Jute, Nipple Clamps & Tears
December 17th, 2010
“Do you want to go a round?”
“Yes.”
He had the jute in his hand and on his belt. He let me smell it, natural smell – not hemp, but not synthetic or horses, either. Holding it, he looked me up and down, considering. Turned me to face away and put my arms into a box tie.
“How are your shoulders?”
“Right’s a little pinchy, but much better than they have been lately.”
Tie the wrists, the bite of the natural fibers makes me happy, smiling as he warps it around me. Two lengths of eight meters around my arms and chest, wrapping, cinching down, tight, but so very comfortable.
A bit of a length left when he has me secure, and up between the legs, catching the skirt to protect the rope. Yelping as he yanks and then led around the room.
“Keep up, that’s my bad shoulder. Is it in the right place?”
“Yes!”
The grin as he yanks a few more times and then lets it go, finishing it off in the back. Turning me to inspect and show off the work, he stops in front of me. A hand to the throat and he pushes me quickly back into the other room and tosses me on the couch.
“Feet up, prisoner tie.”
I scoot back on the couch, cross my booted ankles, trying to balance and get comfortable for what is sure to be a long tie. The third and final piece quickly secures my ankles to each other and then around to my neck. A comfortable bend for the moment, the jute biting into my skin. So delicious.
Off he goes again, returning with a Japanese washcloth to blindfold me, covering most of my face. And a leather gag to go underneath. The gag is small and flat so my moment of panic is minimized as I adjust, digging my teeth into it.
And here I lose coherent time line. I remember sinking into the rope, into the darkness, listening to conversations around me. I remember changing positions for more comfort, for legs, for back, for neck. I don’t remember how the nipple clamps arrived, but they did. I don’t remember how the other girl came to be tied, but I think it was after the nipple clamps were handed off to another girl to tug on. There was talk of envy of my position. There was talk of requests to be made. And there was tugging and pain and squeaking from me as he tied the her beside me.
I was unbalanced on the couch, squirming to try and move back, my hips were getting strange pressure. When he got her done, he lifted and shoved me further back onto the couch. Gratitude mumbled through the gag.
The tied one wanted to help pull the chain. Something caught his attention from the outer room. He left me, I heard him walk away, his voice leaving the room, but still audible. Panic, kept in check, but bubbling, as I strained to keep his voice in my ears while the first assistant continued to torment my nipples. The one beside me wanted to help, but her hands were tied. Someone else got involved and they moved her into position, got her head in my lap, so she could pull on it with her teeth. His voice returned.
“I was only gone a couple minutes and look at this…”
Multiple people were involved now, a chain of torment starting at my nipples and ending with his amusement. Blindfolded and squealing I had no clear picture of what was going on. It was a writhing mass of energy in front of me, I could identify the players, but not the actions. I knew only that the tied girl was delighted to have the chain in her teeth.
Positions changed and people moved, and there was a slip. I caught a shoulder in the throat. Instant panic and pain, but not the pain I expected. He was there, his voice breaking through my coughing, making sure I was alright. Yes, but still coughing, still panicking, fighting for control. He grabbed it, shoved me back into my place and helped me find my control again.
Camera flashes now. Our photographer capturing the scene. Teeth on chain, both of us squirming and writhing, squeaking and squealing from me. They encourage her to pull harder. I think she was the first to pull one off. The other is yanked free, and they are reset while I whimper.
He sits beside me, landing on a joint and I cringe at the bad pain, but he drops me back into the good pain and rope once more. Her phone rings and her time is up. The first one takes back the chain as he unties.
She sets back to it, testing what sounds she can cause. Enjoying the squeals and the screams. I fall into pain space and breathing and she frowns. She wants squeals. It takes sudden yanks, but she gets what she wants. He hears where I am, and leans in close.
“Watch this…”
And he counts for me, very quietly, right in my ear. She yanks at his direction, sending me higher. Surprised by my command performance. He counts several times, and I focus and use the pain.
The clamps are yanked and twisted and ripped off and replaced a few more times. I shake and gasp when they are removed.
