Do you want to do flogging or rope tonight?
Sure, get me the rope.
How much?
4, 8mm.
30s?
Yes.
Did you stretch?
No…and I stretch while he explains to her why.
Arms behind my back for a box tie. He wraps bands around my chest as well, a suspension-worthy box tie. Two lengths of 30′ and I could still eel out if I wanted to.
Do I feel screwed yet? No, I still have my feet.
He grabs the third. This one really constricts my movement, my arms cannot separate at all now, they move as a unit.
I still have my feet, but I know I’m screwed.
Up on the bed, legs crossed, he ties my ankles together, having to use a 30′ instead of a 15′ to make it sustainable, as the rope loops up around my neck. He wraps the rope between ankles and neck, tying it off to keep it from sliding. I have a wrapped handle on front and back and I’m proper fucked now.
He rolls me around, teasing, caning, Uncle. Writhing and squealing, gasping, trying to catch his eye through my legs, too close to the edge of the bed to protest too much.
He lets me breathe, then tests my trust. Balanced on the edge he lets me fall little bits, I shriek and he catches me, every time. I look into his eyes, the joy is there, the love is plain.
Time to test the new head box. He lifts me to the floor, setting me on the cold cement. The heavy box comes down, cutting me off. I am gasping, afraid Uncle will return. A stray comment and he is back, pulling my bra down and clamping my nipples. He pulls on the chain, pinches my thighs. I thrash and scream and he giggles. The box needs more padding, the hole is too big, I keep hitting my teeth on the edge. But it does a good job of isolation.
The box comes off, we give him feedback, he thanks us for trying it out.
Nipple clamps become a lead, he drags me across the floor, scooting and yelping. The right one keeps coming off, squeals when he puts it back on. Over to another chain, hooking them up above my head, I have to balance to keep from pulling them harshly. A bamboo cane now, ass and thighs, I roll and yelp and breathe with the strikes. He hits my breast and I squeal, my clamped nipple brings a scream as I find his eyes and his joy brings me solace.
My hips ache and he lets me down, having to reattached the pesky right one, yet again. Whimpering yelp. Rolling onto my back, pillow provided, the cane goes for the tender bits and thighs and ass. Then up to sitting again, he takes the clamps off, gasping and leaning against him. A moment’s reprieve.
The cane returns, I move wrong, blocking in a moment of weakness. He grabs my septum and scolds me, I cringe and grovel and force stillness as he returns to it harshly. I thrash, but keep his target clear.
If I feel teeth you’ll regret it.
I would never. My mouth is open with the pain, it will not close on flesh. Pain space is coming now, screams dwindle into heavy breathing. He moves around the body, I sink into it, and he lets me. Closing my eyes with a hand, he leaves me to drop into space.
The rope, holding me, cradling me, keeping me safe and leaving me vulnerable. My hands have shifted, but they still are held fast. My arms cannot move, but there is no pain. Circulation is complete, the problems easily solved. My neck begins to grow weary, I bring up a knee to rest it on. Not for long, I like the pull of the rope. The handle at my throat is not too close and pulls evenly.
I sink deep into the rope. I can hear the other scene, but I don’t care. I am here. I am happy. I am in His rope again. His hemp digging into my skin. Keeping me just how he wants me. Held in position, easily moved and open access to everything. A prisoner tie, and perfect.
He returned and freed my neck and ankles, ordered me to kneel, knees spread wide. He smacked my inner thighs, bright red hand prints. Pinching the bruises and putting me back into pain space.
Can I put needles in you?
I did not say no.
May I put needles in you?
Not tonight.
Yes or no.
I waffle, because my brain isn’t screaming no, and he wants to, and she has them, but I don’t think I’m ready yet. It’s been a big scene and I don’t know that I want to add that on top of it.
Yes or no.
No.
Was that hard?
Yes, my brain was arguing with itself.
My feet hurt from the pressure of kneeling. He pulls me up and begins untying.
The feel of the rope, shivers through my body. Murmuring, spacing. He drags it across my nipples and I whimper. Pure rope pleasure. One. Two. Three. So good to me.
The rope is off, we hug, just sharing the floating energy. The ropes are waiting, I sit with them, run them through my fingers, coil them and put them away.
Practice is over, everyone is gone. We sit for a few moments, reflecting.
Rope marks and bruises. Joy and love. We needed this. Reconnected.
