Struggle

September 3rd, 2016

Do you ever have those days, when you just want to fight? But you’re not a fighter, so it’s more like you want to struggle, need to struggle. As a rope bottom, and masochist, to me, this means I want to Eel. And not just eel. Not just, tie me up, and let me get out. But tie me up tight, painful, torture me while I wriggle and writhe. Maybe I can’t even get out at all, but it’s the fight I want, the struggle.

He told ex-Lover the other day, that I was due some nipple clamps and a straitjacket. It’s been a Long time. He has used the straitjacket with me twice that I can remember – once for a nice zone out, and once to be eyes for an artificially blinded engineer. Once inside, one cannot really fight a straitjacket, but I’ve written at least once about fighting ex-Lover putting it on.

I am full of stress at things, and working on letting it go. Pain helps – we’ve had some fun pain lately, especially with whip practices this month. He was even practicing a new long stroke this past week – more like what you see in movies of someone at a post – though without the blood, of course. But as things build up, I’m feeling the need for a struggle. Now, to figure out where and how.

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The Struggle

April 19th, 2012

Stuck. Fucked. Fuckable, for that matter. Helpless. Strung out and up and every which way. Tied up tight in a not-so-neat little package. Just the way she liked it. A challenge.

Eyes closed, focusing on every inch of rope as it touches body. Looking inwardly for the weak link. The knots, all in one place, rubbing tantalizingly on her ass. Left wrist in a simple cat’s paw. Right wrist in an even less secure hold. But both pulled tight, struggling would make at least one go numb and useless. Hair, always a weak link, and not overall helpful, but easily freed. Ankles were a little sloppy, they might be possible. One thing at a time.

Pushing up one hand and tilting her head back as far as she could. Fingers finding purchase on the hair tie string. Tugging back with finger tips, forward gently with head. Slowly, carefully, don’t pull too much hair out of her head. And she shakes it free. With a sigh, settles her head back to the floor, glancing up at him grinning over at her.

Wrist check. She twists and tugs gently, but not much movement. Not yet.

Ankles. A lot of wraps. Tightened in the center, pulled down. But some give.

“Five minutes down.” Crap.

Wiggle. Struggle, turn onto one side. Use the floor for friction, not much to get. Rub them together, just one loop. Over the heel. Come on, just one. Fuckfuckfuck, cramp. Breathe. Okay. One loop. Left foot. There, off the heel. Next one. Two, okay. Other foot. One, two. Wiggle, squirm, move them down. Four more loops to go. One at a time. More slack with each one. Keep breathing. Three. Four. Three Four. Last two, lots of slack, Off the go. Legs are down.

“Five minutes left.” Oh gods.

Arms. Arms are very stuck. Wait, knots are free. No, well, not useful knots. Damn. Um. Wrists. Gotta start at the wrists. How? Wiggle. Squirm. Would sitting up help? No. Just waste time. Cone, cone, cone for all you’re worth. Can’t, not enough movement. Stuck so high on the back already. Cat’s paw. Turn head, bite rope. Come on, pull it looser. Can’t, just as tight. Think!

Stop. Close eyes. Breathe. Think slower. Picture it. Okay, what can you do?

Nothing. Can’t move enough. Good and stuck. Flail, squirm, wiggle. Beg? Could beg. No, not yet. Twist. Push. Pull. Arms barely move. Fingers wave uselessly in the air. Nothing to grab.

Too much struggling, fingers start tingling. A glance shows his grin getting bigger as he alternates between her and the timer. Too late. Not going to get out of it.

She struggles to sitting and then standing, back into the corner she started from, glare a little less confident, smirk bigger, as he come towards her again, rope in hand.

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Takedown

April 19th, 2012

She glared at him from the corner, an impish smirk playing at her lips. He smiled back, weighing the rope in his right hand, left patting the coils hooked still to his belt. She braced herself, looking for a way past, as he pulled the coil loose and tossed the tails to the floor. Twisting the center into a cuff, he slips his own hand through, preparing for her charge.

He takes a step toward her, time is up. She scurries to his left, turning as he grabs for her arm. His hand slides down, but catches at her wrist and they spin in a circle together until he lands her up against the wall. His body trapping hers, he slides the cuff from his wrist to hers as she struggles to get away.

Wrapping his freed hand in the rope just below the cuff he prepares for his next move. Knowing the hand is lost, she tries to push it away from the rest of her body, readying for him to let up from the wall.

The pressure releases and she tries to flee away from the caught hand and the rope attached to it. But he is ready, tangling her legs with his and twisting her arm behind her back. And she is on the ground, a knee in the small of her back, her hand on the opposite shoulder blade. He lifts her head by the hair and slips the rope around the front of her neck to keep her from struggling, then feeds it through her armpit, because he know she will anyway.

One arm secured, she hold the other one straight away from her body, as far from him as she can. But he is taller, his arms longer, he grabs the wrist and starts pulling it in. She rocks and kicks and tries to force him off, but he is steady and stronger.

He twists her free arm around and up behind her back, across the first, pinning it with his knee, making quick work of the tie-off, then back over her shoulder and through her other armpit. Matching the first run. He brings the rope to the middle, tying her arms together where they cross. Vertically and horizontally, so she cannot pull out.

He grabs another coil of rope and she feels it hit the floor beside her as he tosses it out. He links the new rope to the old, she can feel him tying extra knots, just for (his) fun later.

And then it’s her feet. She kicks and squirms some more, knowing she has lost the first round, but not wanting to give him too easy a time. He gives up on elegant tying and just wraps the rope around her ankles repeatedly, pulling until she has no more slack to kick. Once immobilized, he takes care to tighten it down with a vertical wrap around the ankle wraps, and then brings the tails back to the splice point to tie off with even more excessive, yet decorative knots.

A small coil comes off his belt and he gathers her hair up into a tight pony tail. Tying it off, he trails the end back to her ankles, through the vertical wrap and down to join the linking knots by her ass.

He steps back, and she rolls her eyes up to look at him, not quite able to regain her earlier glare. He smiled down at the pile of rope and flesh he has created and leans down to kiss her forehead.

“Fifteen minutes, do you think? If not, I’ll just add more rope.”

And he walked to a nearby table to chat with friends while they watched her struggle.

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