The Exhibit

Is there a better museum for rare and priceless experiences than words on a page?

I could try to preserve all the details – how we began, how many strikes from which implements, how he moved me about the room, how taut the rope felt on my skin, and the way my thighs ached as I squirmed in the stress position in which he’d restrained me.

Those details may convey my surrender, but won’t capture my emotion.

I could record the hearing of footfalls and whispers, soft murmurs of interest or (possibly) admiration lingering in the hallway, and my vague awareness of some shadows in the door frame as the intensity of a final powerful orgasm ripped through my soul.

Those details may convey my vulnerability, but won’t capture our connection.

It’s just three words I’ll keep in this museum of intangible artifacts. The three words I whispered when, toward the end of our scene, he leaned down for a kiss, and warm tears escaped the outside corners of my eyes:

I missed this.

The Play Partner Manifesto

When I started thinking about writing this post, I had strong feelings that I would not mind connecting with another person as a regular (non-sexual) rope-specific play partner.

And now, I finally have a few moments to write it and….

The notion doesn’t seem so shiny.

It’s an inconclusive state – do I want this, or don’t I?

And I think that the answer is that on some level, I do – but what’s lacking is the sense that the type of person I’d want to do that with is someone already known to me. So, without having someone in mind specifically, it’s hard to really imagine how it would work.

Type of person – that’s not exactly right. The person doesn’t meet a type – it’s the supposed connection we’d have that is a type.

But, allow me for a moment to process a couple finer points on this desire. Words like “benefit” and “exploration” and “free time” come up. Like, “I believe I could benefit from the exploration of a connection with another rope top during my free time on weekends.”

There are things about that statement that bother me.

I don’t want to use a person as a distraction. To connect with someone on the level that I like to connect in rope, they have to be more to me than “something to do on Saturday night.” This type of connection I’m envisioning would be one of friendship, trust, and mutual enjoyment that goes beyond “I don’t have anything better to do tonight, wanna tie??” The idea that this relationship would “benefit” me feels selfish. A vibrator benefits me because it gives me orgasms when my partner is unable to give them to me. I do not want the “vibrator” equivalence of a person to just give me what I want when my partner isn’t around. I don’t like the idea of treating people like tools.

And yet –

I wouldn’t (probably) mind more rope in my life, but I come back to that question of connection.

After I fell in love, my connection with the other people who used to tie me on occasion changed. I became strikingly aware of the difference between the connection with someone who actively wanted to tie me – who would reach out days or even a week in advance to ask if I’d be interested in a rope date; and the connection with those who would show up at the same party I happened to be attending and think “Hey, I’ve got a spare hour. You’ll do.”

That’s not really what I think they were thinking, but …that’s how it felt.

So I shifted a little – to avoid feeling that. I set a “new rule” that I would avoid last minute/pickup play scenes. That if someone wanted to tie me, they’d ask in advance.

And …well, those proposals were few and far between. Until they were so rare and sometimes felt like “Yeah, couldn’t find anybody else. Is your body available?”

It still felt like it lacked connection.

This is no judgement on anybody I’ve played with past or present, or those who do pickup play or have asked me recently if I could bottom for them. In fact, both people who have asked me recently – I’d have said yes if I legitimately didn’t have other things going on those evenings.

Bottoming for demo or practice isn’t the same as a play partner.

A play partner (to me) is something more. It’s a friendship that exists outside the confines of rope. It means meals together or movies and laughter and conversation that has nothing to do with rope . It’s connectivity on multiple levels. There’s a level of care, consideration, and enjoyment of time spent together.

There’s a tenderness to it. There has to be, because I like mean rope – so there has to be tenderness on the other side of that.

It’s a relationship.

Minus the sex.

You know, like marriage.

See, the right type of person – the right type of connection – would have laughed at that joke.

Anyway, this isn’t a statement of intention to go out in search of this connection. This is a public declaration of my motives for considering it. Much like my state of being prior to meeting the man I now love – I am in a good place in my life where not much is needed.

But if someone who happens to connect well with me were to come into my life and have an interest in pursuing this….I’d probably, carefully and slowly, give it a chance.


Rope and Photo by @mister_bacon_, my first ropey play partner. ūüôā

A Tale of Two Women

I recently made the acquaintance of a young woman at an introductory rope event. She’d watched the instructor perform an exercise by tying a single column tie around my wrist and then spending the next two minutes wrapping the rope around me without knots. The purpose of the exercise was to allow for more free-form and feeling in the tie, rather than the strict following of a specific pattern. After some encouragement, the young woman agreed to try doing it herself. I was offered up as the bottom for her to work with.

This young woman was what a very high percentage of the population would call “hot.” I couldn’t describe her to you in detail now if I tried, but to say that she had long straight hair, a young, lithe figure, and big soulful eyes. She was a very attractive person.

