poeticdesires

Category: Rope

  • IMsL, By The Numbers

    Outfits worn: 8

    Hours slept: PLENTY

    Cliff bars consumed: 2

    Bananas: 3

    Chinese food: just once

    Bacon cheddar BBQ burger: just once

    Items purchased: 5
    – Two rope books, a small flogger, a wrist cuff, & a silent auction Twisted Monk 50′ 8mm red hemp rope

    Items lost: 2
    – my black hat & my brand-fucking-new Mr. S Leather wrist cuff; damn you stressful travel days

    Self suspensions: 2

    Blogs posted: 4
    – Preparation, Cigars, Dropped, The Journey Home

    Classes attended: 3
    – Rope Intensive with Lamalani, Bootblacking Intensive with Q, 10 Rules For Happy Non-Monogamy with Andrea Zanin

    Cigars purchased: 2

    Cigars gifted: 1

    Hands with ash for me: 5

    Chocolates given: 4
    – “You know how to keep them coming back.”

    Planned scenes: 1
    – rope, knives, fisting, and chatting

    Spontaneous scenes: 2
    – I don’t always kiss and tell

    Small, Perfect Moments: few, but more than I could have asked for

    Stars: 20 + 1

    Actual orgasms: who the fuck knows…

    Borrowed rope: a chest harness

    Gifted rope: a 15′ length of white nylon
    – use it well, young one

    Awesome hugs: many

    New friends: a plenty

    Fits of tears: blessedly few

    Miles walked: 3

    Crazy drugged homeless person avoided: 1

    Hours writing in a landmark: 2

    Hours walking around another landmark: 1

    Boots blacked: once

    Asked to pinch bootblack at the last minute: ONCE

    Actual pinch bootblacking: none
    – I came to the rescue, but the rescue already happened; next time, maybe

    Slices of pizza: 3

    Exhausted end of convention conversation with a friend: 1

    Plans for the future: unknown

  • Flagging Starfucker

    I was given one star for every orgasm. To be fair, I had not kept count, guessing the number at above twelve but below thirty. Truth be told, it could’ve been over thirty considering how long we’d camped out in the swing, but eh… Our scene was about the fun of predicament bondage, fisting, vibrators, and good conversation.  The shiny stuff was just extra.

    I greatly enjoy rising to challenges, so getting up into a sex swing with both my legs frogged, one arm chicken winged, my wrists connected, and a tight chest harness around my torso was just the recipe for great fun.

    This was to be my reward for finding “the spot”. Crawling around on the carpeted floor, my knees and one elbow ached, searching for some unknown place. Still, it was amusing, figuring out how my body would work caught up in my bindings.

    When first tasked with my ascent, I asked for assistance from a friend. Once they heard what my reward would be, they said I had to earn my fisting. I attempted to do it myself.

    Thankfully, a small metal piece of play equipment sat in front of the swing. First I hooked my shoulders in the basket. Leaning against it, I got my feet up on the equipment and began wiggling myself up and into the swing. I managed to get myself half way in, to just above my hips. But with my legs still bound, it was becoming obvious that though I had performed particularly amazing considering the predicament, I was not going to make it all the way in. Anatomy and all.

    With my legs released, I slithered the rest of the way up. With some assistance from our audience, we got a chuck (a safer sex disposable blanket, for those not up on scene lingo).

    Time for the screaming.

    “May I cum?”
    “Yes, you don’t have to ask permission.”

    “You look really pretty. Well, you always look pretty, but especially now with the rope and your tears.”
    “Thank you.”

    My first few orgasms were just from fisting. And then I was asked if I liked vibrators. Hmm, do I like vibrators?

    My wrists still connected, once up in the sling they were secured to a small length of chain hanging from the top bracing. With some effort, I discovered I was able to hold the vibrator with my fingertips if I had one arm up and one arm down.

    And then the orgasms started rolling, one after the other. A hand inside me pounding. A Wahl vibrator going. I screamed. I cried. I cursed. I whimpered. It was marvelous.

    I’m not quite sure how we started our conversation. I know I mentioned how I had, during previous fistings, been asked to count back from one hundred by sevens, recite a poem, etc. So we started talking, with a fist still in my cunt.

    I love ligature marks. LOVE THEM. But during our chatting about “experimental” video games, I asked for my wrists to be released. I had already rotated them twice and could feel it was time for me to stop tormenting them. I didn’t want to completely take off the rope, though. My right wrist still held onto its cuff.

    “I could feel that, when you coughed, and now that you’re laughing.”

    As we chatted, I was sparring with the vibrator, though I did orgasm thrice while we spoke. Even so, I kept engaged in the conversation. It would’ve been rude to do otherwise.

    “How long do you want to go?”
    “That is a loaded question. I’ve gone as long at an hour and forty five minutes before, so however long is fine with me.”
    “Okay good, cause I’m not done yet.”

    Smoothly we transitioned from talking to fist fucking again. I came some more, screamed some more, and yelled their name over and over. I really like doing that, broadcasting to the world who is making me cum. I find it pleasurable as an expression of my ecstasy and whomever I happen to be playing with seems to enjoy it as well.  At least, I’ve had no complaint.

    I only had to ask for a slowdown once, a testament to the abilities of the person I played with.

    “Tell me if this hurts. I want this to be enjoyable for you.”

    And it was.

    Once we did finish, and cleaned up our area, the stars came out. Super glued to my upper right arm. And one on my right temple.

    “You’re flagging starfucker right now.”
    “That’s okay. You’re a star in my world.”

    Yes, there is room for cheesy-ness in the dungeon.

