Knotty Thursday: Handcuff Knot

I am SO PROUD OF MYSELF this morning! Technically I learned this one time in rope class like eight years ago, but it feels new all over again. Probably should practice it a bunch more times in case I ever get to put it on somebody cute. (Obviously I'll use it on myself (loosely, safely) a lot sooner.) Hooray! :D

Song of the Week: Love Lockdown

Okay, not exactly love, but all paragraphs aside, I just miiiiiiss him. Also, his handcuffs.

Scene Failure and the Scary Party, Part One

I really wish I’d been telling this story while it was still happy-it would’ve been so much more fun to write. I liked him so much that I was even calling him Emotionally Available Guy in my fb updates. Our first scene together was so close to being my dream come true that it was hard to be myself afterwards—I felt like he could finally be the guy to give me what I needed. Except.

Remember the episode of Doctor Who where the little boy keeps everything he’s afraid of locked in a cabinet in his room? That’s what one of the local play parties has felt like to me for a while—there are no boundaries anywhere, anyone feels free to waltz into any scene they see fit, so I’ve left there on more than one occasion feeling exploited and trampled. On the other hand, it’s also the place where I had my amazing first public scene with Fireguy, so it can’t be all bad.

The Man (as in the Man who brings one down) is the head of security at this venue. I was thinking that being with him would make me safe, rather than realizing that he is part of what makes it so chaotic. I was excited when he invited me, thinking it could help me to heal my creepy feelings about the place. Still, I hemmed and hawed about going, especially when he sprung it on me that his wife (who I didn’t know very well yet) would be going too. She didn’t end up going, and after much coaxing and reassurance, I decided to go, even though I worried that it might be the end for us. I really wanted to spend time with him and I wondered if the badness of the Bad Party was all in my head.

When I first got there, there was already an emergency—a woman had been getting her boobs whipped and she started to bleed, needing stitches. She was all woozy and no one could find the first aid kit. We ran into her in the aftercare room later, asked if she was okay, and for some reason her “I’m happy!” rang hollow, like, really, do we have to put ourselves through this?

As I was signing my waiver, The Man introduced me to Sadist Girl, a member of his security staff, who referred to me annoyingly as “Ribbons,” part of my Fet handle, instead of my real name, which I’d given her. “She knows you from FetLife,” he explained, “and she knows why you’re here.” Cue the foreboding I’m-in-trouble music.

At this point (actually at many points before this night) the horror movie audience would be yelling at the screen: “Get out of the house! Run DOWN the stairs, not up!” But I trusted him and you know what? He smelled really, really good. It’s amazing the lengths I’ll go to for a good man smell, let me tell you. I wanted to please him so that he’d notice me, so he’d really make me someone important in his life, so I’d know that he would stick around.

He led me into a harshly lit red room where people were kind of crowded in, but there was a free spanking bench. I didn’t really care for it because it wasn’t very showoffy/safe and it was away from the really good DJ that usually makes the place bearable. The beginning of the scene wasn’t like the first one or the nice time that we’d had in my living room earlier in the week. He didn’t stop and look into my eyes or ask me what I wanted. He didn’t brush my hair with the brush he’d requested the previous time. He didn’t stop and connect with me at all—it was like I was a chore he had to get through before he could get back to the real fun of working security. I should have stopped the scene or at least moved to another room.

He was complaining about the people talking around us, so I asked if he wanted to move and he said no. He told me to keep my mouth shut even though I’d told him several times that it was a hard limit. I don’t know why, but I kept my mouth shut—I am ashamed of how desperate I was and how much I compromised. I wish I could get in the Sex Tardis and save myself, but it is always too late.

It was an okay scene, if uninspired. Flogging, handcuffs, hairpulling. I had on my shorty pajamas that I always wear and my shirt was pulled up, exposing my nipples. “You’re my sweet girl,” he kept saying, “My good, sweet girl.” I melted. I was so happy in that moment—I’d dreamed of being his and he was saying that I was.

