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.

Dec 042016

I saw one of my friends when I went to the swingers club. He was performing with rope and whips. Once his performance was done, he hugged me and it was a long and comforting hug that let me know he heard about my sister.

We talked about how we were going to see each other at a party the next day. “Will you tie me? I need the release.”

He looked down at me still within his arms, his understanding eyes apparent even through all his makeup. “I know you do. Perhaps. You aren’t allowed to drink tomorrow then,” nodding towards the wine I had been drinking.

“I know, I won’t.” Tomorrow’s event was a dry party, had always been at the venue we were going to. Almost all the events don’t allow alcohol around these parts, as people feel strongly that alcohol and many play styles shouldn’t mix. I had no plans to drink alcohol even before the event as I was driving.

So after one night with so many wonderful friends, the following night (after dealing with family things, then sorting and cleaning my sister’s things) I went to another group of wonderful friends. Have I mentioned that I am so grateful for such an amazing group of people? I needed this support system that I am not getting in my new town. I know so many people that there is never a lack of company do I decide to reach out and ask.

This venue is far more family feeling. They’re very close knit, and the Thanksgiving dinner that they do every year is so large, with so much food carefully coordinated by the dungeon mom – yes even holidays are celebrated family style (minus kids, so a weekend before the actual holiday followed by adults playing). After announcements and a costume judging (they allowed me to come out of costume), my friend asked if I was ready to do rope.

So we went to the suspension structure and I stripped down to my underwear as he prepared the music. “What kind of a thing do you want?”

“Hurty rope,” I told him. He doesn’t scene with me for some reason, and he rarely even ties me, but he’s skilled and a sadist and I was hoping to escape in pain so much that I would cry, that I would release the overwhelming tension and surrender it all from my body.

He is skilled, and the rope did hurt, but after transitions and truly painful suspension ties, I was out of the rope before I felt the pain enough to embrace it.

I was still grateful for his time.

Down, we mingled amongst others and I watched a few scenes. A rope person and I were discussing how rope never lasts long enough and my friend said, “oh really?” with that devilish gleam that he gets and soon he offered to tie again.

I just took off my jeans this time and it appeared that we were going to do floor work. The music was excellent and he was bobbing in time. I had a chest harness with wrists tied behind my back. He put a knee behind my knee and force-lowered me to the floor. He strung up an ankle to the hard point above me and pressed the sole of his shoe on my thigh still laying on the floor. I liked the pressure, I liked the exposed-vulnerable feeling of having one leg up useless for protection. He then picked me up from the chest harness and my breath strained with the sudden pressure, immediately I adjusted and it hurt but felt wonderful. He set me down and picked me up a few more times.

Did I mention the music was awesome? It’s amazing how music can create a scene, and in this case I feel it did. Next thing I knew I was being strung up and fully suspended with legs adjusted from time to time to a more painful position than the last. I was blindfolded and it was then used to pull my head back, in which he arched my back to tie the blindfold into an ankle. That was a tight tie, it didn’t allow any forgiveness or releasing of tension. It was very uncomfortable but sustainable, and I wished that I had been in it longer. He spun me around in that position, his hand brushing over my blindfold, my upturned chin, my tensely pulled back neck, my chest. He checked on me and I expressed I was okay.

And then I came out. The whole experience had amazing energy and I felt a connection to him whereas he normally won’t tie to where I can feel a connection. But it was too short, or perhaps I needed too much, to find the space in which I released my emotions and surrendered them up.

Still, he managed a huge feat as I left that night incredibly happy. I am so very grateful to have such supportive, gracious, and even skilled friends. I will miss them when I return back to my town, and since my sister is no longer around, I don’t know if I will return to see them.

That in itself is a different kind of goodbye that I just can’t contemplate right now.

Jul 022016
Sinful Sunday

There has been a lot of change in my life recently – heart-breakingly separated from my husband, a new town, new friends, a new kink community and new rope partners who treat me like I know nothing.

But thank goodness for my old friends who continue to support me. It’s one of the reasons why I go back so often to my old town and visit, they are looking after me in the most endearing of ways.

Here is a friend and I on one such visit – a beautiful and kinky way to support me.


Rope and Photo credit to TK and Autumn Sorrow, and rope partner in crime Red.

Apr 042016

For my A-Z Challenge, I’m going to get into the break up over my husband and myself. C is for Corner

*This was written March of last year. It is posted unedited and one of my most cherished memories of my ex and I in public with rope. It’s amazing how different a year is – how tragically sad in this case. 