“Did you just orgasm from pain?”
I shake my head, my fingers spelling out “not without permission,” but no one sees. The shaking is the release of energy so as not to orgasm. She pulls and twists some more. My screams grow louder, the gag slides most of the way out at the harshest of the screams.
“Get that back in! You’re not done yet.”
He grabs me by the hair as she twists and pushes. Tears begin to form.
“Go on, cry.”
He holds tight and she presses harder. I scream and gasp and bite down on the gag, trying to keep it in and breathe and cry. The pain swells, and they push, and I tip over the edge. Tears falling freely and they let me go. Leave me to my release.
I cry myself out and then curl up on myself. He is sitting in front of me while they talk, I curl up my head on my own knee, but touching his shoulder. Spacing out again, in rope and darkness.
They return to the couch, either side of me after short while. Conversation continues, but my hips are starting to protest strongly. I get his attention and mumble through my gag until he understands the problem. He frees my legs, and it is enough. She holds and pets me while they continue to talk.
I shift positions, not ready to give up, but with my legs free, I can now lean back and this puts pressure on my arms. I lean forward and back, and into her and away. Finding comfort in different ways for a while longer.
Eventually, it is enough. My wrist is in too much pain. I lean forward and turn my head towards him, waiting. He asks if I am done. I nod. He asks if my arms are numb. I shake my head. He asks what the problem is, and I try a few times, but I really am done, so I spit out the gag and tell him my wrist hurts too much, from its own swelling combined with the pressure of the rope.
He asks me to stand and I try, but am still unsteady so he has me kneel instead. The ropes come off, then the blindfold and discarded gag. The last trappings of the scene gone, I begin to shake. I take the blanket, which was covering my legs through the scene, to wrap around my shoulders. He invites me back to the couch and I snuggle back into her until the shaking passes while he puts away the rope. It is still cold and I stay snuggled between them until he has to attend to other things, another girl takes his place andI am kept warm while I come fully awake. He returns and I thank him for the wonderful scene.
Warmer clothes and breakfast, bits of teasing and discussion. I am still high and spacy, but awake and aware, and so very happy. A great scene that kept us all entertained on a cold, slow night. I felt like his canvas again. Used for his art – for his rope art, for his sadism, his instigation, and his use of mental control. Given the gifts I enjoy – tight bondage, teethy rope, nipple clamps, intensity, pain, pushing boundaries, control, hair pulling, orgasms, and release to the point of tears. Incredibly grateful for the gift of that scene.
Flying Again
October 21st, 2009
I saw the strap swinging out of the corner of my eye. I looked, was it really there? Was it really the suspension strap? Oh gods, please say yes. I rushed out to see them with the extension ladder, putting up the clamp and strap. He asked me to get the rest of the gear and I bounced all the way back to the tub and brought out the rest. We hooked up the ring and then decided to move it over a little more. He put it more centered and then added the paper airplane that goes with the rig always. I grabbed the ring and began spinning gleefully. He laughed and took the pulleys off my shoulder and I spun even more. Then I swung, my feet slipping on the floor, back and forth on the ring, from hands out of practice, and my smile grew even wider. He took a few swings himself, let the bouncers have a pull and then tied it off to wait. There would be Flying tonight.
I was bouncy and giddy as the club opened, pouncing all my friends with glee at the prospect of suspension later. They giggled and hugged me back, understanding my excitement. Things got going and the club started filling, and then he asked me to check on the hemp, make sure it was all in one tub, and then bring it out to our stage. I brought it out and we grinned at each other. It had been a long time, but there was no doubt, he was going to make me fly again.
I bounced, unable to contain my energy as he began to tie. He quizzed me here and there, and I was happy to note I had been imagining the tie correctly these past couple weeks in anticipation of this moment. When it was time to rig me to the ring, I lay on the mat, my feet still bouncing on the floor, grinning over at a few familiar faces in the crowd. Our photographer was snapping photos of the whole thing, but he seemed to catch me at moments when I was sinking into the rope, eyes closed and mind floating. I had to stop tapping my toes when he got to my ankles, my my fingers started tapping instead. Finally fully rigged it was time to go up.
