Disclaimer: User-Generated Content with Erotic Material
The following story was submitted by a user and contains erotic content. It represents a personal fantasy or experience as told by the author. Tom Rocket’s explicitly distances itself from the content of this story and does not endorse or adopt any of the views or actions described. This publication is intended solely for the purpose of free expression and entertainment within the framework of our community guidelines.
I don’t know exactly when I first consciously heard about shibari. Maybe it was that one blurry image I saw while scrolling through my phone at night. A man, in a dim light, naked except for an elaborate rope weave. Something was different from classic BDSM. The rope stretched across his chest like a second skin. It wasn’t just a bondage photo, and it was far from porn. Somehow it was different; it stuck in my mind.
Today, I couldn’t say what it was that captivated me so much. Maybe it was the combination of aesthetics, calmness, and naturalness. The body of the man, whose face I can no longer remember, was simply present in the picture. He was lost in thought and was guided by his rigger and the rope. And surprisingly, he seemed free, which seems very grotesque considering the ropes.
A few weeks later, I was standing on the roof terrace of a trendy Berlin club with a gin and tonic in my hand. My friend Leon, who lived his life with natural elegance in polyamorous relationships and with extravagant gender performances, had to laugh when I told him about the picture.
“Oh, you’re talking about shibari? If you want, I can take you along sometime.” My cheeks turned red, my ears burned, and my curiosity was piqued. What do you mean, take me along?
Two days later, I stood in front of an old industrial building. An imposing brick facade was overgrown with ivy, and music could be heard somewhere in the distance. My heart was beating in my throat, and I wasn’t sure if I would collapse artfully at any minute with a rhythm disturbance. I had agreed. I wanted this. And yet I was more nervous than I had initially anticipated.
Leon greeted me barefoot. He was wearing a black tank top, with a thin rope slung casually over his shoulder. “Just watching today?” he asked as he handed me a glass of water. I nodded silently. That was enough for me for now.
The room was warm, body temperature, but without feeling hot. It smelled like a strange mixture of naked male skin, wood, and hemp. The windows were half darkened, and everyone spoke quietly. In one corner, a man knelt and let himself be tied up in silence. The rigger (I learned that word that evening) moved slowly, precisely, and almost tenderly around him. He said nothing, there were only looks whose expressiveness was stronger than any words.
I stood rooted to the spot and watched as the rope moved across the bunny’s skin. It left grooves, drew patterns, and lifted the chest, only to lower it again in another place. The bunny’s movements were minimal; he seemed focused and detached at the same time. The atmosphere in the room was somehow charged. It was as if people were talking to each other without making a sound. I didn’t understand the language, not yet.
“Would you like to try?” asked a voice next to me. It sounded deep and calm, and his question came as casually as asking for directions to the train station. I turned around and saw him. Dark hair, slightly tousled curls, a narrow face. His eyes looked like black glass. He was already holding a rope in his hands.
“I’m Yasha,” he said, and I just nodded. My mouth was too dry to say a word. “I want to try,” a voice suddenly croaked, and it took me a moment to realize it was mine.
Under the spell of the rope
There was something about Yasha that immediately swept me off my feet. He wasn’t loud, he didn’t even seem dominant. This man radiated an incredible calm. He was silent, but it wasn’t the typical awkward silence we all know from a first date gone wrong. It was a confident silence that demanded nothing but invited me to linger.
He led me to a softly padded mat surrounded by dark fabric. I looked around half-heartedly but couldn’t see Leon anywhere. The light was dim but warm.
I heard the soft creaking of the rope as he untangled it and the sound of his footsteps on the wood. My breathing felt shallower than I was used to. “Sit down,” he said quietly, and although there was no commanding tone in his voice, I obeyed automatically. I sat with my legs crossed, my shirt sticking slightly to my back.
Yasha knelt behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. There was nothing demanding or greedy about the gesture, just an intense presence. He lifted my hair aside, his fingers brushing my ear, and then came the first rope.
It felt rougher than I would have thought. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it scratched my skin. He threaded it between my arms and wrapped it around my wrists. He didn’t tighten it right away, he took measurements. He left the rope on me and asked a silent question. I gave him my answer in the form of relaxation. “Let me know if something doesn’t feel right,” he murmured so softly that I could sense his words more than hear them.
I nodded. My throat was dry, but my mind was crystal clear. Every touch felt double. I felt it on my skin and somewhere deeper. Then it got tighter. With a jerk, Yasha pulled the first loop together. Nothing hurt, but I felt the moment when I surrendered control to the rope and to him. Yasha didn’t speak, he worked in silence.