She could not stop apologizing.

For everything. From the moment she began tying the single column tie on my wrist until the timer went off after 2 minutes it was a constant sea of “I’m sorry. Sorry. Oh. Sorry.” After two or three times of telling her she had nothing to be sorry about I gave up.

I could tell she was really bright. Like, there was plenty going on underneath the remarkably pretty surface, but it was masked so much by insecurity. I asked her why she wanted to learn to tie, thinking if I could understand her motivation, I might be able to adapt my bottoming technique to make it easier for her to achieve her goal.

Her answer was that she just liked to learn things.

Of all the reasons I’ve heard riggers talk about why they tie, that’d previously not been one of them. There are elements of control, connection, creativity, exploration, expression…. but not just “I wanted to learn for the sake of learning.”

It’s not a wrong answer by any means, but I realized that as a bottom, there was nothing more I could do for her. She could as easily have the experience by tying the leg of a dining room chair, and she’d be less likely to continually apologize to it.

This was a little while back now, and over the few weeks that followed that evening, I thought of her a few times. Truth be told, I think of her in terms of “girl” because she so didn’t yet embody what “woman” means to me.

What made me think of her today was a different woman.

Having finally gotten fed up with the jerk-around Home Depot has been giving me with regard to my appliances purchased the week before Thanksgiving and now delayed for delivery TWICE, I decided to show them my cards. I don’t like being one of those customers that threatens to cancel an order unless I mean it…

…so I went to Best Buy. There were two associates working in the appliance department, but one seemed rather newish and the other was handling three different customers at once. Once I stated my business, the newish one asked me if I could wait because it’d have to be be the other one (department manager, as it turns out) to help me.

I’ve already waited over a month with the Home Depot clowns, so I figured I could give Best Buy a little leeway here. When the department manager finally was able to help me, I was really floored, and very pleased, with her level of professionalism and knowledge about the products and procedures on how to price match my order. She knew her way around that Point of Sale system like I know my Doxy in the dark.

I couldn’t tell you how old she is. She mentioned having a granddaughter, but honestly, she looked way too young for that. I’d have pegged her at about my age.

She did not have the most fortunate genetics when it came to physical appearance. She was overweight with quite a bit of dark facial hair, oily skin, and stained teeth.

But this woman had confidence, at least in this environment. She was good at her job – even managed to upsell me on a dishwasher and cooktop while saving me money on the range hood. The whole time, she was answering questions from her colleagues on everything from how to swap the way the door swings open on a washing machine, to how high a pedestal had to be for a dryer, to how to run a price check for a warehouse only item. I began to relax and trust that my needs would be met and my wants would be addressed. She made me feel comfortable, like I was in good, capable hands.

It’s the way I want to feel when I’m being tied.

Bottom line – looks matter for shit when you want to feel safe. Or something like that.

And *scene*.

She wasn’t prone to blushing; hardly anything really embarrassed her.

But this.

“So, is that a yes?” he asked without a trace of bias one way or another. It was all up to her.

“I think so,…” she said.

“Think so? I think it’s better if you know so.”

She looked over at the other side of the room where the person in question sat chatting with a friend. She’d enjoyed chatting with him. She wasn’t emotionally connected, but she liked him as a person.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”



He’d already ordered her to strip down, which she did without delay. It wouldn’t be the first time she was naked in the dungeon, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. She felt a shiver rush through her body as he stood with his back to her, arranging items from his toy bag onto the table. Damned place got the air conditioning fixed a little too well, she thought to herself.

Meanwhile, she saw the occasional person walking by, sometimes pausing to take a look. It was a slow party, and early still. Not too many people milling around. She didn’t make eye contact, but she kept note of how many paused and how many didn’t through her peripheral vision.

He turned to face her and smirked. “Turn around,” he ordered, and she did, facing the far wall of the cell. He came up behind her and pressed his still-clothed body against hers. “Are you ready?” he murmured in her ear.

“For what?” she asked, her voice barely registering below a squeak.

At once, one arm reached around her throat and put her in a choke hold while the other hand clamped over her mouth.

“Today’s the day,” he whispered. He pivoted her around to face out toward the hallway. They were no longer alone in that cell.



It’d been months since anybody but her lover had so much as touched her. And here was this man, this other man, running his fingers slowly up her torso and over her breasts. Her lover kept her in the hold, as if presenting his possession to a new friend.

Her pulse racing, she closed her eyes to try to relax. She sank back into her lover for support and shifted her thoughts to focus on the sensations rather than the context.

When she felt a warm, wet mouth surround her nipple she moaned. At that point, her lover’s arms released her from his hold and began caressing her skin, down her arms, over her hips, and down her thighs. The mouth had moved up from her nipples and over her chest and was now kissing her neck. She could smell his shampoo, and it was pleasant.

