After my flogging fun with Old-Timey Guy, I put my PJs back
on and found a spot to stand and watch everybody play. I hovered near a
rope-acquaintance of mine, who happens to share a name with the most vexing character
on this blog, so I’ll just refer to him as HempRopes. I’d watched him before in
rope class and admired his style, and earlier last Saturday night he’d offered
to tie me up if he got time.
HempRopes was spotting a young man who was doing self-suspension.
People who do ropes on themselves are my heroes; I’d really like to learn that
for myself someday.
I was hoping I might be next after HR’s spotting task, and I
was!
He gave me the option of clothes or not clothes, guess which
I chose? I left my little pajama shorts on but of course opted for toplessness.
HR is kind of my type, stocky and vaguely nerdish. He had
very warm hands as he basket-wove the ropes around my thighs. My favorite part
of getting the harness on was when he said “Put your arms around my neck” and
picked me up by the thigh ropes to make sure they were adjusted properly—I
squealed.
I kept getting distracted watching Old-Timey Guy and Punk
Rock Girl playing, so I asked for a blindfold. I was surprised to want one after
the fainting time. He had a nice leather one that he bucked on loosely and I
started to feel all soft and safe.
For weeks and weeks, my brain has been in a state of
constant chatter; lesson plans, homework, discipline problems, all of the
cerebral, not-sexy stuff that’s really important but can take me out of my body
too much. As HR worked the ropes onto me, as his warm hands wove hemp gently around
my chest, I heard something strange and wonderful in my brain: silence.
Ahhhhhhh, relief.
He was apologetic whenever he had to adjust the ropes
between my legs, but I told him he didn’t have to be quite so polite. When he
was finished putting the harness on me, he put me in a chair and got to work
doing the rigging on the suspension frame. It took quite a while. People strolled
by oohing and ahhing about his work, and I felt like I wasn’t there, in a good
way. Once the rigging was done on the frame, he came back over to the frame and
tied on some comfy ankle supports—it felt like a one-column tie. then he picked
up the ankle supports and led me over to the suspension frame.
In order to get situated on the frame, he had to tie me at
my heart first—I liked the feeling of that first support rope pulling up from
my heart, it stretched me out in a new way. When he was getting my back
supported, I had to lean back a couple of times to get the rope into position.
Then it was time to lean back all the way and I was suspended, just a few feet
off the floor. It felt wonderful, like a cradle. He tied giving me a
head-support, but that felt too choky, so my head just hung down,
not-unpleasantly.
He rocked me. I felt warm and contained and cared-for. I’d
heard other bottoms talk about feeling like they’re in a safe little bubble and
I felt what they meant. The bulge in his pants was now friendly against my
shoulder every time he rocked me back. I liked the way that it felt sexy but
undemanding—kind of matter-of-fact.
Next time: I heart the knife.