poeticdesires

Category: Rope

  • Good Boy

    ~ erotica ~

    Everyone was on the floor. He sat cross-legged in front of me. My crotch nuzzled up to his tight little ass, my legs laying lazily on the carpeted ground. My chin rested on his shoulder. We watched the small intimate show, cheering on our friend who was dancing. But I wanted a little more entertainment for my evening.

    I reached my arms around him, spread apart his thighs, and wrapped my legs around his middle, resting the heels of my boots on the floor. My chest now laid against his back, my arms around him. I let my hands dangle as my forearms rested on the inside of my knees.

    I brushed my nose against his ear before whispering my intent for the evening.

    “I’m going to eat your asshole tonight.”

    I heard the stalled breath and immediately felt his body tense. He slowly reached a hand up and gently dragged my hand down to his crotch where his cock was already growing hard. I massaged his cock through his shorts while we waited for the show to finish.

    When the show ended and the party began, I quickly sat my things down under a suspension frame. He’d sat against the wall waiting. I turned to him, extended my finger, and beckoned him over. He crawled like any good boy would.

    With a move reminiscent of how I’d soon play with his ass, I gestured for him to stand. I leaned in close, my lips again by his ear.

    “Do you like sexual humiliation?”
    “I… I don’t know.”
    “Hmm, I think we’ll find out tonight.”

    I grabbed one of his wrist and then the other, tying a basic cuff around both before throwing the excess of my rope above the top and pulling down, lifting his limbs into the air. He could still stand flat on his feet, but he couldn’t get away.

    I grabbed him by his hips and turned him towards the party crowd. Most people milled about, looking for places to play, equipment to use, or a place to sit, but a few watched us, wondering if we’d make a good show.

    I unbuckled his belt, unzipped his shorts, and pulled off the fabric. Like a good boy, he wore no underwear. His cock was mostly hard. Even with his shirt still on, I could tell he felt exposed. He looked down towards the carpet.

    “Look up. Keep your eyes open. I want you to see them as they watch you, as they watch me fuck you.”

    Reluctantly, he did as he was told.

    I dropped to one knee and eased his legs apart, gripping his cheeks to expose his asshole. I reached over and dragged both my bag and a small table to within easy access. I put on two gloves, and grabbed a condom, my bottle of lube, and a special surprise toy, setting them next to me on the table.

    With each cheek firmly in my grasp, I spread my tongue wide and gave my first long languid lick. He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and gasped. I quickly gripped his balls and called up to him, “What did I say?”

    “Keep my eyes open.”
    “That’s right. You can gasp, moan, plea, and scream, but your eyes will remain open.”

    My mouth delved back into the cleft of his ass, licking furiously now, tracing his rim with the tip of my tongue, using the stud in my mouth to tickle his flesh, and delicately probing inside of him. He pushed his hips back, an eager little slut, wanting more and more of my tongue in his ass.

    But I wanted something more now.

    Standing up, I riped open the condom wrapper, pulled out my cock, and slid the latex down my shaft. Taking up the lube bottle, I generously slicked up my cock for my boy, as well as one of my hands. I set the lube bottle back on the little table next to me again, just in case I’d need it later.

    My dry hand found my boy’s cock, rock hard now, and stroked him as my slick hand’s fingertips played with my boy’s asshole.

    “Having fun?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, because now I’m going to fuck this little ass of yours. Would you like that?”
    “Yes.”

    Again he pushed back as my fingers now explored inside of him. Good and warmed up, I pressed the head of my cock to his hole, easing it into him, and slowly sliding all of me inside him.

    “Fuck!” he screamed.
    “Yes, my boy. That is exactly what I’m doing to you.”

    My hands rested on the front of his pelvis, pushing him further onto my cock, framing his cock for those watching. Indeed, we had drawn a crowd. My boy looked on them, no more embarrassment in his eyes.

    “You like it when they watch me fuck you. You like it when they see me take control of you, my cock inside of you, ramming in and out, don’t you?”
    “Yes.”

