May 272017
 
Sinful Sunday

It’s been months since I’ve really felt the pain and pleasure of rope, perhaps longer. Mr. Texas is frustrated, to say the least. He’s clever, capable, a quick learner. He’s done some amazing bedroom bondage and predicaments – and he’s only really learned the basics. But rope to me is strange…it’s a shadow of a memory that I love but that triggers me towards others. (Plus I’m not finding a rope community here still for Mr. Texas and I to be comfortable in.)

Apr 062017
 

*Taken from notes I wrote on a phone, I am leaving this unedited. I believe this was when my ex husband and I were practicing rope with some of our closest friends, and he wanted to see if he could rig a predicament bondage with a suspension and Doxy wand, where I could put down my foot to take away some pain of the suspension but it would cost me. 

**I wrote this August 2015, half a year before we divorced. 

You’re really sexy babe he said as he tied my legs to the pole, knees bent on the floor, thighs parted.

It was a reassurance in the midst of my shyness, of my uncertainly in a room full of people watching, spread in such a manner in just my underwear, a thin sliver of pretended modesty. He whispered it before he bent me over, exposing me more, so vulnerable feeling except his words of praise, of proudness, of appreciation of the trust I placed in him, bent me over until my face hovered inches above the ground, the chest harness of rope wrapped tightly around my beating heart stopping my face from hiding, showing my body bent, never a flattering angle for a stomach and mine especially felt awkward hanging curled in such an angle. Yet his eyes never left my mother’s hips, my muscular thighs, my rear end invitingly titling up with such ease of access, the small of my back.

He saw beautiful and I felt the warm glow of approval.

Apr 022017
 
Sinful Sunday

[jwplayer mediaid=”7163″] When my friend Yuè Lǎo took this photo, I thought of Type O Negative’s song, Christian Woman.

A cross upon her bedroom wall – from grace she will fall
an image burning in her mind – and between her thighs

A dying god-man full of pain – when will you cum again?
before him beg to serve or please – on your back or knees

No forgiveness for her sins – prefers punishment
would you suffer eternally – or internally – ah

 

Feb 092017
 

Febraury Photofest

My ankles were tied to the legs of a wooden chair, spreading thighs and exposing the lacy fabric thinly shielding my sex. Next, wrists were tied behind my back and rope ran across my chest in a harness that he used as a way to grab and maneuver me. He pushed me down onto a plush ottoman in front of the chair and caressed my butt through my panties, then I felt the cold prickle of a blade slide up my calf, my thigh, held my breath as it slid under the fabric and heard at the same time as felt the fabric being cut. He cut the shoulder straps of my tank top.

So fucking hot.

He slit the fabric up the side of the hip, and then the waistband. The fabric fluttered down, exposing the curves of my bottom. His fingers traced the curves and dipped into my pussy, fingered me to an orgasm.

He pulled me to sitting, sat himself down on the ottoman in front of me. He was naked. He pulled me back down slowly while kissing me until he laid back and his cock was at my mouth. It opened for him and I tasted his desire at the tip, slid lips down his hard shaft, sucked and licked my way down to impale him at the back of my throat. I bobbed as much as I could with hands tied behind my back. After a few minutes, and some groans of appreciation, he pulled me up by the rope around my chest and I was back to upright.

He clenched the fabric at the front of the panties and pulled it slowly, sliding the pieces of fabric between my wet slit and the chair. When it was fully removed, the knife appeared in his hand again and the bottom of my tank was cut, then a bit more, every time a bit gave and the fabric parted, it caused me to catch my breath a little. And then he took two sides and ripped the rest of the way until the rope stopped him. Then I was breathless while I moaned in appreciation. He pulled the remaining top half of the top down, revealing first one breast, which he kissed and caressed, and then another. He cut through the fabric and pulled it slowly to one side until I was naked except for the rope.

He untied my ankles and picked me up, kicking the chair out of the way. He laid my back gently down on the ground and tied my legs tightly ankle to thigh. He fingered me to an orgasm and my bindings felt even more tight into my thigh muscles as I shuddered. And then he bent me over the ottoman and fingered me again. teasing the tip of him against my entrance but not entering. He picked me up and laid me down on my stomach on the ottoman, liberally applying lube and then a glass anal plug. He entered me, creating such a full sensation with the anal plug and granted me an orgasm before withdrawing and rolling me over on the ottoman.

He slid deeply into my depths, his body weight causing my own to dig painfully into my wrists tied behind my back. It was a minor inconvenience in comparison to the tightening of pleasure. The angle that he was thrusting in and out of me was exquisite and rubbed all the right places. I moaned through two orgasms before I heard his accompanying groans of his own release.