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I‘ve never been very interested in bondage for its own sake. Many people like it, as an artform. I just use bondage to take away the choice of moving, and to let the submissive feel that she’s helpless. My interest is in the bonds being effective and feeling ruthless. 

Before this night with Diane it was mostly a kind of play-acting when I tied a submissive. I’d used bondage mostly as a kind of play-acting. I might let her wait and enjoy the sense of being held in place, no matter how she struggled, but mostly I had an agenda – discipline, or fucking, or both. The ties I used generally let her struggle and writhe about, enjoying the sense of being held implacably, and feeling herself to be a poor helpless little thing. But in most cases the bonds weren’t really necessary. The submissive would have been able to hold herself still and stay presented even if I hadn’t tied her.

So bondage allowed submissives I played with, or lived with, the benefit of not having to stay obedient during discipline, while pretending that if she as to be tied then the discipline must be terribly fierce and severe.

But Diane was likely to go through pain that was a notch or two harder than I’d delivered before. This really would be severe. I’d chosen the birch because it seemed the instrument most likely to cut her skin and draw some blood without my having to flail away like I was threshing corn. I could be moderate and still give her some cuts and abrasions, and a bit of red trickle to admire in the mirror. Even so, people who’d been birched had mixed feelings about whether they’d enjoyed it, but no-one seemed to be in any doubt that it had hurt.

So I tied Diane with unusual care, fixing her wrists and ankles, and adding a few loops round her knees to keep them well spread. When I’d finished she was trussed, certainly unable to move from her position on the centre of the table.

Diane cooperated in being tied, obeying when I told her to move, but she had no difficulty staying silent.

I said, “I’m going to birch you.”

Diane nodded, then said, “Yes, Sir.”  

“I’m going to draw blood, little vampire girl. And then I’m going to continue. Are you ready for that?”

Another nod. Then she remembered and said, “Yes, Sir.” Her throat was dry.

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The previous episode is here.

I picked up the birch while Diane was fiddling about in the bedroom, untying the cords attached to her bed. I gave it a couple of practice swings, making a silken, dangerous sound in the air. Diane returned just as I swished it the third time, and she paused and swallowed before taking another step towards me. 

She held out the rope: three separate pieces, each neatly coiled and about four metres long,  “Sir? How do you want me?” 

I ignored the rope she held out and looked at her. “Er,” she said, “want me to be, when you birch me.”

“Put two cushions on the coffee table. In the middle so you can get your ass on them. Nice and high.”

“Yes, Sir.” Diane arranged the cushions as instructed, and looked at me again. “Shall I take my shirt off now, Sir?”

“I’ll tell you if I want you to do anything. And I don’t need helpful suggestions, Diane.”

“No, sorry, Sir. Shall I bend – Oh. No, sorry Sir.”

“That’s better. And yes, Diane, get on the table now. Face down. Get your hips over the cushions and keep your ass up. Good girl. Now spread your legs. Because I’m going to want to birch the insides of your thighs, girl. Spread wider. That’s right.”

Diane obeyed. That line about “inner thighs” had reached her. 

Once she’d arranged herself as ordered, she waited, looking at me, a man with a birch in his hand. I was looking at a submissive woman entirely offered, presented, on a table. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something. But she remembered in time, and did not speak. 

The next episode is here.