Right about then I heard him talking to Sadist Girl and handing her his soft leather paddle. I don’t know why I said it as okay. It certainly hadn’t been negotiated beforehand or even mentioned as a possibility. I would have said no if I’d been asked outside subspace. I don’t know why I did any of this. He held me tight from the front as she hit me all stingy, not the thuddy the way I like. She slapped around the edges of places so that it was hurtier, the sides of my thighs, the back of my knees. I don’t remember her hitting me in the crotch but it was bleeding after. I liked being tight in The Man’s arms, sobbing and screaming, and I liked feeling like I was giving him what he wanted. Sadist Girl tried hitting me on the bottom of my feet and at least I remembered the word “red” for that. She kept calling me “Ribbons” and it was making me mad. “Why do you say you’re not a masochist, RIBBONS?” “Huh, RIBBONS?

I started to really really not like it so I whispered to him that I wanted to be with just him now. She stopped hitting me but wouldn’t leave. They stood around talking as if I wasn’t there. She was listing off the people she had grudges against, talking about how they’d have to ban them.

I started to feel exposed and violated. I tried to work my shirt down over my breasts even though I was still cuffed. I told him again to get rid of her. He looked annoyed and she looked pissed off but finally went away. I told him to get me out of the handcuffs and I got dressed. I should have left as soon as I could drive, but I didn’t. Even though he’d broken our agreements and ignored my safety, I still wanted to be with him.

Yay, I Got to Top Sweetie!

I was really inspired by some of what I saw at the party Saturday night, and also by the fact that I accidentally learned how to do some handcuffs when I was at rope class with Mister Hazel Eyes. Sunday morning after breakfast, when we were lying around with coffee and library books, I got an image in my head and said:

“Take off your clothes and I’ll be back in a minute. I have to go make something.”

What I made was this:

I think I see an Etsy store in the making. Sweetie likes soft touch, so I made it more as a tickler, but it turns out it works very well as a flogger, too.

I left it in the other room while I was blindfolding her so she’d have to guess at what she was feeling. Once she was all nice and blindfolded, I told her to put her hands over her head and did this:

It’s not tied off quite right, but hey, I did handcuffs, go me! *proud*

She looked beautiful laying there in my pink blindfold, handcuffed wrists up to her chest, boobs flushed and excited. She still had her socks on—we often do.

I went and got my DIY ribbon flogger and started to drag it lightly over her. She didn’t like it on her feet, but everywhere else, she oohed and sighed. She said she couldn’t figure out what it was, even though, you know, ribbons seem kind of obvious.

She always likes a little sting to the nipples, at least in biting-sucking-pinching ways, so I gave her right nipple a little thwack. I liked it, and she groaned. A little growly aggression rose up in me and it felt good. I flogged her nipples gently and then harder, alternating with dragging the ribbons softly over her neck, arms, thighs. Standing over her all powerful like that, I started to smell like sex, and I lifted up her handcuffed hands and said

“Feel that.”

She scrabbled around desperately trying to get her fingers inside me, but I pushed her arms back down onto the pillow.

I told her to turn over and smacked her with the ribbons some more. It felt good to hit her like that. I found a good spot at the center of her freckled upper back and just struck there lovingly for a while, making sure she knew who was in charge. I reached down for her breasts and she grabbed over her shoulders for mine. My pussy was slippery and throbby against her back and I was moving against her. I would have come right then if I hadn’t pushed her hands away and made her turn back over.

I kissed her neck and bit hard on her nipples, over and over. I pulled the back of her hair gently but firmly so that she couldn’t move. She said “I want…” but got distracted and trailed off. A few minutes later I asked:

“What were you trying to say that you wanted?”

“I want you to..haha…”

“What.”

*giggle* “I want you to put your fingers in me really hard.”

“And what is that called?”

She hesitated.

“Say it. I’m not going to do it unless you say it.”

“I kind of want you to, well, fuck me.”

So I happily obliged. Later I got to bend over and find out what the ribbons felt like smacking my ass. The rest of the day was full of ropes, library books, snuggles, and triumph. I love bottoming and all, but I guess I can admit to being just a liiiiitle bit of a switch.