    I wanted to take a photo. But I no longer had underwear. I had worn a pair of black boxer shorts. However, once I voiced a reminder that said boxers were destroyable, a knife soon ripped them apart, after grazing all over my skin. And slapping my clit. And lightly fucking me.

    “You should save them, use them for your bootblacking kit.”

    I love mixing my fetishes.

    Taking my Zim jacket, I zipped it up over my legs and tied the arms around my hips.

    “Hey, great. That looks like a cool skirt.”

    Heading to the bathroom, I asked if someone would take my picture. Instead I was informed of the photo shoot happening in the ballroom next door. Rushing inside, I begged profusely and, in doing so, I earned the last spot.

    So there is a chance that next IMsL I will be in the program (or, dare I say it, on the front cover) flagging starfucker.

  • The Journey Home

    My journey in rope has not always been easy. In fact, most times, it’s been downright brutal. Being around people who know so much more than me, have done it so much longer than I have, and all of them having such faith in me…It’s just so fucking intimidating. I’ve said it before: it often feels like I’m a Sophomore hanging out with Seniors.

    So when I fell Friday night, when I fucked up, it hurt on more than just the physical level. Emotionally, I had lost my center. I had failed, not just myself, but the people who taught me, the people who cheered me on. I felt like complete and total shit.

    But I knew I couldn’t stay there. I knew I couldn’t let that be the end of it. I knew I couldn’t get back to who I was before I fell, at least not in a day, but I could start the journey home.

    Saturday I again found my grove at the event. I had my boots blacked by Her Treasure. I attended an excellent non-monogamy class. I planned a play date with a friend which is likely to be horribly hot. I experienced huge amounts of ashy, smokey fun at the cigars and boots social. I introduced myself to folks, chatted, laughed, and made friends.

    With the high of cigars and boots still lingering on my skin and in my hair, I grabbed my rope bag from my room and headed down to the dungeon. I found the same rig. I laid out the same ropes. I undressed. I left my boots on. I stretched.

    I rigged my Shibari ring in a way that I knew would not, could not, fail unless my webbing split and ripped apart. I tied the same chest harness, hip harness, and ankle cuff. I held onto my ring and let a deep breath out.

    You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

    I sat into my ropes, let them take my weight, and swung for a bit. I didn’t dare let myself close my eyes. I spun around one way and then the other.

    I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

    You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

    I sat back into my ropes. I lifted my right boot, and then my left, gripping onto my rope and the ring. I let myself go inverted, but my hands didn’t dare let go of my rope. I kept looking up at the webbing. I wouldn’t let go.

    I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

    You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

    I knew I couldn’t end like this. Yes, I had let the ropes take the weight. Yes, I had gone inverted. But I still lacked the trust in my work, the trust in myself. I had to take the leap.

    I sat back in my ropes. I threw my feet up.

    You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

    I slowly let go. My hands rested on my lower back. My ropes, my work, took my weight. I breathed. I smiled.

    I sat back up. I landed. I brushed my face against my ring. I felt like I was home again.

    Slowly, deliberately, I unwound each of my lifting lines. I drug the chords across my body. I threw them to the floor. I took apart my ankle cuff, ran the rope across my skin, and flung it into the pile. I untied my chest and hip harnesses. I smelled their aromatic hemp flavor before letting them join the others. Using a chair, I reached up and let my webbing down. I sat beside my ropes, smiling, happy.

    I recoiled each rope, placed them all back in my bag, and packed my things away. My clothes back on, everything ready, I departed the rig, pleased that it was no longer a scary place. I had learned.

    As I wondered around the other play spaces, my smile could not be stopped. As I watched people play, and remembered the fun I had had earlier, I felt like me again. I felt free again. I felt like I was home.

  • Dropped

    Today was the best day. Today was the worst day.

    Being in San Francisco, on the left coast, attending an event with a different energy than I’m used to, has been challenging. The last time I was this nervous for an event was my first one.

    Today I felt like I was making strides. I attended two awesome classes.

    The first was a three hour rope intensive with Lamalani, a former IMsL. Lani went over rope from a basic cuff to demonstrating an ebi. Though I knew a lot of what was taught, I also learned quite a bit. I helped the people around me. I introduced myself, learned names, and passed out Moo cards. And, at the end of the presentation, I got a hug. Awesome.

    For the second class session, I attended yet another three hour intensive, this time on bootblacking. Q, a former IMsBB, gave a fun and interactive talk. I learned quite a lot, took copious amounts of notes, and felt thrilled to have been in the class. Once again, I talked to new people, learned names, passed out Moo cards, and felt much better about my IMsL experience.

    I later attended the opening ceremony, as well as the roast of the current title holders. All-in-all, my day was going extremely well.

    So well, in fact, I decided to self suspend.

    And then I fell, flat on my back, in the middle of one of the dungeons.

    Physically, I’m barely bruised. Mentally though…

    I know exactly why it happened. I know how to never make it happen again. And, as Parker pointed out later, it was best that I was the person I dropped.

    Of all the things that could go wrong, the thing that did go wrong was the one I didn’t worry about. It was the one that, at the time, I thought, Well, it’ll probably be alright. And, of course, it was my undoing.

    What’s worse, I was so happy when everything went to shit. My ties were just right. Experimenting with the ankle cuff again was excellent. I figured out some awesome body positions and was doing well switching between them. I even wore my boots while I tied (and nothing else). I was full of self confidence, full of power. I am not a Woo person, but it felt like I had found my center again.

    And then I was on my back.

    When I landed, I immediately started giggling and said “I’m good” to no one in particular. I laid on the ground for a bit, trying to cease my giggle fit. I then sat up, untied all my lines, and recoiled my rope.

