She coils her ropes around my head, my eyes
closed against the unease, the abrasion.
The first few lines she tightens
warp my beauty, distort, misshape
my identity, draw out tendrils of tension
from my mind. I’m not sure, but I’m in.
She traces lines across my body,
wraps my chest of worries. I breathe.
She moves me; pushes, nudges, tilts, twists,
ties a knot here and there, like punctuation.
I sink into inertia, let go of all initiative,
let gravity and her be the only forces upon me.
She holds me, my back on her chest;
slides fingers under ropes, yanks me
out of my docile drift. I moan out in delighted pain;
criss-crossed by her web of sudden pressure,
and a touch of scratch along the surface.
She yanks again; I laugh because it hurts
so nicely. Let my head fall back and push
against the ropes for more. She twists her hands,
the rope, tightens my amusement
into eager suffering. I moan again. Yes. This. Her
quiet strength transferred into my flesh and bones.
My suffering as her delight and food.
She feeds me water and a question, some information,
and a challenge. I’m sure. I’m in. She hits me,
rigid bundle of pure coconut scratch,
uncoils it, loops me in. Pulls it tight, and tighter,
until my throat moans my content containment in the pain.
Then grabs the other ties again, for more of that.
She winds us down, eventually, unravels the web
of touch and restraint, slow. Lets her loose ropes rest
on my skin, soft weight, a resonance. She curls
her body around mine; we breathe. Sigh. Smile.
No one told me rope could be like this.
Note: The original #Kinktober prompt for today was “bondage,” but I was more inspired by the rope than the restraint aspect, so I changed it. There will be more changes and adaptations like that in the future because that’s how it works for me.
Image source: Libreshot