    I shifted my hips, slowly easing my cock out and then gliding it back in, slowly fucking deep into his ass. When I did this again, he whimpered in the way that got me hotter.

    “Are you about to cum?”
    “Yes.”
    “Don’t.”
    “Please.”
    “No.”
    “Please.”
    “Maybe.”
    “Please.”
    “Hmm…”
    “Please!”

    He repeated the word over and over. I held my cock inside of him, not moving it, but instead reaching over and grabbing my surprise. I rested the small vibrator on the millimeter of my cock not fully in his ass, and turned it on.

    “Fuck!”
    “You like that?”
    “Yes!”
    “My cock buzzing inside of you.”
    “Yes!”
    “Do you still want to cum?”
    “Yes! Please! Oh God please!”

    With one hand, I gripped his balls, massaging them firmly. The other cupped the head of his cock.

    “Cum.”

    His body twitched and jerked, his head having no choice but to follow the spasms. He spewed into my hand, white, sticky, and warm. I brought that hand to his mouth where he greatly lapped up every last drop of his cum from my fingers. I wiped the excess moisture on his face, down his chest, and back onto his cock, stroking his now sensitive organ, my rock hard cock still inside of him.

    “Now, what do you say?”
    “Thank you. Thank you.”
    “That’s my good boy.”

  • Orange

    The look on her face was almost serene. I had never seen her experience this, never seen this play before.

    Yes, I had heard about it. It was a scene she was known for, a class she had given before but never was I able to attend.

    As I sat so close to her, watching it all unfold, I felt a wave of appreciation flow over me. She shared this amazing experience with all of us, this place she did not always go to, a depth few are willing or able to achieve.

    I sat close to the front so I could see it all. Her face. The rope work. Her body’s reactions. The room grew quiet quickly, taking on an almost ritual-like feel as the scene unfolded.

    It started slowly, methodically. First, the chest harness, binding her arms back. Not comfortable; that was not the intention of the scene. A line secured to the box tie was thrown up and tied tight, lifting her frame up. She could only stand on her toes.

    Next, the meanest part: her crotch rope. Coconut rope. It was to be a gift from the scene. Tied tightly, going into the creases of her thighs, then through her vulva, knots both on her clit and in her cunt. Cinched so that there was no give.

    A line tied to the side of her crotch rope, looped above her head, back down to the other side of the crotch rope, back up and secured. There would be no ease. This was never meant to be easy.

    A cuff on her right ankle. The rope stretched out to the side. Her leg up in the air. Her body off balance, trying to hold on. Pushing herself further. How long would she last?

    A cuff around her left thigh. It was time. The line went up. She was lifted completely off the ground. She floated in the pain, the pain visible on her face, in her body, the twitching muscles, the breathing. Still, she endured.

    A vibrator placed on her pussy. Could the pleasure make the pain worse? (It did.)

    Her breathing changed. Her voice warbled. She called out as she came, the pleasure mixing with the pain. How much longer would she last?

    She asked for the vibrator to be taken away. (It was.)

    But then her thigh was lifted more. You could see it. It was almost time.

    And then it happened. She called it.

    They took her down slowly. They released her bonds. The crotch rope was the worst.

    She’d done it. She pushed herself, pushed her body and mind to a place we, the attendees of the class, were so very grateful to witness, a scene we were so very grateful to see.

  • Escape

    “The goal of the captive is to escape. The goal of the captive is to escape. The goal… of the captive… is to escape.”

    Oh, I realized. I was suppose to try to escape.

    I looked on as Gray’s minions (volunteers from the class) began to stand. I back pedaled, rushed to the right, saw a side door, and took it. The day had grown cool, my skin almost prickly in the air, but I only noted it as I ran as fast as I could.