    In the process, I decided I needed to get right back on the saddle; I needed to prove to myself I had only made a simple mistake and I knew how to fix it. I re-secured my ring, correctly this time, and tried to figure out how best to test the weight barring.

    However, it felt like all eyes were on me. It felt like every whispered conversation we about me. I could see the DM in a corner about fifteen away, watching me. My hands shook. I began doubting myself. I thought it was best to just pack up and leave.

    Every conversation was, in fact, not about me. Most people took no notice of me. Yes, the DM watched me like a hawk, but for good reason. But, as I began packing up, the DM moved on.

    Not knowing what to do, I wondered to a play space to possibly watch a scene, but nothing was happening that interested me.

    Okay, that’s a lie. I needed to not watch a scene. I needed to decompress.

    I found a chair, sat, and pulled out my crocheting. As I worked, I again analyzed in my mind what I did wrong. I replayed my movements. I confirmed with myself it was a simple mistake.

    As I crocheted, Jim walked by. Playfully, he kicked my boot, and asked what was going on. I told him I was self soothing, explaining I’d had a little mishap in a scene. From then on, each time he passed me, he gave a little head rub or a smile.

    Later, Parker came over. I told Parker about my incident. We talked for quite a bit. I felt better.

    And I do feel better. Like Parker said, at least it was me and not another bottom. But, even so, I feel like I’m back to where I was before: adrift, unsure, off center.

    Some time, either tomorrow or Sunday, I have to try again. Self suspension is my happy place, my center, my home. I want and need that back.

  • Fifteen Hours

    I arrived at my airport, about thirty minutes early, at 8am. I texted PrincessA, grabbed my bags, and settled into a seat to crochet and wait for my ride.

    After PrincessA picked me up, we headed to breakfast. It felt odd calling our meal breakfast because I’d been up for so long. Then again I hadn’t ever actually gone to bed, so no matter what we called the delicious food we ate, it was going to seem odd to me.

    We sat in a corner table by the front of the cafe and chatted. PrincessA, on the ride towards food, remarked how it was odd and awesome that the majority of our friendship had been developed through letters. We’d met at Dark Odyssey Fusion last summer, interacting some but not as much as we would have liked. So, instead, we’ve been writing each other ever since.

    Sitting, eating, we now had so much time to talk. We chatted for hours about so many topics: our families, our coming out stories, kink in general, kink in Minnesota, the people I would meet, her rough plans for what would happen in my few days visiting, our fuzzy plans for life, tiny humans (one was sitting at the table next to us, so very cute eating pieces of a broken up blueberry muffin). It was awesome just to get to talk to her.

    Checking the time, though, we had to go. Shibari & Sushi awaited.

    Once at her home, we heaved my bags into the foyer. Taking my huge black bag to the living room, I opened it to find a small bag of popcorn had exploded inside. Thankfully the popcorn, being neither wet nor sticky, was an amusing teeny tiny annoyance. Rifling through all my toys and toiletries, I created my rope bag.

    [Side Note: I find it hilarious that my travel toy bag is SO huge and heavy. I brought almost everything; no humidor, but I have my lighter and cutter. I plan to buy a few sticks while I’m here, as well as when I get to California, though.]

    PrincessA grabbed her toy bag, as well as a snack and things for work, and we were off. Driving from one twin city to the other, we arrived at Inretrepida’s home. She was the host of Sushi & Shibari, a monthly gathering of Minnesota rope-y folk.

    PrincessA introduced me to those in attendance, as well as meeting a few folks herself. Taking a quick tour, we made our way to the downstairs dungeon. The floor was firm foam (+1), there was a spanking bench (+2), a cross with attachment points (+3), school desks (+4), and a hard point (+5).

    It was a rather excellent space…except for the cats. There were two of them. I could smell the hazards as soon as I walked down the steps. I, unfortunately, am allergic to cat hair.

    Still, I wanted to play. PrincessA and I negotiated a simple scene, opting for floor work. I secured her wrists behind her back, tied a simple chest harness, and frogged legged both of her lower limbs.

    I then attacked PrincessA’s left thigh, punching relentlessly. We found ourselves rolling on the floor as she desperately tried to get away from my blows. Over and over, I attacked her thigh mercilessly, laughing as she struggled.

    Once she called me a Top, which got me surprisingly mad. I told her I was topping her, but I was not ‘a Top’. I am a switch. I sat on her and asked if she wanted to call me a Top again as I continued to punch her one thigh.

    As we rolled around, her chest harness and unharmed leg’s bindings loosened. I pulled off their ropes, but her wrists and other frog leg remained intact, which was all I needed. Her skin grew red from my beating.

    Soon, though, we had to stop. She laid back on the floor, breathing. I untied her leg and sat beside her, in case she needed anything.

    PrincessA asked to have the discarded rope draped across her body. She breathed and rested. She turned to me and asked if she could kiss my feet. I said she could. She smiled and kissed them, snuggling up next to me. She then sat up and asked for her wrists to be untied. I released them, and she rest her head on my knee. I stroked her hair.

    PrincessA stood and scurried upstairs, saying she would return. I sat with my rope and began watching the other scenes happening around me: a delicious looking cake with lots of frosting to lick off; Inretrepida and a beautiful woman in a rope suspension; a Sir and his submissive playing with pain and pleasure.

    When PrincessA returned, she sat in my lap. I hugged her from behind and laid my head on her back. We stayed there for a few minutes before she had to go to work.