He pulled me off the ground and my eyes flew open and I was in heaven. He got me hooked into the strap and with a couple quick adjustments we were ready. The slightly higher ring than usual actually helped get the rigging even and level. With the pulley tied out of the way, he grabbed my shoulders. Was I ready, oh I’d been ready all evening. We grinned at each other as he started to push, and then I was off, flying through the air, arms and legs spread wide, soaring high above everything.
It had been a long time since I’d been up, even longer since I’d been flying. But it all came back, the breathlessness, the glorious freedom, the total rush of it all. The energy was incredible, he was pushing me higher and higher, spinning and twirling me through the air. I can barely describe how good it felt, how grateful I felt, the energy flowing between us.
My stamina is not what it once was and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer, but I asked to go for a spin. He happily obliged, twirling me faster and faster on the swivel. All the blood rushed to my head, harder that it had done in a very long time. But I wanted to go faster still. I forced my body to curl, and it actually made my head feel a little better, curled into my chest. Then I flattened out to try and slow, but it didn’t feel like it helped much at all. And then he was spinning me again, and I didn’t want it to stop. But when he went for a third round, I grabbed his arms and heard him laugh as I did stop myself.
He jumped back up, asking if I wanted another push, but I clung to him, getting my bearings and finally able to say I was done, my body would not forgive me if I pushed it any more that night. He quickly hooked the pulley up and had me down. I sank into the mats gasping for breath, not because I had forgotten to breathe, but because the energy was still raging through me and I was now on the ground in relative stillness. He quickly unrigged me from the ring and pulled me to my feet and I hugged him tight, so grateful, and needing to share the incredible energy he had given me. Finally able to take hold of the ring, he was able to untie me and pile up the ropes for me to take care of. When he was done, we hugged again, both relaxing down from the high of the scene, and still so very grateful.
He left me with the rope, to finish coming back to earth and take care of the hemp that had been holding my life by simple strands. I pulled it all to me, just feeling it in my hands for a few moments before sorting out the thinner lengths he’d used for my ankles. Starting with the big pieces, I ran them through my fingers, inspecting and feeling, enjoying the smell and the coarseness. Coiling and wrapping the rope and stacking it all together beside me, pausing occasionally to relax into myself.
I was nearly done, with just the little pieces left when one of the crowd could not stay away any longer. A girl came through the strapped off barrier and plopped down in front of me. She hadn’t seen the scene and wanted to know what I was doing, what the rope was for. So I explained the suspension and told her there were pictures in the back of other suspensions if she wanted to see what she missed. She picked up the rope I wasn’t working on and I motioned for her to put it down, barely not snatching it from her, I get more than a little protective of the rope, especially after a scene. She said she was just playing, coiled a little and then set it back down. When I picked it up to wrap it she told me her name and I told her mine and then she wandered off again. Finished cleaning up, I picked up all the coils and packed them away in the tub and then brought it back to our area to wait for the next scene.
I was buzzing with energy the rest of the night, eager to do my electric scenes, and very happy when he motioned me over be part of the second suspension as well. Remembering how her ties went made me very happy with myself. I grinned up at her as she flew, knowing she was feeling the same as I had earlier that night. There is nothing in this world like it.
Hemp
July 29th, 2009
What would you Do with 300 feet of hemp?
Make a nest of it, probably.
The smell of hemp makes me float. Heavy, earthy and sweet. I could curl up in a pile of it and be content for days. Tie me up in it and I could be happy for weeks. The feel of it, scratchy, rough and tight. This rope bottom’s dream. Each scene, putting it away just so. Running it through my hands, every inch of it, looking, touching, smelling. Winding it up, wrapping it around, pulling it tight. The marks it leaves, sometimes lasting only moments, sometimes hours, sometimes days. Run a finger over them and just smile. Even the occasional rope burn, just reminds me of how good it feels.
A hemp hammock sounds divine.