HARNESS (sinful sunday)

I’d seen the harness on a previous visit to the central london rental dungeon and wondered if it was expandable enough to fit me. I have a thing for tight leather bondage harnesses and have bought a few over the years.

But this was different from those other harnesses. This was for a man. I’d imagined wearing it as a dominant, a role play perhaps with me as the leather clad, fetishistic dungeon-master, binding my submissive and bending her to my will.

It didn’t turn out that way, not at first.

She spotted it as we returned to the dungeon room after a champagne break (for me, champagne breaks form an essential part of the dungeon ritual) and within a minute I had it on. She tightened the buckles, using the straps to move me around. It was hot and I gave myself up to the bondage and to her control of me. She tightened the straps a second time and that was hotter still, the constricting leather pulling me into myself, both physically and mentally.

Bondage is such a sensual, connecting, intimate form of sex, suffused with dominence and submission; each notch on a strap becomes an assertion by one player, an acceptance by the other.

I let her play with me: floggers, a paddle, nipple clips; at the end, a cane. The light in her eyes and the catch in her breathing told of how hot it was for her. She’d have learned the same from my eyes and my breathing.

It was a delicious reversal of our normal roles.

Our booking was overnight and so, after another champagne break, I was able to wear the harness again, this time fulfilling my dungeon-master fantasy.

That was hot too.