The ropes wandered across my upper body, crossed my chest, and gently pulled at my rib cage. They formed a network of lines that not only held me, but framed my body like a work of art. I didn’t feel tied down. I felt like a canvas being painted by an artist.
“Breathe,” he urged me quietly.
His voice now sounded darker, even calmer. I breathed in, the rope gently pressing me into my own depths. I breathed out, my body surrendering further.
As he pulled my arms back, slightly tensing my upper body, my chest arched forward. I could no longer see Yasha, but I knew exactly where he was. I felt his hands on my hips, his thigh against my back, and the soft scratching of the rope as he pulled it tight.
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed. I only knew that in this scenario, I was not a spectator, but an object. And that was the most exciting thing I had ever felt.
Caught between tension and desire
At some point, I no longer knew where my body ended and the rope began. My body was held, entwined, and shaped by a tight rope. It didn’t cut into my skin, but it urged me not to move. It was as if a piece of hemp was telling me that I had to feel.
Yasha stepped in front of me again. His gaze swept over my chest, my bound wrists, my face. I had no idea what he saw, but I saw something in him that made my skin burn. This was not a game, nor was it a performance; it was a clear desire that continued to rise within me.
He ran his fingertips along the line of the rope that stretched across my chest. Just a small stroke, and yet everything inside me twitched. I had hardly any room to move, but my body leaned towards him. A slight tremor, a silent plea for him to take me.
“You are beautiful,” he said softly, and his words struck me deeply. Perhaps it was because I felt neither masculine nor strong at that moment. Instead, I was naked and vulnerable, everything inside me tense to the last fiber. But it wasn’t weakness, it was raw openness. And in his gaze, I knew that his words were true. He found me beautiful, and that strengthened my self-confidence.
His hand rested on my neck, his pressure gentle, his skin warm. His thumb slowly moved over my larynx, not pressing, but feeling. I held my breath and he felt it. His other hand slid deeper, over my chest, over my stomach to the waistband of my pants. He didn’t hesitate, but he didn’t push either. His gaze asked a question, my nod gave him the answer.
With a precise movement, he opened the head and pushed the fabric aside as far as the restraints allowed. My body was electrified. Every millimeter Yasha touched vibrated between pain and ecstasy. I couldn’t hide, couldn’t hold anything back, couldn’t conceal anything. My thighs trembled, my erection was strong and clear, my breath came in gasps.
“This is how you should feel,” he murmured before his fingers enclosed me. He knew exactly how close he could get to me without crossing the fine line between lustful ecstasy and erotic madness. My head fell back slightly. I couldn’t do anything. The rope held me while his hand guided me.
With every movement, my body tensed more. The boundaries between pleasure and loss of control dissolved. I felt light and heavy, sad and happy, loved and despised all at once.
His lips touched my stomach, then my collarbone and my neck. He was in no hurry and had no goal. He just wanted to give me closeness, and I allowed it. I wanted to melt in front of him, beg him for release, and yet I said nothing. I was calm, caught up in a more intense lust than I had ever experienced.
When it came, it wasn’t just a moaning climax. I felt like I was falling and being caught at the bottom. I lay in the ropes, in Yasha’s hands, and let go. He held me, and everything around us blurred before my eyes.
When the knot loosens again
I have no idea how long I just sat there and breathed. I could feel my pulse in my fingertips, the ropes still wrapped around my body. Yasha was calm. He didn’t say anything because we had nothing to talk about. We didn’t know each other. Piece by piece, he untied the knots and with them the tension. It felt like I was waking up from a dream that had felt infinitely realistic even while I was dreaming.
When the last rope slipped from my body, a fine line remained on my chest. It shimmered reddish and reminded me of what had happened just a few minutes ago.
Yasha gave me a glass of water. I took it with both hands because I didn’t trust my strength. Our fingers touched briefly, almost by accident.
“How are you?” he asked me. I had to think for a moment. The words didn’t come immediately because my body felt warm, empty, and full at the same time. As if I had made room for something new that didn’t have a name yet. “Calm, maybe?” I replied, and instead of a mocking grin, I got only an understanding nod. He understood me.
We sat next to each other. There was no more music, the room was quiet. I couldn’t tell if anyone else was there. Slowly, I pulled my T-shirt back on. Yasha leaned back and watched me. “The rope doesn’t say anything to anyone, it just listens to you,” he explained. I understood, even though I didn’t understand anything. He hadn’t forced anything on me, but invited me to a new experience.
I didn’t leave right away, but drank tea with him and laughed at an absurd story he told. Only when it was pitch dark outside and Leon had reappeared did I say goodbye. I could still feel the marks of the ropes on his skin long after, and I took the scent of hemp home with me. Deep down, I knew even then that this was just the beginning of something very special.