Our real BDSM wedding-night: sushi's erotic potential

He managed to get me through the door without slamming my head into anything, and then turned around so that I, still over his shoulder, could see what he had done to prepare. In the room, on the low table in front of the couch in the little sitting area, there was an enormous spread of sushi.

"Oh, Charles," I said, thinking of our first date, and desperate for some hamachi.

But he threw me on the bed, over pre-laid pillows, where I could see there was some honest-to-god nylon cord awaiting me. I had a sudden urge to use the safeword, so badly did I want that hamachi. He's not an expert with ropes, but before too long my wrists were bound out before me and my ankles to the corners of the foot of the bed. . . .

For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.