We sat in a corner and waited impatiently patiently for the suspension point. I had already been suspended by someone else with another female who approached me, a  strenuous dual suspension that left my body achy and sweaty.

You wanted to practice another strenuous tie, I wanted an actual scene and not to practice something that may hurt me further. You tried, my body couldn’t take it, and we both felt a bit frustrated.

You wanted to try something else again; I wanted to make you happy, and so we waited in a dark corner, you holding me in front of you, as we watched the activity in the dungeon.

You put your lips to my neck and kissed softly. Your arm went around my neck and you applied pressure, still nuzzling the side of my neck, and I heard a click.

I smiled. You knew I recognized the sound, whispered in my ear as much. And then the arm tightened and pulled my head back and to the side, and the cold steel of the knife blade slid across the side of my exposed neck where your lips once were.

Alternating between choking and knife play on my neck, my nipples, and the inside of my thighs. You kissed me, opened my mouth with your fingers, replaced with tongue.

The tip of the blade scratched, I was a little concerned you drew blood a time or two, and the flat of the blade so cold as it caressed and stroked.

Chest harness, rope around throat. I needed to cum and you knew that. You discreetly slipped a small vibrator inside and gripped my throat, leaning down and whispering to cum. I obeyed.

You grabbed me and twisted me to an uncomfortable position around you, positioning your leg between my thighs and applying a lot of pressure. Between the pressure and the vibrator you told me to cum again, and I wasn’t sure if I could be discreet in our little corner again, and yet my body listened once more.

And again, with the addition of pinching my nipples and yet again. By that point I no longer cared if I was discreet.

You removed the vibrator, sat me up, and sat between my legs. You tied my ankles and strung rope behind my neck to hold them up, and began slapping on my lips. I couldn’t move to protect myself.

And when the rope allowed my ankles down, you tied first one thigh and then another, taking time to slide the knife up and down from time to time as you tied.

You had set me up for a suspension – I was unaware. I was unaware we were in a corner, unaware there were others who could view us.

I was only aware of you and what you did to me.

Masturbation Monday badge - small

 Posted by at 8:55 am
Apr 032016
Some of my favorite things? Rope, suspension, sex, our amazing connection and exploration, his body.
I can continue the journey with the first few, the chapter is closed on the last two.
Sex in a suspension was something on my bucket list. About a month ago, I accomplished that goal.
We took a video as a parting gift, here is a still picture from the video.
Sinful Sunday
Mar 292016

I did a 4 transition suspension that ended in a single leg futomomo. It was at practice, but it felt like a scene. The first part is the more technical aspect – not terribly interested in rope? Perhaps go down to the next star where he is tied, or the third star when I try it again.


There were two riggers and two bottoms. At first it started with my husband tying me. The other couple: a female rigger and tall man. We had all practiced rope together for a long time, but never with doing a suspension transition series together. Our bodies were tied differently: my husband forgot to tie into the hip harness and the male had a bit different chest harness.

Up for the first, and a face down just always hurts, but it’s bearable. Suddenly I am through the ropes and sitting with one leg straight and the other tied tightly in a futomomo (ankle to thigh and rope all around the thigh/calf keeping it there). As soon as I sat up, the pressure moved to my wrists, an odd thing and one that I cannot sustained. Down and sideways, and once my torso was sideways in the air I felt much better, had relief from most of the areas that pained me. My husband went over to the other couple and helped where he could – but the male needed to come down.

I understood that – it was strenuous. Once he was down, I came down.

He gets tied by husband and I watch with the female rigger (I also joke with some other people in the room and get all sorts of involved in their practice – because friends).

The female suggested we try it again, only swapping partners since I handled it better – perhaps it was the way that she was tying. So my husband begins to tie the male bottom. It would allow us bottoms to verbalize on the differences (we verbalize at practice on everything, it’s how the riggers learn so much I believe and have faith that they can try something new, though we’re both a bit bratty in our boredom of practicing, so there’s a joke always about needing gags for us).

The male’s body is already rubbed raw in some places from the rope, and the rope will be laid along those same reddened trails. I wince with him at parts.

He has a great sense of humor and comments that it’s unusual to have someone put rope over his shoulder, how he doesn’t need to bend down to assist a shorter partner. They are both above average in height.