Just then, her lover’s fingernails dug into her thighs and she gasped, wrapping her arms around the other man for support as she breathed through the pain.

Her lover chuckled softly in her ear.

“Last chance,” he murmured quietly. “Yes or no?” he asked.

Breathlessly sandwiched between the two men, she answered in the affirmative. “Yes, please.”



Together they led her to the low, padded table, positioned against the padded wall. “Get up, on your back,” her lover spoke as he patted the table with his hand.

She did as she was told and lay her head back. She lay there, looking up at the winch over her head and began to shiver again. Where had they gone?

Moments later, she heard their footsteps returning and each of them grab her by an ankle and bend her knee up. In unison, they each cast a coil of rope and began tying her legs into position – bent, with her ankle to her thigh – and the spread and secured to the legs of the table.

She felt the warmth of a tongue on her clit and moaned. Without knowing whether it was her lover, or the other, she was at their mercy. It didn’t take long, however, before she knew the answer to her silent question.

With a hop onto the table, the other positioned his now naked body in a straddle over her face. He leaned forward against the padded wall to guide his cock past her lips.

There it was. The point of no return. In her thoughts she took a mental picture of the scene. She checked in with her emotions. And she realized…

…she was enjoying it.

As the shock wore off her instincts kicked in and she began rolling her tongue and suckling at the cock in her mouth. She reached her hands up and placed them over his ass and gently urged him to push deeper. He moaned.

Her lover laughed. “There’s my whore,” he said, jamming his fingers into her cunt.

Her first orgasm happened just as the other’s cock pushed past the barriers and into her throat. She dug her fingernails into the flesh of his ass as she writhed, unable to shut her legs or shift the weight of him off her chest.

With a low groan, the other pulled out of her mouth and climbed down. She heard the sound of the condom wrapper being torn open just as her lover had leaned over the table to kiss her mouth. With one hand still rubbing her clit he filled her hungry mouth with his tongue, and she reached up to cradle his face lovingly.

He moved his head back to inches and looked into her eyes. They held their gaze locked, just like that, as the other penetrated her cunt slowly.

It was like that when the second orgasm came. Her lover’s fingers circling her clit, his eyes recording every movement and emotion in her face, as the other took his pleasure from her dripping wet and open cunt.

“God damn,” said the other as her cries and moans echoed off the walls.

“My good whore,” her lover responded, as he climbed up onto the table and took his position inside her mouth.



She’d lost track of time. She remembered some time passing with her lover in her mouth and the other in her cunt when she heard the question being asked, “Does she take it up the ass?”

She remembered the two of them working to unsecure the rope from the table , and unwrap her legs from their binds.

She remembered being moved off the table, fondled and kissed by the other while her lover put a condom on and lay himself down on the table.

She remembered climbing on top of him and lowering her cunt onto his cock.

And she remembered the look of pure, hedonistic joy as they both felt the other’s cock enter into her ass without too much difficulty.

She’d lost track of her orgasms.

She only knew when she’d shifted from “yes, …fuck yes….more, more…” to “Ohmygod please come…please, please come….”

Other came first. He pulled out and stumbled over to sit in a chair. Lover was next. She lay there, with his cock still throbbing inside her, her face buried into the nape of his neck.

When she lifted her head up and looked into his face, he was all smiles. She smiled, too, and kissed him passionately.

Slowly they disconnected their bodies, and she looked over at other, who was drinking from a cup of water and seemingly enjoying the view.

“So…hello. Nice to see you again,” she said with a glimmer in her eye.

“Nice to see you too!” he responded cheerfully.

They all laughed and began picking up their clothes and the rope and cleaning off the equipment.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a couple of the spectators quietly and respectfully shuffle off and leave them to decompress alone.

Priorities

I’m falling.

I was laying on my back on some sort of exercise bench that was rickety and only long enough to support me from ass to shoulders. My head was hanging backward off one end, and I was struggling to find a position or some leverage that would stabilize my legs without aggravating the highly-invasive crotch rope that was digging into my ass and cunt.

I’m falling. I thought, but all I could muster out loud was a minor squeak.

My arms were bound in front. My everything was bound in front, with his rope crisscrossing to contain my shoulders, arms and chest in a firm and constant embrace.

He was standing behind me. When I opened my eyes I could see the black of his jeans as he leaned over my body to grope and touch and prod. The bench wiggled again and I squirmed to compensate. Without the use of my arms, i couldn’t brace myself for a fall. I could get my wrists out of the cuff, though, if I had to. Free up enough of my arms to grab hold of something.

I looked up again. I became aware of the closeness of his crotch to my face. In my struggle to find balance and composure I’d not noticed the physical position I’d placed myself in.

