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The laughing sounds like something I would say / do:

Puzzled, I watched the boy strapping up our mattress. In twelve months of creative fornication, he had never tied me up, except to cook the occasional dinner in handcuffs. It seemed a matter of both principle and no minor disinclination.

This rig was a recent gift, nothing more than four nylon straps with rings. If our mattress were more rigid I would’ve felt good about my chances of breaking the hardware right off. He insisted on the included Velcro cuffs, which really completed the picture. Barbie’s First Bondage!

(If you find anyone with a Velcro fetish, do let me know.)

I settled on my stomach, spreadeagled, as he cinched down arms and legs. Aww… how honeymoon! But this was not Barbie’s first caning, and behind my heckling I was getting seriously worried.

“Do we have a safeword?”

He laughed, which was what I should’ve expected.

“Don’t laugh!”

He started to cane me instead.

Not being able to move scared me severely. Perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of it; I’d become accustomed to the right to run away. And much of the time, the boy tops like a little fourteen-year-old shit. I like laughter, but practical jokes are unwelcome when I’m tied up.

At least he was calm. He didn’t seem like he was trying to upset me.

I burst out crying in minutes, which I did not expect. He waited as I blinked mascara out of my eyes. I realized I had never cried during a scene with him — at least not one that didn’t end in a hurry. (If you believe that only bottoms have limits, ask your top what they think about tears. Or puke.)

“Is crying a safeword?” Unbelievably he was still calm, still at cane’s length. Still with me.

I shook my head. No, please.

He broke the cane.

I put my face in the pillow — something else I never do, because he feeds off my reactions — to cry. I wasn’t upset at all. It felt self-indulgent to cry, and cry, and be encouraged by more pain to cry, and have no one telling me to pull it together.

When he was done, he pressed my smudged face into the sheets and fucked me soundly. I came until I sobbed. Afterwards I felt strangely docile, as if a storm had left me, if the worse for wear, clean in its wake. The world was peaceful and I could sleep.

From Dominatrix Next Door.