Knotty Thursday: His and Hers Hishi Karada

 

The day before yesterday, I was a hopelessly tangled knot of nerves. I had a doctor’s appointment Tuesday afternoon for the rogue periods I’ve had since mid-January. (Seriously like FOUR days of not bleeding. The RN calmed me down and prescribed something, mostly convinced me I’m not dying.) That morning, I’d had a messy text-exchange with The Good Boy, too—Valentine’s weekend dropped an anvil on his heart and mine got a little smushed in the process.

I thought for like a nanosecond about postponing my first date with The Southern Charmer and going to bed early or picking a fight with TGB, but there TSC was at my door with good wine, ready to learn the ropes. He had a new lip piercing and I had (cue Neverending Story theme song) the neverending period, so we’d agreed in advance that it would be a gentle night. And it (mostly!) was.

He got here at nine and all of a sudden it was ten and we’d been talking away for an hour. We had a gotta-get-up-early alarm set so I figured I’d better get him upstairs!

He had a deft touch with the ropes, patient and ready to learn. As I was getting us situated (Can ropes have mise en place?) I showed him how to make a square knot with the light pink ropes and put those aside for him to use on me.

Ohhhhhhhhh the magenta ropes that I got myself for Valentine’s Day. I think they must have magical powers. I’m surer with them, more easily careful, they just feel more mine than any other belongings do, and they seem to just exist a little extra, the way the Hope Diamond does.

Enough rhapsodizing about the ropes, time to rhapsodize about The Southern Charmer. He’s an easy and genial canvas, happy to stop every so often and ask how a knot is made. We eased into warm, gentle hugs and soft kisses as I wound the ropes. How did I EVER get this lucky?!

His careful attention while I was decorating him meant he easily got the steps to return the favor. I promptly evaporated into a cloud of queen-of-the-world bottomy joy.

Maybe there was still a TINY bit of the day’s stress left in my body as we cuddled and kissed into rope aftercare, but then I invited myself into his lap to get spanked. OH friends! Every little confetti-fragment of worry gusted out onto the pillows with each powerful strike, each hurt/pleasure gasp. The Southern Charmer is SO strong.

His dick (Pants still on, we were being so chaste!) was hard and exactly right underneath my wiggly, fake-struggling middle, yes, beautiful, but I need to say more about his arms. JESUS FUCK, those arms. He held me down so forcefully, pulled my hair so tender-and-rough-at-once, shoving and twisting and grasping out all my defenses.

I wound up dizzied, spaced, sprawled down the bed like a painting, holding a half-glass of wine I kept forgetting to drink.

I sent him on his way after one snooze of the bedtime alarm, vowing to absolutely TEAR HIM APART next time. Welcome, Southern Charmer, definitely don’t be a stranger.