    In my periphery, I saw someone coming from the right. I swung left, but the chain link fence surrounding the tennis court was in my way. Before I could traverse its length and rush towards the asphalt path, I was down in the grass. Soon two guys were on top of me. Gray, along with the rest of the class, slowly walked over. He congratulated me for getting farther than any other before.

    Grabbing my ear, he demonstrated a technique to control a prisoner. First he gripped my right ear, then switched to my left. I quickly assessed my surroundings and realized I had a shot to get away again, so long as I didn’t mind the pain. His hold on my ear was strong, but I knew I could get out of it if I tried.

    With a burst of energy, I rushed away, essentially ripping my ear from his hand (and loosing an earring in the process). Again I ran, but not very far before one of his minions took me down.

    Gray once again sauntered over, never in a rush. This time, when he knelt down, he riped up grass and dirt from the ground and held it over my lips. I refused to open my mouth. He held his hand over my nose. When I finally needed air, I thrashed my head back and forth. Gray then pulled up yet more grass and mashed it into my hair. He finished with a warning: if I tried to get away again, he would put something in another orifice.

    Instead of pulling me up by my ear, he let me stand on my own. I stood for a very long time before I moved. I thought maybe I could get into a favorable position to run again, taking my time with my steps. Instead his minions read my actions and positioned themselves in my way.

    Gray encouraged me to quicken my steps, and I was the first one to enter the Dungeon.

    I immediately broke for the side door again. Bracing my arms, I swung through the opening in the hand rail and sped along the grass on the side of the building. Out of nowhere, a minion tackled me. He held me down as the rest of the class again surrounded me.

    Gray loomed over me, holding two pine cones. He ordered a minion to go get a condom.

    Sitting on me, he said I had two choices: my pussy or my mouth. Again I took a long time to weigh the options before finally opening my mouth. When it came close to my lips, I bit the condom and tried to wrench the pine cone from his hand with my teeth.

    Gray swiveled, trying to open my legs, trying to force the condom wrapped pine cone inside me. I struggled. I screamed, guttural and full of rage. I would not let him succeed.

    Before I knew what was happening, I was standing, stumbling forward, pulled along by Gray back into the Dungeon by my hair.

    A minion now guarded the side door. I was flung onto the mat, held down by Gray’s knee on my head. Even though I knew it was almost impossible, I still tried to calculate a way to run, but there was no way to wrench my head free from his knee. For a good portion of the ordeal, I had a splitting headache.

    Soon his rope was on me, unforgiving ties on one wrist and both ankles. With my free hand I tried to untie, tried to get away, but he held the power now. When he threw the rope over the arch and pulled my body up, I screamed, not like my combative yells of before. I was in pain, real not-fun pain.

    “What hurts?”
    “My left ankle.”

    He let me down. I cried a little. I no longer thought about escape.

    Gray, at this point, told the class how, as in all scenes, both tops and bottoms have the option to safeword. He was not going to let me hurt myself in a way that would lasting or jeopardize my job.

    For all intents and purposes, I was broken.

    PS. Afterwards there was giggling (on my part) as I untied the ropes and Gray went on with his class, talking about and demonstrating hog ties, strappato, hojojutsu, and other mean mean ropey things. The experience was awesome.

  • Rough

    “Do you want to play?”
    “Yes. When?”
    “Now.”
    “But I’m playing with a friend once they get back with their rope.”
    “We’ll play til they arrive.”

    Gripping the side of my neck, right where I’d been bitten not ten minutes earlier, Roughinamorato pulled me forward. Just as we were to find a space, my friend walked into the Dungeon and approached us.

    A dilemma.

    I suggested we combine the two activities, but Rough’s plans for me involved my ease of movement. They asked which I preferred first. Of course, I could not choose.

    It came down to a coin toss. Heads, my friend; M, Rough. The coin landed on M. My friend stepped aside and patiently waited.

    With an enormous amount of room in the middle of the Dungeon, Rough saw where he wanted to work. He found a nearby table, sat down his things, and requested I disrobe down to my boxers and remove my necklace. I could leave my moccasin boots on.