    Gathering her things, PrincessA said her byes, but she would not be separated from us for long. The Sushi portion of Sushi and Shibari was to be at her work, where she would be our server.

    With PrincessA away, I relaxed back into the play atmosphere, deciding I wanted to suspend myself. As I prepped my lines, Inretrepida saw what I was to do and asked if I wanted to see her modified gunslinger harness. I happily asked for her to demonstrate it as I tied my chest and hip harnesses, always wanting to learn something new.

    When she finished, she decided she too wanted to self suspend, and headed downstairs. I stepped under my point and rigged myself up.

    swimmy. My legs configured differently with the ankle rope, able to move and shift more than in my previous self suspensions. I liked the change and decided to keep it for later play.

    MattP, whose rig I was playing on, came up and saw my work. He cautioned my moving, seeing as I was close to a wall. I decided he was right, and let myself down. I was already high and happy.

    I slowly gathered my things and headed back downstairs, still quite floaty.

    However, since I didn’t feel close to anyone in attendance, I had no one to ask for hugs or cuddles for aftercare. I came down slower than normal, curled up in a corner by the stairs.

    I watched as Inretrepida rigged herself, smiling at her work. As she finished, she sat in a chair close to me and began an electricity scene, receiving the attention of a Violet Wand and a mean mean man.

    My inner voyeur was happy to have both Inretrepida’s scene, as well as some interesting foot and calf bondage across the room, to watch. Later, when Inretrepida’s scene ended, there was talk of possible cigar play at PrincessA’s house before I leave for San Francisco (fingers crossed).

    As the day rolled into evening, it was soon time to go. Inretrepida let me use her shower so I could wash cat dander off of me. I also used disinfectant wipes on my ropes, just in case.

    My things gathered, I sat in the living room chatting with folks. There was an entire Pokemon conversation that I merely smiled and nodded for, the only reference I understood being Picachew. But, thankfully, an Inception conversation began which I was able to follow. (Thank you JEJ.)

    With everyone’s things gathered, and the house reset, we all hopped into cars and headed for food. We were a party of twenty that slowly filtered into a tiny sushi restaurant. Taking over the front tables, we weren’t too loud and kept our kinky talk (mostly) at normal volume levels.

    Because half of us pre-ordered, PrincessA and staff had some food ready for us. I tasted ginger beer for the first time (yum), and greatly enjoyed my rather large meal. The company was lovely. There was talk of Kink 1001 next weekend, as well as possible plans for future events (Shibaricon, Rope Camp, etc.).

    Soon, though, it grew late. As people now filtered out, I strained to keep my eyes open. PrincessA still had to clean up, so she gave me her house key. I hugged folks bye, each wishing me good travels and lots of fun while I was in Minnesota. MattP gave me a ride to PrincessA’s house; I blinked and we were there.

    I brought some stuff up to her room. She, too, lived with cats, but they weren’t allowed in her space. After fumbling with my things, figuring out something to wear to bed, and finally brushing my teeth, I plugged my phone in to charge, softly played a Jack Johnson album, and passed out around 11pm.

  • Three Moments

    1) “Do you know how to coil rigging rope?”

    Do I know how to coil rope? Hmm…

    One of my projects at work today was, simply, to coil rope. But not just any rope. 3/4 inch braided black nylon, with a blue accent. Two coils. 150′ in length, each.

    They sat on the warehouse’s concrete floor, two mangled piles waiting for my manipulations.

    I picked up the first, the less messy of the two, and began to unwind it. The coil was semi in tact, but would have still been a nuisance to the riggers if I’d just chucked it into a bin for them to deal with later.

    Finding an end, I pulled. I ran the rope through my hands, knowing full well no part of this chord would be touching anyone’s sensitive skin. But still, I remembered my training.

    Getting to the other end, I began my coil. I grasped the end while creating a large loop that extended all the way down to my knee. I carefully matched my next loops to this same length. As I worked, the rope began to twist. With my free hand, I spun the rope, pushing the twist along as I went.

    After about fifty feet, I transferred the rope to my fore arm, creating the loops still, the nylon draping across so much of my skin. I was just barely able to hold all the loops the long length required before it was time to finish off the coil.

    With about fifteen feet of tail, I wrapped the end around the entire coil. The coil was so large, though, that I had to wrap half way, hold the tail between my thighs, and grab it from the other side. I wrapped around the coil about eight times. I then brought the tail up through the top of the coil and cinched off twice.

    “This about what you were looking for?”
    “Yes. God, the riggers are going to feel like they’re spoiled.”

    I repeated the process for the other length, sat it next to its match, and took a picture for posterity.

    2) As soon as I walked into the house, I recognized the sweet smokey smell. DeepEnd was home.

    He’d been away for a few days, and had returned the night before while I was asleep. I heard the thump of his drums before I entered the house. As I set my things down, I could feel the rhythm he played on his drums in the basement through the floor. The music, along with the cigar scent, made me smile; it felt like my home was back to normal.

    As I headed upstairs, DeepEnd finished his set.

    In my room, I disrobed, wanting to get out of my work clothes. Thursday meant DO Happy Hour, and I didn’t want to socialize in my work blacks. As I took my clothes off, I heard DeepEnd say my name.

    Yelling from at the top of the steps, I asked him if he’d called me. Actually DeepEnd had been talking to the dog, hoping I was home instead of someone in the house trying to rob us. I then pointed out we had nothing worth stealing. He concurred.

    “Oh, and by the way, welcome home.”

    As I finished undressing, DeepEnd called for me. Throwing my robe on and stuffing my cellphone and its charger into a pocket, I headed into his bedroom.

