The room was quiet . Intense.
He lay on his stomach, his body spent but still obedient, his breath shallow and uneven. I stepped away and returned with a blindfold, a pair of padded cuffs, and a soft cotton rope—not for cruelty, but for connection. This was about trust, the final wall to breach.
I let him be for a while.
“On your back,” I eventually spoke, my voice firm but not harsh.
He rolled over slowly, wincing as his welts met the mattress, and looked up at me with wide, uncertain eyes.
“You trust me, don’t you?” I asked, holding the blindfold in front of him.
“Yes, Mistress,” he said, though his voice wavered slightly.
“Prove it.” I slipped the blindfold over his eyes, tying it snugly, plunging him into darkness. His breath quickened, but he didn’t resist. I took his wrists, securing them with the cuffs and linking them with the rope, then tied the other end loosely to the pillar in my room. Above his head—not tight, but tight enough to limit his movement. He tensed, testing the bonds, but didn’t pull.
“Breathe,” I instructed, resting a hand on his chest—not to soothe, but to ground him. His heartbeat thudded beneath my palm, fast and erratic. “You’re safe. You’re with me.”
He nodded, a small, jerky motion, and I stepped back, picking up a soft feather from the table—its touch fine and gentle, even ticklish. So different from the pain he had felt.
I trailed it down his chest, over the rise of his ribs, watching his body twitch at the unexpected sensation. He gasped. He was ticklish, and tempted. To his credit, he begged, whined even….”Please….Mistress”. His bound hands flexed, but he didn’t move.
“Quiet!” I was sharp.
He froze, his breath hitching.
I continued, caressing the feather along his stomach, his thighs, avoiding his groin entirely. This wasn’t about tickling, laughter, arousal, or even torture—it was about surrender, about him yielding to my touch, my will.
“Tell me what you feel,” I said, pausing the brush just above his knee.
“It’s… overwhelming, Mistress,” he stammered. “Soft, but… but intense. Like I’m… I’m floating, but you’re holding me down.” He paused. “…and I’m ticklish, Mistress”. He whispered.
“Good.” I set the feather aside and untied the rope, freeing his wrists from the pillar but leaving the cuffs on. “Sit up.”
He struggled to comply, his arms shaky, and I guided him with a hand on his shoulder—not gentle, but steady. I removed the blindfold, and he blinked up at me, his eyes moist and searching. “You’re mine now,” I said, my voice low. “Not because I’ve tied you up, but because you’ve let me in. Say it.”
“I’m yours, Mistress,” he whispered, his voice breaking with raw honesty.
I nodded, resting a hand on his head briefly—a rare gesture of approval. “Lie back down. We’re not done.”
He obeyed, his trust in me solidifying, and I could feel the shift—his walls were down, his surrender nearly complete.
Asmi
6.4.2025
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