Bondage frame Stories

I stood in the dimly lit, soundproof chamber known as The Studio, a place where pleasure and pain mingle with the scent of leather, rubber and sweat. The Slave, a meticulous man dressed in a simple leather apron, stood before me, holding a complex black leather body harness that seemed more of an art form than a mere garment. His eyes met mine in the mirror as he began to fasten the intricate web of straps and rings aroun...