Like a Brisket, Part Ten

After Penthouse introduced The Prodigy to his homemade spreader bar, he demonstrated another sort of hogtie on me while all of them cooed over the rope-work. I admit, I was sort of upset that I didn’t have eyes in the back of my head to see it, so Craftsmate was nice enough to take a few pictures for me. And so I felt generous enough to share this one with you guys. 

I might be blushing tons sharing this with you all right now, so bear with me.

That’s Penthouse’s belt and the whole arrangement was actually pretty comfortable. I could roll onto my side, I could push my legs up, and I could have someone else pull me up by it so I mostly left the ground without feeling much strain on my shoulders. So, I got kind of cozy on the rug and just watched the other three mess around with the rope.

Eventually, The Prodigy picked up a length of it and turned to Penthouse, making the statement that reduced us to so much laughter that we were almost in tears:

“Could you help me with Craftsmate? I want to tie him up like a brisket.”


Like a Brisket, Part Nine

When I was out of the hogtie, Penthouse cracked some joke, asked everyone if they wanted to see something funny, and threw me over his shoulder. I flailed a bit, mostly because I was wearing a dress and I had accidentally flashed my butt enough that evening. 

“Be careful,” I said when he put me down. “I can kick your ass.”

He chuckled, “fine. Come here and kick my ass.”

Welp, I made a conscious effort to do that. Honestly. But I wound up over the kid’s knee pretty quickly. I squirmed and fought and tried to sit up, but he had me down pretty well. 

“I think Ivy needs a spanking,” Penthouse said. “What do you think, Prodigy?”

“I defer to Craftsmate,” The Prodigy replied.

Craftsmate snorted, “and I defer to Ivy.”

So, here I am, over this guy’s lap, in a group of kinky people, having to decide whether or not I deserve to get spanked. And, tumblr, it’s damn hard for me to articulate when I want something like that. It’s part of the whole shame thing. I would rather have someone else impose it upon me and pretend I dislike it than admit I want it. Yes, even in a crowd of kinky people I was ashamed to admit I enjoy it.

But, part of it was the issue of tone. I wasn’t sure if the entire day was supposed to be entirely demonstrative and academic or cross into something more playful. Thus, I am over somebody’s knee attempting not to get turned on. I am literally going over in my head and telling myself not to act like I liked this when it was pretty obvious that I did.

“Well,” I answered to Penthouse, “I guess I defer to you.”

That spanking hurt like a bitch. In a good way. But what didn’t hurt in a good way was how anxious I was getting and unnecessarily insecure around the people I should have been the least insecure with. Oh, shame.


Like a Brisket, Part Eight

Penthouse came back with the riding crop. I had never been hit with it before and jumped a bit in the hogtie when he thwacked it right against my back near my shoulder blade.

“Ow, sheesh,” I muttered as he rubbed where he had hit.

“See,” Penthouse explained in the little official demonstration tone he seemed to put on whenever he just wanted to jerk me around. Sure, he checked in and asked permission like a champ, but he wasn’t above being a little cheeky. “The problem with a hogtie is that even though she can’t move, your access is kind of limited." 

He punctuated his little lecture with a few more hits to my back.

"But, see, you’ve got the back just fine,” he continued as he kept whacking me with the crop. 

I groaned and buried my face in the carpet. But, I liked the sting and I’ve never been opposed to a little condescension.

Penthouse moved down to my legs. “And, you can get the legs, too. This all right, Ivy?”

“Just fine,” I muttered into the rug just as The Prodigy got herself free. My hands had started to turn red from the cinched rope around my wrists and so I was let out as well to swallow down the rest of my cocktail after that ordeal.

“Go check in the bathroom, see if I left any marks,” Penthouse said with a smirk. “They’re all probably under your dress. I’d like to know.”

For the record and for all my whining, there were none.


Like a Brisket, Part Seven

Penthouse had put The Prodigy into one of these sorts of harnesses and she asserted that she wanted to try to get out of it herself. Unlike mine, which was apparently more for function, The Prodigy’s ropework was really more for aesthetic and could, with some working, but wriggled out of.

I, on the other hand, only got out when someone finally let me out when I had to go to the bathroom. When I returned, The Prodigy was still trying to squirm her way out and Penthouse had shown Craftsmate how to use the rope to make cuffs that cinched tighter when the person inside pulled on them.

A little while later, I wound up inside of them with my arms behind my back as we cheered on The Prodigy as she worked the loops down her arms.

“Now, see, you can make her do this,” Penthouse grabbed the extra rope on the end of my cuffs and pulled my arms up so I bent forward. I kicked back at him playfully. “Or, if you got her on the ground, you could hogtie her pretty easily.”