    On his bed, there was an impressive array: about a dozen cigars in a few different bags, a small Tortuga wooden cigar box, and a large empty humidor.

    He showed me his new humidor, which needed to air our before he could use it, as well as all the sticks he purchased while on his trip. I marveled at the display.

    DeepEnd also pointed out his minor boo-boo. While looking at this humidor, the lid to the box closed, striking him on the bridge of his nose. A small red line, about a half inch long, graced his face between his eyes.

    DeepEnd talked about the different cigars he purchased, most notably a few rather large diameter sticks and a Rocky Patel 15th Anniversary, the #5 cigar of the year.

    As we had stood there for a bit, talking shop and my marveling his stash, I asked DeepEnd the time. It was 5:20pm. Play time over. We both rushed about. He needed to go pick up SkinnyBitch and I didn’t want to be late for Happy Hour.

    3) “So I need someone to be co-topped by Lynk and myself for needles. They…”
    “Yes.”

    FancyDancer, HoopFlyBurn, and N3rddom all snickered. We sat in the McDonald’s just a stone’s throw from our weekly happy hour bar. Both HoopFlyBurn and I snacked on french fries. N3rddom and FancyDancer enjoyed milkshakes. Big Sis ate a chicken sandwich.

    “Hey, she just spent how much time back at Happy Hour telling me how hot he is.”

    And we were in the middle of a conversation about blood play, how I’m so easy, and the endorphin highs to come from Big Sis upping the ante with our needle play.

    What else was I suppose to say:

    Maybe, after I’ve seen your work, I’ll think about it.

    Possibly, if my dance card isn’t too full, and I’m not feeling itchy.

    I don’t know; blood weirds me out.

    Fuck that shit. Hot people AND endorphins. I’m surprised I didn’t say, “Fuck yes.”

  • Crimson

    The rope was crimson, a dark blood red, that seemed to vibrate through the packaging. She held it in her hands, not sure what to do with it.

    It was a gift, a random gift from a stranger who, when presenting her with the small plastic wrapped hemp, said only, “For you.” She’d thanked the woman, not knowing what else to do, but also not knowing why it was given.

    She’d never met the woman before. She’d never met anyone here before. It was her first kink event; everything was new.

    She sat on her bed, the short length of rope, still wrapped in plastic, throbbing in her hands.

    Well, I don’t think she gave it to me just to look at it.

    Gripping hard, she ripped open the packaging, and sent the sweet aroma of the hemp blazing up her nostrils. An audible “ah” left her lips.

    Putting the plastic aside, she ran the chord through her hands. She liked the feel of it as much as the smell, that way it grazed her skin, the caress of the natural fiber rope.

    As the chord kissed her flesh, each pass created what she could only describe as a line of energy, pulsing warm over her.

    Still, even as she felt the energy, felt the raw power, she didn’t know what to do with it. But she couldn’t let the rope go, this amazing unexpected gift bestowed upon her by a stranger.

    She began running the rope along different parts of her body: over her arms, across her thighs, lightly against her stomach, kissing her breasts, and finally around the back of her neck. It felt right there, as if the power of the rope pulsed and surged throughout her whole being.

    With a simple knot, she created a necklace, now wearing her gift. It felt true; it felt like her. From that day on, the rope rarely left her neck, and never left her side.

  • My Sir

    ~erotica~

    He sat on the corner of the bed, the corner nearest the door. He still wore his clothes from work: collared dress shirt, creased dress pants, polished shoes, tie. He’d set his glasses on the end table beside the bed, his briefcase on the floor just under them.

    I stood in the doorway. I wore the sundress he liked, light blue. The color of the sky on a clear day. The color of his eyes. I was barefoot. My hair flowed down my back.

    He smiled at me with a familiar grin, a mixture of “I’m going to hurt you” and “I’m going to fuck you.” When I saw that grin, I knew what my evening had in store.

    He waved me over, and pat twice on his thigh. I slowly crept, coyly shying my head away. Lifting my legs, I straddled him on the bed, and wrapped my arms around his neck, resting them on his shoulders. His arms found their usual spot on the cleft of my hips, his hands brushing my ass.

    He kissed me softly at first, a greeting. Which turned into a knowing. Which turned into a wanting. His nails dug into my ass as our kiss grew deeper, longer. My fingers brushed his jaw line. Our tongues danced.

    We had begun.

    “So good to see you again, girl.”
    “So nice to see you too, Sir.”
    “Did you remember your homework?” I looked at him, puzzled.
    “Homework, Sir?” He shook his head disapprovingly.
    “Lean back.”

    His arms cupped my hips as I bent my body back, eventually resting my hands on the floor. With one arm still around my waist, he used his free hand to try to slip my dress up to my hips. When I found balance, he removed his other arm and was able to guide the fabric completely. I wore no underwear.

    He ran his hands over my hip bones, pressing down at the clefts. A quiet scream escaped my lips.

    Grabbing the center of my strap-less bra, he lifted me back into a seated position in his lap.

    “Over my knee.”

    I quickly repositioned myself, resting my hips against his right knee. Both hands were on the floor. He rubbed my bare ass, and then smacked hard, the left cheek first, and then the right. The crack of his blows echoed off the walls. Smack! Smack! He gave me five blows to each side.

    Finished, he pulled me back onto his knee, my dress still at my hips.

    “You may not have remembered it was an assignment, but you did come to me fully shaved. I gave you ten strikes for forgetfulness.”

    He tapped my nose with his index finger.

    “You would’ve received twenty if you hadn’t shown up properly. Less forgetful from now on.”

    “Yes, Sir.”

