Peek-a-boo.
rope
There’s something kind of sweet about that extended, waiting tongue. And how both of their eyes are closed. And how he’s holding her head. Judging by the source, the scene’s probably rougher when set into motion. But, in my mind, it’s just plain tender.
Some days, he hangs her up that way. Arms pulled taut, feet arched practically vertically, toes just grazing the cold floor. He’ll check the tightness of the ropes, pull out any give, tug the knots away from her prying fingers, and just go about his business on the other side of the room.
Perhaps he’ll appreciate her for a moment if he passes by, but he doesn’t touch her. He’ll chuckle to himself as she strains to lower the balls of her feet. He’ll smile at her moans, her grunts, her muffled pleas for attention. And when the room takes on the faint smell of her neediness, he’ll try his hardest not to add to her mortification by uttering a teasing comment or two in passing. He’ll try, but more than a few will slip out, raising the blush in her cheeks.
And, finally, when he has found the time to attend to her, he’ll pull her to him and take what’s his.
They hold little conferences like this so he can discuss her behavior with her. He lets her know how much he appreciates her submission. But, he also tells her where she’s failed him, how she could serve him better, and exactly what about her bothers him. He picks her apart. She just has to listen and nod understandingly as she feels his eyes boring into her, his words reforming her, the chair beneath her growing wet.
He’s not going to even think about her until after he’s had his second cup, at the very least.
“I sit here thinking about how much courage it takes to live an ordinary life…I say to myself, That’s okay—this is real, this is something I can handle, I’m just sitting here, I’m not doing anything bad. And then I leave because I can’t accept the brokenness.“ – Colum McCann, Let The Great World Spin.
The temptation to make a “burning the candle at both ends” joke is almost too great.
This year’s May Day festivities kicked off with a pleasant romp around the maypole.
(PS. The ferocious-looking dark-haired woman shows up a ton in photos on this site. If anyone knows her name, please please pop it in my askbox. I dig ‘er.)
I really haven’t gotten into the art of knot-tying and rope-arrangement with any of my partners. I’ve just happened to encounter a bunch of function over form people who prefer to leap into action rather than take time in painstakingly spacing and tying each knot. It’s never really a problem for me, either. I love just getting down to business.
But, there’s really something so sexy about having to lie there and wait while your partner goes through the motions of neatly arranging the patterns in the rope work. I doubt I could hold still so long without just breaking down and begging him/her to get the show on the road. But, hm, maybe knot-tying itself is a form of sadism.
Aw, sweetie, I know you’re uncomfortable. But it’s making Master and I so happy. And that’s really all that counts when you think about it, hm?
(In other news, I am so hunting down that dress or sewing myself a version of it.)