    Leading me to the middle of the empty space, he paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, before slamming his fists into my chest. I rocked backwards, but them returned to in front of him. He did it again. And again.

    “Welcome,” he said before continuing his assault, punching me, gripping my hair, bringing me back, and hitting me over and over.

    This, it turned out, was his warm up.

    After a few minutes of chest punching, he stopped and walked back to his table. Pulling out two coils of rope, he began weaving his chord around his fists.

    “You could cook something on my chest,” I said, happy floaty-high already. He smiled.

    As he constructed his rope fists, I grew nervous. I’d seen his video demonstrating the technique, but now I would feel the full impact of his cleverness.

    Finished, he again brought me to the center of the Dungeon. He stopped and once more looked into my eyes.

    I steadied my breathing. I tried to prepare myself. I knew the next however many minutes would be, well, rough.

    Punches to my chest. Punches to my back. Open hand smacks to my shoulders. I rocked forward, backward. I almost fell to the floor. I began crying.

    And then with one blow I was bent over, sobbing. He grabbed me by my hair, brought his lips to my ear, and quietly whispered, “Shh…”

    I caught my breathing. My sobs eased. He hurt me, and hurt me, but I kept my cries to high pitched low volume close contact utterances.

    He lifted my arms out to the side and then came down hard, opened handed smacks to my ribs. I screamed and hugged in my arms back in.

    He walked behind me and kicked my ass (literally kicked my ass, though technically using his thigh), coming across my rump with multiple blows.

    And then I was on the floor. He hit me so hard somehow, but I don’t know how, (I actually can’t remember if it was from the front or the back) I collapsed down to the ground.

    Once on the ground, I knelt before him. Rough came down to my level and rested on one knee. And as he did, he just stopped and looked at me again, a small smile electric and alive on his lips and in his eyes. He looked on me. And looked on me. And then spoke.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    Both his fists slammed into my chest. I rolled back and to the right, my body landing half face down on the floor. I pushed myself back up and immediately returned to kneeling, returned to being in front of him, and waited.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    He did it again. I fell, rolled up, and returned.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    And he did it again. And I came back.

    There was no hesitation, no moment between when he made his request and when I spoke mine. No time for rest, no need for it. I knew what was coming, knew the pain I would endure, and knew I wanted it, no doubt in my mind.

    He put his hand on my shoulder, pulled me in close, and stroked my hair. We hugged. I nuzzled his chest. I thanked him and he thanked me.

    It was rough, just how I like it.

  • Safely

    When he asked me to tie him, I was a little taken aback.

    “I’ve seen your work and was wondering if you would suspend me?”

    Seen my work? People have seen me tie? It all felt other worldly.

    Still I was elated at the idea of playing with someone. Going into Summer Camp, I had made no plans whatsoever. No demands. No unrealistic expectations. Just camp.

    We decided I would rig him in the Barn on Thursday in the early afternoon, just after lunch.

    When the day came, I was feeling great. Going along with the no planning part of my Summer Camp, I had decided to also treat it as a real vacation. I would sleep when I wanted or needed. I wouldn’t push myself, wouldn’t force myself to stay up until all hours. I could spend as much time with my friends as my new leisure-self desired. I would enjoy my time at camp instead of trying to cram into every single minute excitement and fun and play. (Frankly, it’s been getting exhausting.)

    As I sat in a camp chair outside my cabin, I wore my thin black kimono with my pink and white obi around my waist. I laughed and chatted with my cabinmates. I smiled a lot, happy to just be there, happy to just have time with my friends.

    As the day meandered to the time for the tie, I grew gleeful. I grabbed my rope bags and strolled to the Barn.

    Having arrived, I saw there was no one inside the space. Taking advantage, I setup my ring, clipped on my carabeners, and set out my rope. I slipped off my obi and kimono, happy for the attire but knowing the fabric would get in my way.