    He took his index fingers and laced them through my dress straps. Pulling down, he shifted the fabric off my bra, down to rest on my hips. Reaching behind, he unsnapped my bra as he lightly bit my breasts. My hands found his hair and grazed through his strands. Unhooked, he flung the bra away.

    Taking up my breasts in his hands, he began sucking on my nipples. His tongue circled my areolae. His teeth gripped parts of the flesh, imprinting their pattern in my skin. My eyes closed. My head craned back. My body grew warm, my pussy wet.

    Gripping one arm, and then the other, he positioned them behind my back. I felt the kiss of the rope on my wrists as he wound the chord and secured his binding. He wrapped it around my chest, over my shoulders, and then began weaving an intricate pattern in the back. Finished, happy with the harness, he stood, balancing me as I slid from his lap.

    With a push, my chest landed on the bed, my hips bent, my ass presented to him. With one yank, he pulled my dress off and onto the floor. Again he caressed my ass, but this time he also pressed his hips in, simulating what I hoped would be in my future.

    Gripping the back of the harness, he pulled my body to standing again. A hand found my clit, massaging me there. The other controlled me through his rope.

    “Hmm, someone is happy.”
    “You always seem happy to me, Sir.”

    He rubbed a little harder. My knees buckled for a moment before I righted myself.

    “Happy? No. Content. Controlled. Calm. No, not happy. Happy comes when I’m inside you. Happy comes when I hear your little noises. Happy comes when I see you cum.”
    “May I cum for you, Sir?”
    “Oh, my little pet, not just yet.”

    He pushed me back down onto the bed. With a rush, his knee landed on my ass. I would’ve rocked forward more, but his hands gripped my harness keeping me set. Left. Right. His knees continued to pound me. I made one of the noises he likes, a mixture of a grunt and a moan, with each swift contact of his knee on my ass.

    With a hand in my hair, he elevated my head.

    “Do you like it when I knee your ass?”
    “Yes, Sir. You know I do, Sir.”
    “It never hurts to ask. And I do love it when you call me Sir. In fact, from now on, begin and end your sentences with Sir. Do you understand?”
    “Sir, I do, Sir.”
    “Good girl.”

    His hand again found my clit

    “Please, Sir.”

    His hand quickly moved away. He wrenched me up from the bed again, his face now a breath away from mine.

    “What did you say?”
    “Sir, please, Sir.”
    “Your forgetfulness.”

    He slapped me hard, back handed, across my left cheek.

    “Sir, my apologies, Sir.”

    He graced my other cheek with a blow.

    “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to remember and respect my wishes.”
    “Sir, I will, Sir.”

    Again he shoved me face down onto the bed. I felt rope around one ankle, and then the other. He lifted a line, and with it my left leg. He ran the line through the back of my harness, and then down to my other ankle.

    I found myself in a balancing act. Only one foot could be on the ground at a time. My left leg desperately tried to stay in the air while my right felt the strain of its counterpart’s weight pulling it from the ground.

    With a hard smack, both his palms landed flat on my ass. I yelped from both the pain and the surprise. Stingy blows followed, one after the other, as he punished me further for my mistake.

    “Good girls remember what their told. Good girls remember their assignments. Good girls remember the rules. Are you a good girl?”
    “Sir, I am, Sir.”
    “Then start acting like one.”

    He spanked my ass til it grew sore, til it throbbed with the memory of his hits, til I knew it would be red for days. I whimpered from the pain, another sound I knew he enjoyed.

    “Sir, please, Sir.”
    “Please what?”

    He stopped his spanking, irritation in his voice.

    “Sir, I need to switch my legs, Sir. Sir, and a good girl would never kick her Sir, Sir.”
    “You think you can do that?”
    “Sir, may I try, Sir? Sir, please, Sir.”
    “You may.”

    I could hear the now grin in his voice, I suspected from the many times I threw in the word he loved, but also from the ridiculous act I was about to attempt. With only my chest on the bed, I had no way of balancing so that I could simply ease my legs to switch. Instead, I needed to basically leap.

    I counted to three in my head, rocking my hips with the numbers, and then, at once, flung my legs, hoping gravity would assist me. My left leg did successfully landed on the ground, with my right leg up, but my whole body inadvertently rolled over. I tumbled towards the floor and into his waiting arms.

    “Sir, bad idea, Sir?” He chuckled softly.
    “Not your best, but you got me to stop punishing you, so maybe not so bad.”

    I felt the air of his voice as he spoke against my neck. His arms wrapped around me. Slowly, a hand crept down my stomach. Down my hips. Down to my clit once more. He lifted us up to a seated position as he slowly circled his fingertip over my clit. My arousal rose, the heat in my abdomen overwhelming.

    “Sir, please, please, Sir.”
    “Yes.”

    He kissed me as my body convulsed in his arms. I screamed my pleasure into his lips. I could barely breathe, could barely think, could barely do anything beyond feel the rush of ecstasy in my body and the joy of his lips against mine.

    Suddenly my legs were free again. He’d untied the ankle cuffs as I came. He lifted me, even as I languished in the final moments of my orgasm. Once more, my chest rested on his bed.

    I heard his zipper, heard the condom wrapper, and then felt him inside me. Instinctively, I cursed and screamed.

    “Sir, oh God, Sir!”

    Once again using the harness for leverage, he now rocked his hips into me, thrusting his hard cock into my wanting cunt. With what little leverage I had, I pushed back, needing more of him, all of him, inside me.

    As we fucked, he slapped my ass, pulled my hair, bit my shoulder, and whispered, “That’s my good girl,” into my ear. He sucked on my neck and I begged him for permission again.

