The first night of Rope Camp featured Midori’s Meat Market, a fun little event to introduce folks to one another and start the dialogue for play.
After the get together concluded, I eased my way over to Rough. He was showing off his Fat Ass Rope, and I wanted a taste of the experience. I asked for the pleasure, and leaned myself over a nearby table. Instead, Rough called me over to an open area.
First he gave me a few whacks, which stung a bit and turned out were his warm up. He then hit me hard on my back. Then my ass. Then my thighs. And my chest. I starting yelping and eventually wailing. I fell to my knees. In a moment of clarity, I took off my glasses and slid them across the floor towards a small group of friends.
Rough continued to attack my back as I continued to cry. He grabbed me, pulled me up to sitting, and wrapped the rope around my neck. In a moment, his blood choke took hold. I felt my muscles give way. He released me before my eyes closed. A bit of drool leaked from my lips.
When I brought my head up, when he knew I was back, he began beating me again. And blood choked me again. And my muscles gave way again.
He went for my inner thighs, one of my most sensitive spots. He regretted not being able to hit my cunt. His rope was natural fiber and I wasn’t wearing underwear.
When he finished, I got up, thanked him, introduced him to NYRCherryBondage, and went back to chatting with friends.
“Ha ha, I made you have feelings.” – an attendee at Midori’s Negotiations class
Sometimes I like to fly under the radar. I know intrinsically that’s not what’s happening, but in my sub-y mind that’s how it feels.
Wednesday night a few of us had gathered on a porch for cigars and libations. I sat in front of Gray and Rough as they smoked and talked.
Rough’s feet rested on my right leg; Gray’s feet rested on my left. I always had my torch at the ready, as well as a selection of cutters, boxes of wood matches, and a punch.
They told stories. Gray taught MissAmyRed about cigar service. I sat and listened, content, the occasional small sip of strong Japanese whiskey on my lips.
“I am the Dom and you will brush your teeth with your left hand this week. Ha ha ha.” – Rough, during is D/s Roundtable
Friday it rained. And rained. And rained.
I’d wanted to wear my new red leather shoes, but I couldn’t abide getting them muddy. I opted for my boots instead, which completely changed my outfit for the day.
As the afternoon came, I decided to do something different. I grabbed my newly purchased camp chair, took it outside under the pop-up, and pulled out my new voice recorder.
In the rain, with the pitter patter of droplets above, I recorded a Fusion podcast.
There was a breeze that made the day cool, blowing the chill of the rain towards me, under my cover. Because the pop-up had been erected before the turn in the weather, the ground wasn’t muddy in my sitting spot. I couldn’t help but be happy and bubbly, even as the drops continued to come down.
“His desires are my priority and he is where I point my devotion.
“I am his treasure and I am to be taken care of.
“He is my King… my dragon.” – MissAmyRed, during Rough’s D/s Roundtable
Ropetastic had pimped himself, as well as his two partners, during Midori’s Meat Market. As per his name, I knew he was into rope. And I wanted a rope scene.
I happened upon him in the Barn. Originally I was chatting with my friend Nomad. She started spinning my LED poi to make herself feel better, so I took the opportunity to speak to a rope guy.
As we conversed, I realized we were compatible for a scene. Since we both had time at that very moment, we headed up to the Dungeon immediately.
We chose a semi-private spot, what seemed to be a lounge room with a few couches but enough open space for us to work. I stripped down to my underwear, as did he.
I explained how I liked to be challenged, how I wanted something different besides normal rope forms. He expressed a desire to explore ichinawa, which I was all for. We began.
He wrapped rope around me in asymmetrical patterns, twisting my body this way and that. He did not make it pretty, but I loved the pain all the same. He, at times, pulled on my hair, ran a shrimp deveiner over my skin, sucked on my nipples, and tickled my feet. He rolled my body this way and that, changed his tie multiple times, added a second length of rope, and always kept me guessing.
We only played for about thirty minutes, but when all was said and done, I felt high, full of erotic and emotional pleasure from being in his binds.
“The greasy basement slave…the dirty basement whore.” – a talk on fantasy versus reality during Rough’s D/s Roundtable
Friday night we pushed all three of our beds together. Saturday morning I awoke to dragon cuddles before breakfast.
“I want to be treated like a pile of gold.”
“You want to be a heavy currency?”
“I am valuable and worthy of protecting.” – an exchange between myself and Dov after a late night run to Waffle House
I felt like a voyeur. No, worse than a voyeur. I felt like I was intruding.
It was obvious there was a connection, a slow building of energy as they writhed on the mats.
I hadn’t witnessed it all. At times, I was lost in scritches, lost to the rest of the world. Pulsing pleasure from my scalp kept my eyes closed, my head bobbing about, speech all but impossible.
But when I came back, I saw them. Saw the looks in their eyes. Heard the yelp, the growl.
I wanted to sit and watch more. I didn’t want to look away. That energy. That pure energy beamed from the two of them. And I was only, maybe, five feet away. Had been there the whole time.
But I did walk away. Because I wanted them to have their moment. Without an audience.
“You have a natural ability for connection…You seek out people you can connect with.” – Delano, to me, during his Bottoms class
He held the balloon away from my body. I was dirty, filthy from the grim on the stage. I don’t like stingy, but I take it for the person I’m playing with. I take it. And there was the balloon, tied around my chest, and stretched taunt, ready to snap against my skin.
He held it. And held it. And brought it back without snapping it.
He pulled it out again. I cringed again. This time would be for real, I just knew it. This time the pain would come. And then he brought it back.
I laughed and hated him at the same time.
He used a pretty pink dildo on me. He beat me with a pretty pink dildo, which stung like hell. He used a collapsible baton and a plastic rod, too. He punched me and wrestled me about on the dirty stage floor, attacking my thighs. But it’s the balloon I remember the worst.
Talk about sadistic.
“If you are open to learning, you are open to deeper experiences.” – Delano, during his Bottoms class
I spun my poi in the dark. Spun my poi away from the group sitting in camp chairs out in the chilly night air.
I stood in the middle of the road. A cart came by once; I moved.
I spun my poi and soothed myself. I accepted my feelings, accepted that was how I felt. Acknowledged the sad little girl inside me. Acknowledged what little power I had over the situation except what I did in that moment.
I spun my poi.
Then we went to Waffle House, I ate some food, and went to bed.
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