If you really want out, just find the door and you can leave.
Seriously. Just go over to the door, it’s not even locked.
No hassle at all.
I’ll give you a few minutes to decide.
And if I find you’re still here, I’ll assume you’ve decided to stay.
rope
In which it is convenient that people I know follow my tumblr:
I would like to try this.
Please and thank you.
I have little addictive tendencies. I’ll get hooked onto the strangest things and just crave it endlessly afterwards. I’ll pine after it and hold out for the next time I get to try.
Ever since my recent first experience with rope and the gorgeousness that is a rope mark, I’ve been longing for that sensation again.
Hopefully, I won’t have to hold out for too painfully long.
Craftsmate just informed me that the correct term for what I was experiencing is being “rope happy”, not subspaced.
What. Ever.
(via art-or-porn)
Like a Brisket, Part Eleven
From my spot on the floor, I couldn’t really see what was going on with The Prodigy and Craftsmate. I know Penthouse was partially talking her through some of the basics, but she was mostly doing the “tying like a brisket” herself.
Eventually, and while I was partially sub-spaced (which I’ll describe in detail in the next post, swearsies), I suddenly heard Penthouse exclaim how amazing that was. I looked up and saw some pretty impressive rope-work, especially considering that this was The Prodigy’s first time tying someone up.
“Oh man,” Craftsmate exclaimed, looking over his shoulder at the ropes, “this is like…this is the before picture. And damn. This is the before picture.”
Photo from here.
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 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.
Guys, no, seriously. Look at this.
He’s wearing sunglasses in the bathtub.
Fuck him and everything he stands for.
It can be so hard sometimes just to focus on your own thoughts. It’s in these moments of quiet contemplation and enforced solitude, of a self-awareness brought on by the presence of foreign sensation, that the amount of stimulus that exists surprisingly can drive you into a moment with yourself and your thoughts.