The Night I Made Her Beg in My Ropes

The Night My Black Ropes Broke Her

Last winter I had this girl. Not a model, not a professional sub. Just a quiet little thing with big eyes and a mouth that looked like it was made to be fucked raw. She messaged me after seeing one of my photos and wrote three words: “Break me, please.” That was enough.

I told her to come to my place at midnight. No panties. No bra. Just an oversized coat and the fear she tasted every time she thought about what I might do to her. When she stepped inside, the coat hit the floor and I almost lost my mind. Pale skin, soft curves, nipples already hard from the cold and from knowing she was about to become my toy.

I didn’t speak at first. I just walked around her slowly, letting her feel my eyes crawling over every inch. She was shaking. Good. Fear tastes better than any lube.

The rope was waiting: black jute tonight, thick and brutal. I started behind her, pressed my body against her back so she could feel how hard I already was. My hands slid up her arms, lifted them high above her head, and I began. Single column tie around her wrists, then I hoisted them up to the ring bolted in the ceiling. She went onto her toes instantly, back arched, tits thrust out like she was begging to be hurt.

I took my time with the chest harness. Every wrap was deliberate, every cinch tighter than the last. The rope crushed her breasts until they bulged between the lines, nipples trapped and swollen. When I pulled the final knot, she let out this broken little moan that made pre-cum soak straight through my jeans.

“You’re going to suffer so pretty for me,” I whispered against her neck, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. “And you’re going to love every second.”

I added the crotch rope next. Slow. Cruel. I dragged it between her legs, made sure the knot sat right on her clit, then yanked it so hard her hips jerked forward. She was already drenched; I could smell it, could see it glistening on the inside of her thighs. I slid two fingers through her folds just to feel how ready she was, then brought them to her mouth.

“Taste how filthy you are,” I ordered.

She sucked them clean like she was starving.

I tied her legs into a futomomo on each side, folding thigh to calf so she was forced wide open, completely exposed, hanging from her wrists with her cunt on full display. The crotch rope pulled even tighter in this position; every tiny movement ground the knot against her clit and she started whimpering nonstop.

I stepped back to look. Fuck, she was perfect. Suspended, helpless, dripping down her own thighs, rope marks already blooming red against pale skin. My cock was throbbing so hard it hurt.

I walked up and slapped her pussy, hard. She screamed, hips bucking, more wetness spilling out.

“That’s for coming here without panties like a desperate little slut,” I said, slapping again. Again. Until her thighs were shaking and she was sobbing.

Then I dropped to my knees and ate her like a starving man. Tongue flat against the rope, pushing the knot harder against her clit while I fucked her with my mouth. She came in under a minute, screaming, squirting all over my face, body jerking in the ropes so hard I thought she’d pull the ring out of the ceiling.

I didn’t let her come down. I stood up, unzipped, and fed my cock into her mouth while she was still twitching. She gagged instantly; I was too thick, too deep, but I didn’t care. I fucked her throat raw, using her hair like reins, watching tears stream down her face as she choked and drooled all over me.

When I pulled out, strings of spit connected us. I wiped them across her cheek like war paint.

I added the final suspension lines then. Lifted her completely off the ground until she was floating, legs forced open, cunt tilted up toward me like an offering. The crotch rope was now carrying her weight; every breath ground it harder against her oversensitive clit. She was babbling, begging, completely gone.

I stood behind her, gripped the ropes, and slammed into her without warning. One brutal thrust and I was balls-deep in the tightest, wettest cunt I’d ever felt. She screamed so loud it echoed off the walls. I didn’t give her time to adjust. I fucked her like I hated her, each thrust swinging her forward, then yanking her back onto my cock using the ropes as handles.

Her pussy was fluttering around me constantly now, aftershocks from the first orgasm blending into the next. I reached around and pinched her clit through the rope, twisted it until she howled.

“You don’t come again until I say,” I snarled into her ear. “You hold it. You suffer. You’re nothing but a hole wrapped in my shibari right now.”

She sobbed and nodded, trying so hard to please me. Sweat poured down her body, mixing with tears, drool, her own juices. The room smelled like sex and rope and absolute surrender.

I edged her for what felt like hours. Slow, deep strokes, then sudden brutal pounding. Every time she got close I stopped completely, let her hang there clenching around nothing, crying from frustration. I bit her shoulders, her neck, her tits; left bruises shaped like my teeth. The rope marks were deep purple now, gorgeous, permanent for days.

Finally, when my own control was hanging by a thread, I wrapped one hand around her throat from behind and squeezed just enough to make her panic beautifully.

“Now,” I growled. “Come all over my cock while I fill you up. Show me who owns this body.”

She exploded. Her cunt clamped down so hard I couldn’t move, milking me in violent pulses as she screamed herself hoarse. I followed a second later, pumping load after load deep inside her, groaning like an animal while she hung limp in the ropes, ruined.

I kept her suspended for a long time after. Gently rocking her, kissing the tears from her cheeks, tracing every mark I’d left. When I finally lowered her and untied her, she collapsed into my arms and whispered the only words she could manage:

“Thank you, Sir.”

I carried her to bed, wrapped her in blankets, held her while she shook and cried happy tears. Her body was covered in rope burns, bite marks, handprints; my cum still leaking from between her swollen lips. She fell asleep with my fingers buried in her hair and a smile on her face.

That night wasn’t about pretty ties or aesthetic photoshops. That was shibari in its purest, dirtiest form: total power exchange, pain and pleasure so intertwined you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. It was her handing me her body, her mind, her everything… and me taking it all.

I still jerk off thinking about how she looked floating in my black ropes, wrecked and dripping and completely, perfectly mine.

That’s the shibari I live for.