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.
My Friend the Blacksmith
February 16th, 2012
A great Valentine’s weekend. Hung out with folk at the poolhall on Friday. Got to sleep in on a Saturday. Then the big party. I had a new red dress with holes down the sides and my shiny boots. I blushed as red as my dress at first until I got used to it.
Halfway through the night, I tugged on his sleeve and asked about The Box. Can we open it? I hadn’t been drinking at all. I’d be careful. I got the box and we found a quiet room.
A while back, we learned that our friend was a blacksmith. About a year ago, he brought the blacksmith an idea. They started collaborating on the design of a metal shrew’s fiddle. Measurements were taken. Plans drawn. Pieces shaped and tested and reshaped. Hinges were built and broke and made stronger. The metal was heated, scrubbed and oiled to remove the shiny. Last month the blacksmith gave us the locking pin. Almost done. Last week the blacksmith gave me The Box: large and white, and sealed up tight. I gave it to him, but a busy week left it closed until 11pm Saturday night.
I handed him the box and he pointed to the floor. I knelt eagerly, only slightly awkward in the stretchy dress. He pulled up the tape and removed the paper-wrapped bundle. My eyes were shining as he unwrapped our new fiddle. I took the dulled pin from around my neck and pulled the string out as he removed the shiny place-holder pin from the device. I lifted my hair and he placed it around my neck. Left wrist, then right. I watched his hands as he slid the locking pin home and secured it tight. Finally.
We had the toy we’d been waiting for. Heavy and secure. Fit perfectly to my neck and wrists. Not so tight on the neck as to risk panic or immediate danger. The wrists deliciously squeezed in metal wide enough not to cut off circulation. Pure joy.
He watched me get to my feet, both of us full of grins, and head back out to the party. Smiles and grins and appreciative comments followed me through the dance floor. I headed upstairs to find the blacksmith. Tripped on the troublesome step, but no harm done. Got someone to pull my dress back down when I got to the top, stretchy material likes to ride up. Found him, grinning like mad. Wow. He loved the lines of the device, and even more seeing it in use. Our photographer wanted pictures, and then placed an order for three more. They chatted about design and care while I floated. The blacksmith doesn’t like the hinges, the next one will have it done differently, but the lines. So gorgeous.
My shoulders and wrists begin to ache, I set the end on toy’s shoulder. Ah, much better. A little relief from the strain is all I need, and I’m wandering again. So happy, such lovely weight and delicious pain. But I want it to last, so I set it on shoulders and hands and bartops as needed. I’m curious at one point and find a bed to lay down in. That’s more like it, completely comfortable.
Up again and round about. Toy feeds me a chocolate rum ball, and I’m off. He finds me here and there, tugs on the end to make me gasp. Grinning at each other. Not an especially useful position for anything other than restraint itself, but very good at that. No, I can’t reach the pin with fingers or teeth. I’m good and stuck. Others ponder ways I could escape, but it would take some serious doing.
Two hours in, one in the morning. Even having it braced by someone else, my shoulders are still hurting. Time to give in. He releases me and I put it away, wrapped and boxed once more. Arms now free, I give thanks all around. To him and the blacksmith. A wonderful Valentine’s gift from them both.