    Taking advantage of my knowledge of the sound system, I plugged in my iPhone and turned on my Dungeon mix. The scene was set.

    Soon he arrived, happy and smiling. We began.

    I took him through some stretches before inviting him onto the mat.

    As is my usual routine, I started with bands across the chest, a stem at the middle for my first point. Moving down, I tied a Swiss seat around his hips, encouraging him to adjust my rope up or down as would best fit him. Moving still further down, I secured a cuff around his thigh.

    Not fully understanding my methods, he attempted to lean into my tie already. I asked him to take his body weight back up. It was almost, but not quite, time for him to fly.

    Tying an ankle cuff, I stood and prepared him. I assured him, once I tied off his second leg, I would adjust for his comfort. He leaned into his ropes once again as I brought his ankle up, securing it above the rest of the points.

    Quickly tying off, I asked where the most pressure was; where did he feel uncomfortable? First I needed to lift his hips. Wrapping the lifting line around my hand, and slipping my free arm under his body, I used my own body weight to lift him up. Next I adjusted his chest, again using my body weight to pull. His legs lines were fine.

    As he settled into the now adjusted ropes, my webbing drifted some, giving him a small sway. I stood beside him and held his rope so he would not move. After a few minutes, he turned to me.

    “Could you step away for a bit?”
    “Of course.”

    I sat on a nearby bench and waited. He lazed in my ropes, the sway in them gone, seemingly in a quiet meditation. I pulled out my fighting fan and created a small breeze for myself as I patiently sat and watched.

    When another camp attendee entered the Barn, I brought my finger to my lips to quiet them. I didn’t want the moment ruined.

    After some time, he called me back over, saying he was ready to come down. I freed his legs, brought him back to standing, released his hips and chest, and sat him down on the mat.

    As I untied the rope around him, I was pleased and he seemed quite content. I got him up; I got him down, safely.

  • A Good Time

    With my current class dismissed, I drifted back down to the basement where I found lunch had magically appeared. I wasn’t hungry yet, so I wandered into the dungeon next door.

    MattP was finishing up his Dropping Bitches class and I was able to catch a bit of the knot he used to secure his ring, the knot which allowed him to “drop bitches.”

    As I watched, I noticed Rough was also in the room. He sat on the floor at the edge of the large wrestling mat working with some webbing.

    “Are you making your rope fist?” I asked. I had remembered seeing his demo video of the technique.
    “No,” he said simply.

    Instead he asked Inretrepida for assistance, who was sitting on the mat near him. Scooting over, she now sat cross-legged in front of him.

    Rough had knotted the long webbing piece, creating a ball at the end. Swinging the webbing, he hit Inretrepida on the thigh once, twice. Grabbing her shoulder, he pulled her torso down and landed two blows on her back as well.

    After his strikes, he asked her how they felt. She said the hits to her thighs were stingy while those on her back were more thuddy, but both had lots of weight behind them. Experiment complete. Rough returned the webbing to Matt and sat back on the floor.

    From somewhere inside me came inspiration and a boldness I didn’t think was possible. Easing towards Rough, I asked him if he was busy. He asked me why I inquired. I knelt in front of him, setting aside my notebook and glasses.

    “Could you kiss me?” A questioning look crept onto his face.

    I explained that Symetrie had dismissed the class, encouraging us to go practice what we had learned. The expression on his face changed yet again, but before he could say anything, I decided to be totally, bluntly, brutally honest.

    “Okay, really I wanted to kiss you and I needed an excuse.”

    And yet again, before he could say anything, I turtled, growing more and more self conscious and nervous and embarrassed by the nano-second.

    And then I ran away.

    I scurried out of the dungeon back into the basement proper. But just as soon as I escaped, finding my Hello Kitty bag beside a nearby couch, I realized I had left my notebook inside the dungeon. I had to go back.

    As a peace offering, I searched my bag and grabbed a piece of gum. I also tossed a piece in my mouth just in case I hadn’t totally ruined my chances for the day.

