John tense before he let out a sigh, the air coming out as a hiss around the knot in his mouth. He let go, allowing Harold to take control and set the pace.
Harold started moving agonizingly slowly, as he often did. He took great pleasure in making John squirm. A whine worked its way up and out of John’s throat, and Harold smiled.
“Such a lovely noise,” he purred. “I bet you want to tell me how you want me to take you. I bet you wish you could tell me to go faster, don’t you?”
John screwed his eyes shut. In his head, he was shouting, yes, please, faster, harder, but the gag, the gag kept him from saying anything. And yet the gag, the helplessness, the confinement felt good.
Harold tightened the leash again, and John’s eyes opened. “It’s all right,” Harold murmured, “You can’t speak, but you don’t have to.” His voice turned low and gruff. “I know what you need.”
To John’s relief, Harold built up his rhythm, rocking against John and driving himself further inside. John started panting, his eyes closed in ecstasy.
“You need to feel me… inside you,” Harold growled, “You need me to tell you when to cum.” John moaned, and Harold added, “You need to touch yourself, don’t you?” John nodded, three quick times. Harold chuckled. “But you won’t, because you’re a good boy and you’ll do what I say.”
Harold pushed, rocking John forward. John could feel the pressure building in his groin. He couldn’t contain his whimpers when Harold reached forward and took John’s length in his hand, stroking him gently. John gasped again, clamping down on the gag.
“Good boy,” Harold managed, his breath coming quicker, “Now stay.”
He let go, and John clenched his fists. Harold was such a tease. Closing his eyes, John counted to ten, in time with Harold’s thrusts as Harold slowed back down. Just as John was about to burst, Harold stopped.
It went on like this for a while, Harold bringing John to the edge of pleasure before pausing to let them both catch their breath. When Harold finally grabbed John fully as he inserted himself again, John was shaky, sweaty, and raw in the best way. He exploded after three short thrusts, his ragged cries muffled by the gag. He wobbled, the strain starting to show.
“Just… a little… longer… John!” Harold panted as he finished himself off. John was overwhelmed, but he held fast until he heard Harold gasping, and felt Harold pull out.
Sweaty and breathless, Harold make quick work of untying John, rolling him onto his back and undoing the knots around John’s ankles and wrists. The rope slid away, snaking across John’s skin, and even through the haze of the afterglow, John could admire the marks across his skin.
When Harold got to the collar, John stopped him. “Leave it,” he said, his voice gravelly, “I kind of like it.”
Harold stroked John’s hair, smiling, “It does look good on you.” With his other hand, he gave the leather strap a gentle tug. “Do you like it because it’s proof that you belong to me?”
John hummed. “Yes. And I like it because it feels good. It’s… safe. You’re in control.”
Harold leaned in and kissed John’s cheek, gently, tenderly. “Good. That’s good, John. You’re good.”
John nuzzled into Harold’s chest, and Harold welcomed him into his arms. “I wish I could wear it all the time,” John murmured, “I want to be good.”
Harold smiled softly. “You are good. I promise. But we can use it in the future if it makes you happy.” John practically purred. “However,” Harold added,” I draw the line at handcuffs.”
John simply chuckled.