I guess I don’t have to explain to you all how I wound up a little bit later.

The thing about hogties with that tie is that if you struggle even a little bit, your wrists get tighter. And, so, I was stuck that way, trying to get comfortable on the rug while The Prodigy crossed an hour of being stuck trying to get out of the harness and Penthouse went to go get his riding crop.


Like a Brisket, Part Six

We arrived back to the apartment, let Craftsmate out and sat down with a few drinks to get to know each other. It was a little awkward at first, but eventually we settled into a groove of telling each other how we’d figured out we were kinky.

I was about halfway through my story when Penthouse got up from the couch and walked over to the table. He picked up one of the crocheted lengths of rope and started unwinding it without introduction.

I cocked a brow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tying you up,” he replied nonchalantly, moving back to the couch with the rope.

I laughed, “oh. Okay.” I set my drink down. “Good to know.”

I continued trying to tell my story as Penthouse was tying me up, but by the time we got to The Prodigy, all hope of normal conversation had sort of vanished. Instead, Penthouse was just talking through the harness he was putting me in that, unlike the knot he had tied before, was basically impossible to get out of. And, by pulling on this somewhat awkwardly applied rope between my breasts, Penthouse could essentially drag me around the room with ease. It was a pretty interesting introduction to being tied up with rope, but I had to admit the harness was sort of pretty and I was impressed that no amount of wriggling could get this thing loose.

He tied the excess rope off to the leg of the couch, limiting my range of motion to about two feet in any direction. While I tried to persuade Craftsmate to itch the tip of my nose, Penthouse offered to show The Prodigy a different kind of harness. 

Like a Brisket, Part Five


So, once I had gotten free, the fourth and final member of our minimunch arrived. For reasons that will be later revealed, I’m going to call her The Prodigy. She had not been feeling well and had considered not even coming and, while the atmosphere with Craftsmate and Penthouse was pretty chill, I was glad she had decided to join our group. The gender balance and the presence of someone who did not read my tumblr was nice.

We introduced ourselves and small-talked a bit until the subject of me having broken out of Penthouse’s robe’s belt came up. I said I thought I had learned the knot from breaking out of it and proceeded to demonstrate on Penthouse. While I hadn’t wanted to bite my way out, he had no shame in leaning down and using is teeth to get out of there in two seconds.

We all decided we wanted to check out the nearby farmer’s market and head to the liquor store. I’m not totally sure why it happened, but Penthouse wound up tying Craftsmate’s wrists the way he had just tied mine and I had tied his. And, so, we wound up walking through the farmer’s market with Craftsmate’s wrists tied in front of him, laughing as he struggled to get his wallet out.

“So,” Penthouse asked me when The Prodigy and Craftsmate were out of earshot, “is this going to wind up on your tumblr? Be one of those big eight-posters or something?”

I chuckled and shook my head, “shut up.”

At the liquor store, Craftsmate decided to be silly and ask two salespeople for these ridiculous foreign bitters with his hands still tied in front with the robe belt. Finally, the second salesperson to help him out exclaimed, “is this some sort of a game?” To which Penthouse replied, “yes, and I’m winning.”

Strangely, in comparison to the incident at the sewing supplies store, I wasn’t embarrassed at all. I suppose it was just how silly and innocuous it all was.

So, if any of you saw a couple of giggling kids with a friend with his hands tied in front at your neighborhood farmer’s market or liquor store, now you know what’s up.


Like a Brisket, Part Four

I had nothing to show for show and tell, so I figured I’d let Craftsmate and Penthouse show me a knot and I’d stubbornly try to get out of it before the final member of our party arrived. Penthouse used the belt from a robe and did a fairly simple but pretty tight two-column sort of deal on my wrists in front. I didn’t want to put my mouth all over it, so I figured if I just got one of my thumbs out I could manage just fine.

While I was stumbling around, trying to work my wrists lose and pressing the knot against my knee, corners of tables, and basically anything else around, Penthouse and Craftsmate set to laying out the things they had bought and figuring out how exactly they were going to make a pair of cuffs. 

Eventually, Craftsmate looked up and chuckled, “I love how we’re just discussing this while she’s trying to get out over there.” I rolled my eyes, but I had to laugh. I had gotten the knot loose enough that I could slide my thumb up about halfway through the belt, but not enough to get it out fully.

I’m still not entirely sure what the exchange was, but for some reason I called Penthouse a bitch and he pretty calmly grabbed me and pulled me over his knee. I went to sit up, but he used an arm to pin me down. “Now, what did you call me?” He asked.

I stifled a laugh and looked over to Craftsmate, “come on, vouch for me here.”

“No can do,” Craftsmate replied, “I’m kind of a voyeur.”

