I Let Him Tie Me Up and Use Me Like His Toy… and I Loved Every Second

I used to fantasize about being completely at someone’s mercy—hands bound, legs spread, every moan dragged out of me with no control. But fantasies and reality are two very different beasts… or so I thought. Then I met him. Calm, confident, with that quiet dominance that made me melt before he even touched me. And when he asked if I trusted him enough to let go—I said yes.

He brought rope. Soft, strong, and deliberately slow in the way he tied me. Ankles first, then wrists, then a harness that hugged my chest and pulled my back into a perfect arch. I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe without feeling how exposed I was. And the way he looked at me—like I was his favorite possession—sent shivers down my spine before he even laid a hand on me.

He didn’t rush. He teased. A feather, a blindfold, the sharp crack of leather against my inner thigh. I whimpered. He smiled. Every sound I made became encouragement for him to push a little further. By the time he slid his fingers between my legs, I was shaking—desperate, dripping, and aching to be used. And that’s exactly what he did. No begging needed. I was his to play with.

I came so hard I saw stars—and he still wasn’t done. He flipped me, retied me, pushed me to the edge again. I lost track of how long I was restrained, how many times he made me beg for release. All I know is that when he finally untied me, I collapsed into his arms, bruised, marked, and completely blissed out. I’d never felt so owned—and never so safe.

So yeah, I’m the one who craves ropes and red marks. Who wants to be claimed, used, and adored in the same breath. And I’m done pretending I’m ashamed of it. Let them judge. I know what I want—and being his good, tied-up little plaything is exactly where I belong.