    “Cum,” he whispered, driving harder still inside me.

    “Don’t stop,” he whispered, not relenting in his fucking. His balls slapped my clit. A hand gripped my hip. His teeth left impressions all over my body as we fucked liked starving men at a feast.

    I never stopped cumming. Never stopped screaming. Never stopped cursing. Never stopped thanking him, proclaiming my love for him, for my Sir.

  • Quotable

    “You’re suppose to be working on my leathers. Setup your kit.”

    Like our previous leather scene at Tied Down, I worked on Gray’s chaps and vest. Also like Tied Down, Gray put me in a restrictive harness which, of course, included a crotch rope. He used my same raw hemp, and I had, in fact, saved the happy knot from the previous scene, able to incorporate it into my rope work since then. Instead Gray took out the knot and create a new one, longer and thicker (but, of course, size isn’t everything).

    “Now you can play.”

    During our scene, Gray again instructed me on deep throating techniques. He had me practice holding his cock in my throat for a few seconds at a time and then relaxing. He held his finger on his cock where I last had my nose and encouraged my quarter-inch-by-quarter-inch progress down his shaft. But, after the lesson, he allowed me to just have fun with his cock. I licked and sucked playfully, smiling, my reward for such hard work and effort.

    “There’s cold water dripping down my ass.” – Gray
    “I am desperately trying to not get my ass beat again.” – me

    Unlike the harness at Tied Down, I was able to move more freely while blacking Gray’s leathers. However, I was also under a time constraint. Gray encouraged me to finish up by a certain hour and I did not want to make him late. However, in the future, I will be carrying two towels in my kit to avoid, um, leakage issues.

    “You should call yourself a Leather Bitch and Cock Bitch.” – Gray
    “What about Leather Slut and Cock Slut?” – me
    “No, you need to have Bitch in there. Implies you’ll do anything for cock. Your mouth. Your pussy. Your ass.”

    With my WinterFire fun-ness as example, I can’t really argue with his assessment. And I do already have a title with “Bitch” in it.

    “You love sucking my cock.” – Gray
    “Mmm hmm.” – me
    “I think you enjoy sucking my cock above all other cock.”
    “Mmm hmm.”

    Do I need to add anything to this quote?

    “Just so you know, I’ve gotten about a dozen thumbs up and way to goes.”

    There was a lot of activity in the Dungeon that night, including a scene with my Big Sis right behind me that I saw nothing of. In fact, I didn’t take note of anyone watching us unless Gray pointed them out (RopeBoi’s Phone-A-Friend; elbow count guy).

    Gray utilized my harness for torturing me in multiple lovely ways. Of course there was the obvious yanking. Like before, he pulled on the rope, driving the chord against my clit, pussy lips, and ass crack. God, the pressure on my ass crack.

    Second, Gray slipped his cane into the back of my harness and twisted, constricting the rope around me further, pulling everywhere, cinching it tight.

    As I worked on Gray’s vest, I often bent down to dip my dobber in my saddle soap. Each time I presented my ass. Actually, for the entirety of the scene, if it was applicable, I presented my ass.

    I did this for a few reasons. I knew Gray liked to look at it. I liked the idea of Gray looking at my ass. But, to be fair, I did want more impact attention. Gray eventually caught on, or gave in, smacking my ass.

    And then, magically, Gray started smacking my pussy lips. Over and over, smack after smack hit stingy and hard on my crotch, and I loved it. For some reason, I absolutely adore being hit in the crotch. It is the one type of stingy pain I can take and take much longer than on any other part of my body.

    Even though I love slaps to my pussy, love them, like all pain my body eventually makes me stop it. After what could have easily been a few solid minutes of nonstop slaps, I had to curl away from his hand. Pleasure ended, I went back to work.

    “My cock is nowhere near hard. Best way to get me hard fast is to stroke it with your mouth. Can you feel it growing inside you?”

    Gray’s rule for my orgasms during the leather portion of our scene was simple: when I felt it coming, I had to jam his cock down my throat. However, for that to happen, I needed to encourage him as much as he had encouraged me.

    When I finished his vest, standing in front of him, happy with my work, Gray rewarded my efforts with a quick succession of hard yanks to my harness. And quickly I was ready to cum, which then meant I had to drop to my knees and get his cock hard and down my throat.

    It was so nice to feel appreciated.

    “Look at you, showing off.” – Gray
    “I like rising to challenges.” – me

    By the end of our scene, after much practice and hard work, I was able to deep throat Gray’s cock far enough to have my nose touching his pelvis, just the way he had wanted, the way he had described as he started giving that scene’s lesson.

    “How can you do this? Writhing should make it less symmetrical, not more.” – Gray
    “I’m quirky?” – me

    Gray bound his harness on me intentionally a-symmetrical. He thought this would irk me, seeing as I tend to like things ordered. What he didn’t count on was my squirming from his manipulations throughout the scene ended up righting the orientation of the rope.

    Also, since I was so into making sure his leathers were treated properly, I actually barely took note of the tie, instead allowing myself to enjoy the feel rather than be nagged by the work.

    “Do you have a cigar?”

    Also like Tied Down, Gray spent the majority of the blacking with a cigar in his mouth. This time, however, at the end of the scene the cigar was returned to me with an urging, “Smoke this when you are feeling down or want to treat yourself.” I imagine, when that moment comes, my mind will float back to our time in the Dungeon.

    “We should say our goodbyes now.” – me
    “Yeah, should’ve said those goodbyes.” – Gray, about fifteen minutes later

    As Gray and I finished up, I felt I should get my goodbye in then. I had breakdown duties in the morning and suspected I would not see him before he left.