I huffed and craned my neck to look back up at at Penthouse, “a bitch. I called you a bitch.”

“Uh huh,” he said, hauling me to my feet by my shoulders and walking me over to the carpet. “Thought so.” He applied some pressure to my knees and I knelt down, still trying to work my hands free. He looked down and chuckled, “how’s it going?”

I groaned and tried to use my knee for leverage, “I just need to get the thumb out.”

Penthouse laughed and pushed me down on the carpet. “Go on, then, get your thumb out,” he said, holding me down in an effort to make it more complicated until his phone buzzed that the girl from Ivy University had arrived. He helped me up and I stumbled forward before feeling that there was finally the give in the belt I needed.

“Oh, here it goes!” I exclaimed and yanked my thumb, followed by my whole hand, out of the belt. I shook it loose and set it down on the counter.

Penthouse and Craftsmate applauded. I took a bow.


Tied with a bow.


Like a Brisket, Part Three

When we got to Penthouse’s place, we played a game of show and tell.

Craftsmate went first and produced from his bag a series of floggers he had made, including something Penthouse had essentially commissioned him to make. When he took out the flogger he had hit me with, I had to chuckle. That thing and I had a history.

Penthouse showed us this giant leather glove he had been using to essentially flog people with that didn’t hurt very much but made one hell of a noise when it made contact with anything and his new riding crop. However, the highlight of his show and tell had to be this absurd wooden toy sword he had found and bought because he figured it would be good for paddling people with.

Leave it to kinky people, right?

Craftsmate let me try out hitting him with it and Penthouse made some room in his kitchen to allow me a good swing. To play fair, and out of pure curiosity, I turned and allowed Craftsmate to hit me back. 

I shrieked when it made contact with the fabric of my sundress and my rear. It was probably one of the hardest hits I’ve received on the ass from anything. My experience with paddling is fairly slim, so I was walking around the kitchen, holding my ass, and whining for a few minutes after the hit. It stung like crazy.

“Turn around,” I said, “I want to look at my butt.”

I looked over my shoulder and just saw red. With a huff, I told them to turn around. “You’ve seen my butt already anyway,” I cracked before turning and lifting the bottom of my dress once more, “take a look at this.”

Penthouse chuckled, “there’s a line on your butt. That’s kind of awesome.” He looked over the toy sword and smirked.

“Sorry, Ivy,” Craftsmate said, “but, yeah, line on your butt.”


Like a Brisket, Part Two

Naturally, the old shame reflex kicked in fairly soon into the afternoon when Craftsmate took out a cuff he’d made to show us at the table during lunch and I all but ran away right there.

When, after lunch, we went to a sewing supply store to pick up supplies for the kinky arts and crafts component of the mini-munch, I essentially put my sunglasses on and tried to hide when Penthouse and Craftsmate stood there and loudly discussed d-rings. I nearly died right there when Craftsmate took the cuff out again to compare.

“Oh, would you calm down?” Penthouse said when he saw me hiding by the iron-ons. “We’re right near (neighborhood synonymous with some pretty alternative lifestyles), everyone here’s kinky. For God’s sake, they keep the rope next to the clothespins and rubber straps at the Home Depot near here. They know their customers.”

And, yeah, logically, I can look at the situation and know that nobody cares. But, I still felt out of my element and I felt a huge tug on my impulse to feel ashamed and anxious. Craftsmate had joked the other day that online I was a “gung ho goddess with a rapper attitude” about all this, but in person I was awkward as all get-out about kink. With almost all of my kinky interactions being incredibly private and in the context of a relationship, I was very much out of my element in this setting.

So, I was endlessly relieved when we left the store to head to Penthouse’s place.


Like a Brisket, Part One

So, Craftsmate and I met up with his kinky friend from high school who now goes to a different Ivy than us just in time for lunch. I had found out that morning that the girl from Ivy University who was supposed to be joining us was going to be a few hours late and that fact made me a little anxious. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Craftsmate or his friend, but I figured it was a little awkward to sort of be sandwiched between two people who’ve read my blog with no neutral party.

“So, is pizza okay by you?” Craftsmate’s friend, who I’ll call Penthouse (and assure you all, on his behalf, that we all had a ton of trouble coming up with a nickname for and I promise it’s less urban elite than it sounds, really), asked.

I laughed. “Have you not read my blog?” I figured I should at least hit the awkward on the head early in the afternoon. Acknowledge the facts and move on. I had already dispelled most of the discomfort with Craftsmate through this method.

“Seriously,” Craftsmate chimed in, “she’s big on pizza.”

“I don’t read it as a food blog!” Penthouse exclaimed. "Besides, if it were a food blog, it would be about two foods.“


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