Rope Camp Memories continued…
“Fuck the naysayers, fuck the purists; you do rope for you.” – Deiter
As a Domme, I enjoy rope because, well, I like tying people up. I enjoy the skill, the knowledge of the knots, and how this winding substance can control a body. I love the feel of rope as I lay it, bind it, across flesh. The fibers in my hands, the way it moves through my manipulations, is just a joy.
There is the practical aspect of rope that I like, seeing as it is harder for someone to get away when I do mean things to them. One of my favorite rope activities involves tying someone in a carada, binding their hands behind them, and pushing & pulling them back and forth. I call it my ‘Human Yo-Yo.’ I can be seen cackling ecstatically as I keep them off balance, almost, but not quite, falling.
I also find rope asethetically pleasing. To be plain, I like to make things look pretty. Weaving strands across someone’s body is a skill, but also an art form. There is a reason why we all love to take photos of our work or perv photos of another’s rigging. The shit just looks fucking good.
As a sub, my love for rope has run deep and long. I cherish the feel of rope on me, multiple tendrils of comforting hugs encasing my body. There is no limit to the amount of rope I want on me, provided I can still breath, somewhat. Big Bro used close to 200ft of rope when he popped my suspension cherry; for all I cared, he could’ve used 2000 and I would have been just as happy.
There is a practical reason for my love that is obvious, useful, and enjoyable; rope is great for sex. I can still remember the feel of the chest harness Gray put on me the night we workshopped his Cigars and Rope Play class. That particular tie was on me for at least two hours. When we finally did fuck, at the end of our session of play, he used the tie to pound his cock inside me, “riding me like a jockey encouraging a thouroghbred down the home stretch.” Who the fuck is going to say, “I don’t like rope because it takes too long,” to that?
Beyond the fucking, which I absolutely love, rope is an immediate way for power exchange. Bound in fibers, I relish the lose of control. When I am being tied, I let myself go, allowing my binder to have complete authority over me. Only they may decide what is going to happen to my body. For those precious few moments, I feel owned, fully and wholly. I sink into my submission. I let go.
So, why rope? Are you shitting me? Why the fuck not?
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