    As we gathered our things, Stefanos, Nerine, and a lovely bottom ended up claiming our equipment for their scene. Gray commented to Stefanos about our inspiration for our play from the class that morning. We then left so that they could have their fun.

    I drifted over to speak to a friend, but then ended up right back next to Gray as he spoke to Chey about our scene as well. Gray left, I gave Chey a hug, and set off to find a friend or two.

    In the hallway, Gray had been stopped by a woman who complimented him on our scene. I ran into the two of them and expressed my happiness that she enjoyed watching us.

    Once again, we drifted apart. I went to the water station, which was empty.  I found another, which had just enough to fill my water bottle half way. Gray approached me from behind, looking for hydration as well. I gave him half my haul.

    Drifting apart again, I found Big Sis and chatted with her. Thankfully, during our conversation, the water stations were refilled. As we chatted, Gray reached over, took my water bottle, and refilled it. He made his way back into the Dungeon area as I stood with Amethyst a little longer.

    But soon I, too, headed back towards the Dungeon. I had made a mental note, as Stefanos and Nerine began their scene, that I would come back to watch them. And, of course, I bumped into Gray again. That was when he made his comment. And, of course, that was the last time I saw him at WinterFire.

  • Girl Fight

    So… after Gray’s edict. After Chey & Stefanos & Nerine. After laughing and screeching, boots on flesh and twisted faces of pain. After all that, I still had a scene to oversee.

    It was time for some chicks to fight.

    My whole point for going to Playful & Predicament BDSM was to germinate possible ideas for what was to be my early afternoon: Girl Fight 2.5.

    Girl Fight 1.0 happened before I met SkinnyBitch and PrincessA. I heard the story of the incident, an amazing scene that the two women wanted to repeat. Unfortunately Girl Fight 2.0 was scheduled but did not occur.

    As WinterFire approached, and planning of scenes started, SkinnyBitch mentioned Girl Fight, saying she wanted to have another. With a roommate and friend like me who just so advantageously had rope, and would love to watch two of her friends go at it, I most humbly, joyous, jumping-up-and-down-screeching “Me! Me! Me!” volunteered to help make this happen.

    Since PrincessA would not be at WinterFire, SkinnyBitch had to figure out who else she could rumble. After a few thoughts, she settled on HoopFlyBurn.

    Now looking at the two women, they are somewhat evenly matched. SkinnyBitch ran marathons. HoopFlyBurn was currently slogging her way through the Insanity workouts. And though SkinnyBitch was smaller than HoopFlyBurn, SkinnyBitch was scrappy. In my mind, it was a toss up.

    When I entered my roommate’s hotel room, I was lent a special prop for the scene: SkinnyBitch’s rape whistle. As it hung on my neck, I felt so proud.

    Heading down to the Dungeon, the only open play area for us was the small side Dungeon across the hall from the classes, the first afternoon session just underway. We laid out three large mats. I set the ground rules.

    No eye gouging.
    No closed fist punching.
    There would be three rounds, five minutes a piece. Person who held their opponent down twice would win.
    They had the option of tapping out for a round.

    In attendance for the festivities were DeepEnd, RockStarIsis, Alice, Cairo, LooksRDeceiving, and Amethyst, as well as the other scenes going on in the small room.

    The ladies removed their clothing, down to just their underwear, and we began.

    For each round, I gave the ladies rope predicaments to deal with. For round one, both ladies had their right legs bound. I whistled the start and they began. Surprising only to me, the ladies did not last long. I had not anticipated five minutes being too long of a time span for their rounds. However, all the same, HoopFlyBurn landed the first blow, pinning SkinnyBitch around the three minute mark.

    For round two, SkinnyBitch’s leg remained bound, but HoopFlyBurn now had her arm tied instead. I gave the ladies a little time to breathe before I whistled the round to start; only three minutes for this one. SkinnyBitch, now with the advantage, bested HoopFlyBurn, scoring a pin. They were tied, 1-1.

    It was time for round three.

    Somewhat mimicking the rope in Girl Fight 1.0, I secured crotch ropes on both of the ladies. I then tied simple chest harnesses to each and attached the harnesses to the opposing person’s crotch rope. Because of the extra rope work, again the ladies were given a breather.

    With their binds secure, I whistled the start. Once again, they scrapped on the mats, rolling and twisting, each trying to get an advantage on the other. But, after the three minute round, no woman had bested the other. Both were exhausted, and their audience was left with a tie.

    I loosed their chest harnesses, giving the ladies more time to breathe and take a quick drink. With their crotch ropes still on, it was time for sudden death.

    Two minutes. Winner take all.

    I had the ladies start on the mats at opposite corners. Breathing heavy, ready to see who would win, I threw a length of rope between them. “Have at it.”

    I whistled the start. HoopFlyBurn got to the coil first. SkinnyBitch tried her best to wrench the cord away from HoopFlyBurn. In a desperate, and rather clever effort, HoopFlyBurn flung the rope away. (Later she mentioned how she had no skill when it came to tying and figured her best bet was to just get rid of it all together.)

    The two women grappled, tired, but neither wanting to back down. Finally, with mere seconds left on my iPhone’s timer, using the crotch rope as leverage, SkinnyBitch pinned HoopFlyBurn to the mat. We had our winner, oh scrappy roommate of mine.

    After the laughs and hugs, and cleaning and putting away of the mats, and finding the piece of SkinnyBitch’s nipple ring that fell off, we all happily made our way back to our regularly scheduled WinterFire Sunday.

    I returned the rape whistle, grudgingly.