    Creeping back inside, Rough had stood up and was talking to others in the room. I swung my arm towards him, quietly and non-verbally offering the small stick of gum. He playfully batted my hand away.

    I walked back over to where I’d sat, picked up my notebook, and drifted back to the group. Using my words, I officially made a peace offering to him with the gum. He accepted. I relaxed a little.

    Chatting with MattP, the topic of Shibaricon came up. Flipping through my notebook, I finally found the entry for Wykd_Dave’s One Rope class. I noted how I had so much written for other presentations but my notes from One Rope were short and simple, maybe five lines. Still, those were two very intense hours of learning.

    Looking to my left, Gray approached the entrance to the dungeon. I stepped over to him and we began chatting. As we spoke, he poked my thighs and stomach. I jumped and yelped accordingly.

    And then he began pressing into the cleft between my thighs and my crotch. I began moaning. Sinking into this moment with him, I leaned forward and our heads touched. My lips were by his ear, my sounds for him to hear.

    “I’m glad you’re having fun,” Gray said.
    “How could I not?” I asked.
    “And just so that you know, I’m getting hard just from this.”

    I dropped to one knee from the pain… and from the possibility of helping him with his current physical state. His right hand still applied pressure while his left now gripped my hair.

    “And no, you may not cum.”

    He let both his hands go and I dropped to both my knees. My lips immediately formed a pout.

    “You can always talk to someone else about it.” And then he turned and walked away.

    I crawled over to a nearby bench, crossed my arms, and slumped my face onto the bench.

    Meany.

  • Passions

    We arrived five minutes early, groggy but excited. Inretrepida gave me a ride Saturday morning from The Naked House to the Grue, for which I was quite grateful. Otherwise I would’ve had to take three buses for about one and a half hours.

    As we entered we deposited our shoes to the left and deposited ourselves to the right on a nearby couch. As more people filtered in, we crept downstairs for food: bagels, yogurt, juice, tea, and coffee.

    I returned to my comfy couch and chatted with folks as they arrived. Soon, though, we were encouraged to make our way downstairs. It was almost time to start.

    As I stood in the back leaning against a wall, Gray approached.

    “Are you planning on teaching today?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good, then I’ll use you as an example.” Always happy to be used.

    With all the attendees ensconced in the couches and floor space of the basement, Gray began. He stood in front of a bookcase draped by a white sheet with various pieces of paper naming different spaces in the house taped to it. Otherwise it was blank. This, he explained, was our schedule.  We were going to create our day.

    “Think about something you’re passionate about. Hold that thought.”

    And then his example began.  Gray pointed to me, saying I would demonstrate the process for adding a class to the schedule as he narrated.

    First, I pondered what I was passionate about. Putting my finger to my lips, I looked up and away, searching for my idea. And then it came to me. A smile burst onto my lips as my finger swung from my mouth and pointed to the sky, proclaiming my idea.

    With the thought for my class acquired, I scurried to a coffee table full of pre-cut pieces of paper and sharpies. Selecting a piece of paper and a marker, I wrote the name for my class – Calling All Ashtrays: Cigar play from the bottom’s perspective. Gray read the name for my class as I wrote it. Affixing two pieces of tape to my piece of paper, I chose a time slot and spot for my class.

    With my example now finished, Gray opened up any and every one to add their classes to the schedule. I stepped back and watched as people filled the white sheet with their passions.

    On my way back to my spot, Gray quickly spoke to me, saying if I wanted to teach another class I could. Since he mentioned it, I decided I would. Heading back to the table, I wrote on another piece of paper – Fingering 401: Fisting is Fun! I then added my second class to the schedule.

    Almost immediately, there were changes to the schedule. I wanted to go to Inretrepida’s Self Suspension class, so I moved my cigar play class back. Gray wanted to attend one of my classes and another presentation in the same time slot; more switching. Once everyone was happy and assured they would be able to not only teach their classes but attend the one’s they found interesting, we settled back down.

