~ erotica ~
“Are you ready?”
The room was loud, crowded. People milled about taking in the various scenes in progress.
We didn’t often venture out to parties. Most of our scenes took place at his home in the basement. His roommates didn’t mind so long as he let them know ahead of time. He often suggested they play some music for the few hours I’d come over, in case they didn’t want to hear anything they might find disturbing.
Now, with the throng of people pressing into the warehouse, the thump of the music, and the heat of bodies everywhere, our usual experience was anything but.
We’d wanted something different, to try something new. Tonight at Illicit was living up to our hopes.
He pressed his hand against my chest. I felt my heart beat against it. As we took a moment, our breathing matched up. Even with the distractions, I felt connected to him, in a place occupied by just the two of us.
He asked his question. I answered.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
I closed my eyes, pushed all other thoughts from my mind.
I sensed his hand reach down to his pocket, pull out a hank of rope, and flick it open. He drew the length across my chest before wrapping it around my body. He looped above my breasts, under my arms, and knotted the even bands at the front.
Another coil of rope from his pocket, he knelt down in front of me. Tied a cuff just above my foot. His hand grabbed my ankle, eased it up towards my thigh. My leg pressed against his chest. My hands found his suspension ring and held it for support. His rope wrapped around my leg, securing calf to thigh and locking off tightly.
He kissed my belly, flicked open another coil of rope, and wrapped it twice around my hips. Adding another length, he pulled down and wound rope around my free thigh, knotting at my hip.
It was time to fly.
He first secured my bound leg to his ring, my limb twisting inwards. His second line attached to my chest wraps. His palm against my chest coaxed me to lean into the ropes. His hand caressed my cheek right before he nudged my foot off the floor. A few quick jolts and I felt my hip harness lifted.
I let my arms dangle at my sides as I floated sideways above the world.
He changed the position of his thigh tie, then lowered my chest down. I went inverted. My hair danced against the floor. My fingertips barely grazed the ground below. He lowered my hips. All my weight rested on my thigh.
The din of the room masked my screaming. I sunk into the pain.
I reached forward, grabbed my free thigh, and pulled my knee towards my forehead. I reached back, grabbed my ankle and brought my foot into my hair.
As I let myself wail, I felt his fingertips graze my thigh, my stomach, my cheek. He kissed my neck, asked me how I was doing.
“Swimming in a ocean of agony. Riding the wave of the excruciating. Letting myself feel the hurt.”
“One more minute.”
I let my free leg go. Let myself feel how much my weight pulled against his rope, how much the bindings squeezed into my leg, how much my body cried out for an end.
I felt the first bump as he began to ease me down. He craddled my head as my body landed on the ground. I curled into a ball, melted into his arms, as we sat on the cold floor, our fuzzy blanket the only comfort from the concrete.
He kissed away my tears. Rocked me slowly. I gripped his clothes, let my cry reverberate off his chest.
As my wailing eased, I looked up at him, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”
He kissed me again, his lips soft against my mouth, an embrace fulling of knowing. Understanding how much I needed to feel that pain. Gratitude for allowing him to inflict it. And an appreciation of our shared moment.
We kissed with the sweetness of our shared dark love.
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