By the time his fingers had traveled down to unfasten his belt buckle, I’d forgotten about falling. My mind became of singular purpose. I watched with growing anticipation.

I’m choking.

Instinctively, I pulled my wrists from out of their binds and reached around to grab his thighs from behind. Not to brace myself.

But to pull him deeper inside.

Confession Time

Coulrophilia is a sexual attraction to clowns. People who have coulrophilia, known as coulrophiles, may find themselves spending a lot of time thinking about clowns or having erotic fantasies about clowns. They might also seek out clowns as sexual partners or prefer to dress as clowns themselves during sexual encounters.

–from kinkly.com

I have a confession to make. ¬†Ever since Halloween, when my partner dressed up as a scary clown and we had a very intense scene involving rope, a hog tie, a dildo, and a really hard cock behind a really thin, colorful jumpsuit, I’ve had a thing for clowns.

Well, not just any clown, but him as a clown.

Since Halloween, he’s brought ol’ bozo by my place a couple times. The first time it was an unannounced surprise. It was hot as fuck.

The second time was last night. This time, it was planned. ¬†He’d had me perform a “clown summoning” ritual all week long. This entailed my paying tribute to the clown by having orgasms in public places. ¬†Not like, in front of people. ¬†Just in private, like in the work bathroom or in the elevator.

For tasks like theses, it’s very convenient that¬†I am highly orgasmic. But, I digress.

The night before, he and I had attended a rope event. He was …he¬†is sadistic. I was tied in some form of pretzel shape, complete with predicamental neck rope (shut up, it’s a word now) and with thin, scratchy coconut rope futomomo¬† as the icing on the hurty rope cake.

I was squirming in delicious agony. I couldn’t see what he’d done, so I asked him: “Is it pretty?”

He nodded, and then looked lovingly into my eyes. He melts me when he says and does things like this. ¬†I’m there, mostly naked, bound and vulnerable, and he stares into my eyes and says, “but I keep getting distracted by your face.”

(d’awwwwwwww!)

After he untied me and I was rubbing at the rope marks on my legs, I looked up at him. I knew the clown was coming out the following night. ¬†“Is the clown going to hurt me tomorrow?” I asked.

His expression grew wide-eyed and innocent. ¬†“I don’t know,” he responded. “You’ll have to ask him.”

And so began the little game where he’s Peter Parker to the clown’s Spiderman. ¬†He knows how to summon him. But he’s totally not him.

As he walked me to my car, I asked him “Will I see you tomorrow? ¬†After the clown?”

“Yeah, I may come by after he’s done.” he smiled.

When he arrived last night, I was up in my room, preparing.  See, the clown summoning ritual summoned more than just the clown.  Apparently, it also brought on my period, a few days early.

Ah well.  So I lay some towels on the bed, and some baby wipes and a trash can by the nightstand and waited for his instructions to come via text.

I’m not going to go into the details. It was HOT. It always is with him. ¬†I mean, the clown.

Afterwards, we went to separate bathrooms to clean up. ¬†I mean, I’m not usually one for gore, but the insane clown thing combined with day-one of period thing was kind of …you know, on the nose in a poetic sense.

When I came back down after a quick shower, he was there, wearing his street clothes and looking handsome and gorgeous with his regular, beautiful face. I kissed him hello.

“Listen, I may as well tell you now,” I started. ¬†“I’ve decided to just embrace it. I’m going poly.” ¬†I paused only for a second. “I’m totally fucking the clown.”

I smiled. ¬†He raised his eyebrows. “Is that going to be a problem? Do you want to talk about it?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ¬†“Well, fine then,” he responded. “Go ahead and fuck the clown. ¬†Do what you want.”

I love this man.

The Punishment

“Ugh,” she cringed. “This really isn’t necessary, Sir.”

“Shut up,” he answered as he sat on the bed beside her restrained body and ran his fingers along her thigh from knee to hip.

“Aren’t there better ways to punish me?” she asked.

“Not really,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You love all the other things I could do to you, and you don’t respond well to being ignored.”

“You could make me write lines.”

“I could,” he leaned down and sank his teeth into her fleshy inner thigh. She moaned and strained against the rope.

“Please,” she begged, her face horrified as he lay on his belly between her legs. “Please, not this. I’m sorry I fucked up, Sir.”

“Shut up,” he growled, as his mouth made its way toward the source of her dismay.

“But, Sir, you’ll get tired of it and I’ll feel bad. It takes too long this way. At least let me go wash up. I just feel so….,” She didn’t get to finish before he stuffed her discarded panties into her mouth then returned to his previous position.

“I said shut up. You earned this punishment. Now relax and take it like the good little slut you know you can be and maybe I’ll feed you my cock later.”

He’d finally found a punishment he loved to administer that she hated to receive.