Sep 182015

He didn’t know her, not really. It was their first time playing together. He had rope and the ring attached to the hard point, ready. His bag and the rest of his rope laid organized on the ground in easy reach.

He gestured her over and she eagerly went.

“What do you want me in?” she gestured her clothes.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” and he named some ties he was planning on doing, as well as the pace.

He assumed she knew the positions – she didn’t know them all but she’d been tied many times before – and trusted her body. He discussed her endurance level and ability from past observations, asked her for her concerns or limitations.

She had watched him scene many times, had faith in his abilities. She stripped down to just her panties, kneeled with her back to him as he directed, and anxiously waited.

He was the first person she had scened with other than her own partner.

His hands touched her where shoulder meets neck. They felt warm, large, covering her tense shoulders. Fully cupping the curved skin, moving slowly and softly from neck down the curve of her shoulders, down her arms and wrists, she focused in on his assured hands. She took calming breaths, tried to ease the tension she was sure he could feel beneath the skin. His hands gripped her wrists and positioned them behind her back, criss-crossing them at the small of her back.

“Are you okay for long periods in this? You seem to be.”

“I am,” she said confidently, though pondered what long periods meant.

Her wrists were tied and pulled higher into her back. His fingertips grazed across her skin from upper arm, across the chest skimming just below the collarbone, to the other arm. The touch accustomed her skin to touch before the rope was laid along the same path; his fingertips once again traversed the trail right before laying the rope. His arm was securely across her, his breath next to her ear and she focused on the warmth from both.

As he tied the chest harness, his hands never left her, his fingertips smoothly glided, his arms wrapped. He would lean forward and pulled her back at times so his own chest supported her, connected their two bodies.



And his arm as it traveled around leading the rope wound around her neck and applied subtle pressure – not enough to alarm or even choke, but the presence of his strength where she was vulnerable evident.

By the time he finished the chest, she was tuned into his breathing, his calm and assured pace relaxing her body.

He directed her to sit with legs in front and criss-crossed them, tying the legs together at the junction. The rope wrapped around her body before he did; he held her in his arms for a silent, relaxing moment, whispered to take a deep breath, inhaled with her, told her to exhale and with a hand in the center of her back, pushed her slowly down with the exhalation. The rope tightened her into a rolled position. Again, inhale, exhale, and her face became more acquainted with the floor.

He stroked her back, her skin. He became more commanding and pressed his body against her rolled form, forced the stretch even further, his breath in her ear, his chest tight against hers. His hands again turned caressing when his body heat was removed.

When he unraveled her form slowly…inhale, exhale up, he ordered her to lie on her stomach and assisted her, gently rotated and lowered her body. His hands never left her. He bent her legs, tied ankles to thighs. Her legs were tired and tense from the day’s activities, resistant to a position that would normally be easy, he expressed concern and she assured insistence; his patience and the demand of the rope accomplished the feat.

His touch was introduced to her skin before the rope around ankles and thighs. The rope became more commanding, tighter. She was still aware of his body, his touch, but the rope was a more dominating sensation.

She was tied by her bound legs – ankles to thighs, to the ring above them. He lifted her up a little and the rope dug into her thighs. Her back arched, the chest more firmly in the floor. Up.

There was softness in his touch as his fingertips explored the skin around the ropes, stroked up and down on the outside of thighs. Then he smacked, hard, where moments before he had caressed, over parts of rope that dug further into thigh muscles and exposed skin.

Caress, smack. She moaned into the pain – not overwhelming but so prominent it was all she could focus on.

Coconut rope, such a rough and scratchy material, wound its way across newly awakened red skin, found the exposed areas of legs.

He played her sensitive skin, pulled taut here and there, listened to her noises, watched the colors and muscles that became her.

Slap. She cried out as his hands solidly connected to her thighs wrapped in the tight and abrasive rope.

Smack, her noises beat in time to his hands drumming against her thighs. For a different tune, his fingers tugged or pulled the ropes.

He stood up and his foot firmly collided with her thigh. A louder cry, a fading moan. Again he kicked her, a few more times, her noises escaped into the room.

He lowered her legs to the ground, reached for her hands still tied behind her back, and asked her to squeeze his fingers, concerned. He had to repeat the softly spoken request. She was a mass of nerve endings and silent mind. Once the request penetrated through her haze, she looked back at him, his calm and steady gaze, and squeezed.

His hands followed a path up her body, fingertips searched up her neck, under her hair to the base of her head. They broke eye contact when he pulled her hair back and she sighed.

He tied her hair back, tied the chest harness to the fixed point above them, and this time arched her back with her chest above the ground and  her hips firmly planted down. Arched her more, the hair was secured back, forced her head up to continue the arch.

Ropes lowered down. Fingers massaged the base of her head and released the tie. Her legs were unwound, the scratchy rope caused her to alternatively groan and sigh with the slightest movement. The rest of the rope around her lower body dissolved as she sunk into the firm floor.

His hands soothed over the red hot areas – her body so aware of the slightest sensation. A knife traced its way across her curves from foot to thigh, her moans sounded entirely different. The other leg, unhurriedly, the knife so pale and cold against the crimson skin backdrop.

He positioned her to sit and held her as he removed the rest of the rope, leaving a length along her chest and positioned it so slowly across her neck, applied slight tension against her throat. Her head sighed back against his shoulder.

Once untied, he embraced her, his arms fully surrounded her, tuned into her relaxed but sore form, and her body leaned against his supportive chest. Her hands came up and touched his strong arms, encouraged the embrace, breathed in tune to the rise and fall of his chest.

For them being new to each other, the connection was incredible.

 Posted by at 5:27 am

  7 Responses to “A New Scene”

  1. This is fabulous! I’m not sure I really understood the appeal of rope before until I read this piece. I always thought it was beautiful, but didn’t think it would be the kind of thing that would get me in the gut, but wow, you really described a beautiful, hot as hell situation that had me looking at it in a whole new light. Thanks!

  2. This was simply gorgeous to read. Very intense, very intimate. (Also, I’ve never used coconut rope before. I get the impression it’s like untreated hemp?)

    xx Dee

  3. […] week I read a really excellent post from M at Cammies on the Floor about the process of being tied and suspended. It really turned me […]

  4. […] husband was unhappy I had scened with another (read here), but couldn’t articulate the whys. I had asked him months ago if I could scene with others […]

  5. I loved reading that, beautiful.

 Leave a Reply

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>