Rope, bondage and freedom

It’s no secret to some of my friends, that I’m a self-confessed ‘rope slut’. Last weekend I was tied in rope bondage for the first time in over two years.

And as soon as the first strands of hemp were against my flesh, I felt that familiar feeling. The closeness of the rope, the gradual tightening as it constricts. The restraint, slowly but surely becoming very real. Soon we stopped nearly all conversation. I was concentrating on my breathing – and trying to remember to actually do it. I was enjoying the slow enveloping constraint as my freedom slipped away. It was like being immersed into a warm bath, it surrounded me, engulfed me, cocooned me.

As the knots became more and more interconnected, so my grasp on the world slipped from my mind. I was soon alone in a different place, and yet not alone. The frequent tugging and attentions of the rope rigger, the touches, the adjustments, the scratches of raw hemp against my flesh, all conspired to connect us and yet to quieten my mood, lift my spirits and elate me. I was secured to the chair that I was sitting on, the slats becoming part of my bondage, part of the constrictive freedom-giving security. I could be myself. I could truly relax. I didn’t tell her at the time in case I worried her, but I wanted to cry with pleasure, it was such an emotional connection, it was beautiful.

I know that some people just “don’t get” rope. For me, it’s one of the few scenarios in which I’m truly truly happy.

And to the lady who wove my restraint that day, you have my thanks and my love.

 

About severin

Nobody special and what I write might not be to everyone's taste - it tends to be a bit naughty. so you've been warned.
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