    With everyone’s passions listed, and everyone ready to go, Gray sent us off to share and learn.

  • Please

    ~ erotica ~

    “Please.”

    One word, one syllable, one breath was full of me, full of my eagerness, full of my crazy manic lust for him.

    “Please.”

    It was all I could say, the only word needed to convey all I wanted, needed, desired in that moment.

    “Please.”

    Even with ropes around my torso, my arms restrained, my legs bound, on my knees, my eyes shrouded, still I begged for it. I could feel it, just beyond my lips, just beyond my reach. I could almost taste it, almost taste him, so close to my lips.

    “Please.”

    His hands in my hair, holding back my head, holding back my lips. He needed to grip tight. My desire was great. But this he well knew.

    Even with his digits gripping my strands, even with his ropes binding me tight, I forced myself forward. I pulled, pushed myself with all my might. I wanted it, I wanted him so very much.

    “Please.”

    I imagined the dark smile on his face. The sinister grin I loved to see on him. The pleasure he took from holding me back. Making me wait. Making me beg. Seeing my desire. My carnal lust. My horny need. My sexual pain.

    He knew I was soaking wet. He knew what I craved. He dangled the carrot just beyond me, just close enough to still give me hope.

    “Please.”

    Bound, on the floor, knelt, waiting. I had heard him sit. Heard his zipper creep down. Felt his knees graze arms. Felt the heat of him so near me.

    When I dared to lean forward, when I dared to seek my pleasure, when for once I was a brat, his fingertips pressed into my biceps, pushing me back.

    My lips had grazed him, had grazed the beautiful cock I knew so well. A taste. Only the quickest of tastes before he pulled me off, pushed away.

    And then the begging started. And the hair pulling. And I could almost hear the smile as it formed on his face.

    “Please. Please. Please.”

    And, finally, who knows how many minutes of agony later, I said, “Thank you.”

    He slapped my ass and replied, “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  • Third

    My third and final tie for Fusion occurred early Saturday night.

    Nomad, Lynk, and I met up by the Barn, standing on the outskirts of an event, the Kinky Circus.

    Nomad and I then headed towards the Dungeon as Lynk stayed a moment to speak to someone briefly.

    As the two of us stepped onto the gravel path leading up to the tennis court, Lynk slipped up beside me. I jumped a little, not realizing he had caught up, and said, “Dude, you’re ninja.”

    We’d decided to have our rope time at the circular truss on the tennis court just outside the Dungeon. When we initially met up, it was 8pm. The Sun was low in the sky, but still bright enough for us to work.

    I emptied out my rope kit and began to rig my ring. As I threw up my webbing, Lynk offered to assist me. Leaping, he grabbed a lower rung of the truss and slipped my webbing threw.

    As Nomad looked up, she wasn’t sure how she would rig her equipment. She merely had two interlocked carabeners, along with a swivel, attached to her ring.

    I asked her for a length of rope and decided I would climb on top of the truss to rig her ring. Again Lynk offered to help instead. He leaped, flipped up, and locked his legs above.

    “You could use the ladder,” I said, referring to the ladder portion of the truss I had begun to climb before his offer of aid.

    “What’s the fun in that?” He then lifted his body up and over and laid across the top of the truss.

    Tossing up the rope, he looped the line through the truss and let it back down to me. I tied a knot on Nomad’s ring and then tied a set of ascending half hitches. When I could no longer reach, Lynk took over, finishing off the rope for me.

    Our equipment secured, Nomad started her self suspension and I started my practice with Lynk.

    I explained to him the ties I wanted to perform. First I would give him a simple inversion with a hip harness and an ankle cuff. Then I would attach a chest harness and thigh cuff, giving him a face up suspension.

    We began. Using a Swiss seat, I encouraged him to adjust the lines for comfort as I tied. The humidity did not allow my hemp rope to fly across skin as normal, but I made due. Attaching an ankle cuff, I was ready to lift him.

