Prisoner of Love.

I got to Jon's house, said hi, and started taking off my boots.

"Take off your socks too," he said. I did. "Face the door and take off all of your clothing." I did. "Hands behind your back."

He handcuffed me, then blindfolded me, and started to lead me up the stairs.

One of these days I'll learn to take these things seriously, but that wasn't the day. "You've got all your friends up there, don't you?" I asked. And as I walked up the stairs slightly awkwardly, him pushing me along and me acutely aware that if I tripped I would land on my face: "This is just like summer camp!"

It was just like summer camp, because when we got upstairs, he had me stand still and for a second there was nothing. I couldn't hear him or feel him. Then suddenly he knocked me backward, and I fell down... about three inches and landed on a mattress, giggling my fool head off.

After that he switched my handcuffs out for rope and clamped up my nipples and beat me and fucked me and all that. But it was those first few moments, stumbling along blind and naked like some sort of sexy war prisoner, that stick with me. Not as the sexiest, but the most fun. There's something about the combination of childish roleplay and real vulnerability (and delicious, uncertain anticipation) that makes me feel just so damn lucky to have experienced it.


Unrelated Comment: People who express their sexuality through capitalization are D/dorks.