As soon as he was up, it was obvious it was barely tolerable. They tried the three transitions, working quickly, getting feedback from him, discussing solutions from the rigger perspective, and he was down. They both took the rope off of him, discussed a few more things, and she took care of her bottom.

* It’s my turn back up.

I have a slight advantage of not having my body handle the first attempt as badly as the male’s did, the rope marks pink but not glaring red against my skin; I am not as in as much pain and I have also rested while they tried it again on him. I had the utmost respect for my male friend, his tolerance, stamina, and motivation far exceeds what I believe my own to be.

She ties me in jute, a rope I really don’t like but consent to because it’s what she is most comfortable with. She jokes how wonderful it is to tie someone that’s a normal height, reaches around and touches my breasts, cracking jokes about how rare that is, comments that I have hair and people in front of us playfully warn me she has that gleam in her eyes that bodes sadistic plans in the future. She asks my husband for a few pieces of advice.

I ask my husband afterwards to tie up a female who showed up and hasn’t been tied up yet. I know she wants to, and I wanted her to feel included in this practice. He offers and they move close to us just in case we need a spotter.

I am now off the ground and face down, my chest remembering this position and believing it was a bit soon. I breathe in and out.

“You got quiet all the sudden. Are you okay?” she asked. I had stopped joking pretty abruptly.

“Yes, I would tell you otherwise.”

“She gets quiet when the pain starts,” the male bottom added. We have been tied so many times now together in the room, and I believe that I understand his most of body language in ropes as well.

“She’ll tell you when something is not right,” my husband confirmed.

I felt proud that these people had faith that I would verbalize when needed, it is wanted in rope bottoms while practicing to verbalize what’s wrong. Even the female rigger knew this about me, but I think the sudden switch in my personality caused a quick concern.

She transitioned me to sitting with one leg bent (ankle to thigh) and one leg out straight. The stress on my wrists weren’t quite as bad, but I was shifting to one side, and that began to hurt my arm. She adjusted me a few times to no avail. Then she hurriedly worked towards the next transition.

As she strung rope between rope and upper arm, it pinched. She apologized as she could see the pinching and worked to correct it. My entire upper arm radiated such heat and pain – I began to sweat from the exertion and closed my eyes and breathed steadily, focusing my thoughts on my breath. “I’m fine,” I’d reassure her in-between groans of discomfort.

Then I was sideways and my arm slowly cooled down to a normal, if somewhat achy, feeling.

“Much better,” I told her gratefully. She spun me around a few times, asking some questions, and then asked how long I could go for still. “I’m okay, I can stay. I’ll give you a couple minute warning,” I told her. “But it depends on what you do on, how long you have.”

So she told me I was about to hate her and raised my legs. I cried out as the rope cut into one thigh that was tied so tight. “Don’t worry, you’ll be down in thirty seconds,” she comforted as all the support rope let go and all that was left was the single futomomo/painful thigh.

here is a futomomo, though at the time I was upside down dangling on leg from this position

Here is a futomomo (not taken the day that this written but for picture reference), though at the time I was upside down dangling from one leg from this position

“It’s the fourth transition,” the male said almost at the same time and I recalled that so far we had only done three.

Breathe. Breathe. Oh holy hell, breathe : My inward chant. My eyes were shut, I channeled my entire being into just breathing.

My husband’s voice somewhere in the background, “she’s fine. She will absolutely tell you if she can’t do it, trust me.”

He was right. I could handle it, even though it was excruciating. It was pushing my boundaries of being in pain in rope in ways that I am seldom tested in, and I was pretty proud of how I was handling it.

I began to be lowered, and ended up on the floor with my back against the woman’s chest. She held me as I trembled from the pain spikes, tipped my water bottle into my mouth for a drink.

Aftercare isn’t that common for practicing rope, but my body went through something pretty strenuous and reacted as such. I was grateful that I wasn’t placed on the ground, untied, and left to my own devices. I needed to come back to reality gently and with support, needed the patience to unravel both my body and mind’s reactions at the slow place that she unraveled the rope. I also had faith that she would take care of me as she felt needed; she was an experienced top. As she untied my legs, she used her partner’s legs as my pillow. She smoothed her hands over the reddened areas, softly soothing, and when I was sitting in front of her and fully untied, she gently scratched my back.

Yay for nails, they felt so good!

I was grateful, as I often am, for these people in the rope community. At times it feels like a close-knit family that is supportive, offers advice, pushes each other to go further, and takes care of each other.

 Posted by at 8:08 am