    I tied a lifting line to his hip harness and picked up his center. I asked him if he was ready. He was.

    I asked Lynk to sit into his harness and then lifted his ankle cuff, pulling the line all the way through one of my carabeners. He was upside down.

    I asked him how he felt. He was good, except the hip harness was biting a bit. Lynk is quite fit. While up, he realized his frame possessed very little padding for my ropes.

    I let him down slowly. He stood, and I eased down some stress on the lifting line of his hip harness. For future suspensions, he would ask for more lines around his middle.

    We transitioned to the next tie. I wrapped rope around his chest creating a simple harness. I attached a line from his chest to my ring. Checking that he was ready, I lifted his chest and hips. Tying a line to his thigh, I lifted his leg. Finally again rose his ankle.

    Once more, he was doing well. I asked about his neck, seeing if he wanted some extra support. Like my tie with EvilMike, I quaded my rope, slipped it behind his head, and took the rope to my ring.

    Lazing in my ropes, Lynk remarked how he now understood why people liked suspensions so much. He said he could lay in it for hours.

    As he gently swayed, quietly meditating, I looked back to check on Nomad. She was up in the air, suspended sideways, adjusting her ropes.

    As she worked and Lynk lazed, I smiled.

    As the Sun’s light grew dim, I began letting Lynk down. By the time all my ropes were on the ground, coiled and put away, the light was gone.

    Lynk went up and came down safely, a new convert to suspension. He was a successful, and my last, Fusion rope practice.

  • No Rush

    He wore Spider Man underwear. Before we even began, I was smiling.

    On the walk to my cabin and then to the Dungeon, I gave Evil Mike a basic run down of how I wanted to proceed.

    He had come to me a few weeks before wanting to be suspended. I had accepted, knowing I needed practice on different body types.

    I informed him we would be chatting throughout; this wouldn’t be sensual or have a D/s dynamic. I would gradually introduce each tie, making sure it fit and felt well on his body. And then there would be the final lift. He could rest in the ties as long as he wanted; no rush.

    We started. As I worked, we chatted about our time at camp.  Mike had just arrived that day. Friday saw an influx of all the rest of the attendees, people with strict jobs or those who just wanted the weekend experience. It was the late afternoon; already he had had good vacation time. I bragged a little about my fun.

    I started with his hip harness. I gave him a Swiss seat and encouraged him to adjust the ropes to work well with his manliness. For his chest, I did three sets of wraps above and below his pecks. Having him lean back, I checked both ties to make sure they felt secure, and then attached them to my ring.

    Moving down to his legs, I used a simple cuff on each. Asking which leg was stronger, I secured the weaker leg’s thigh and lifted the limb. I had him hold onto my ring for support. Bending down, I placed a cuff on his strong leg’s ankle.

    I asked Mike if he was ready. He was.

    I had him sit into the ties, leaning back. I lifted his leg and secured the ankle line to my ring. I asked him which area of his body was supporting the most weight and adjusted the lines accordingly.

    Mike relaxed into the ties for a spell before asking about head support. My adjustment had helped, but he wanted to not have to hold up his head. Using a long strand of rope, I quaded my lines, wrapped the rope around the back of his head, and secured the loop to my ring. It was quick, simple, and perfect.

    Mike lazed in my ties, enjoying the gentle sway. I smiled, happy that I had yet another body in the air, pleased that I’d learned from my first tie and done better on my second, and feeling a teeny tiny bit more confident about my work.

    We chatted more as he enjoyed his rope time. Since one of my playdates had canceled, I was indeed in no rush.

    Eventually, when it was right for him, I slowly let Mike down. My piles of knotted rope littered the ground. “Ropekake!” I squealed in glee.

    As I started cleaning up, I taught Mike how I liked my rope coiled. We both felt great.

    I’d gotten him up; I’d gotten him down safely. Job well done on my second tie of the event.