Jun 292016
 

“I don’t think I’ll like this,” Mr. Texas started before he even began. I kept the cuffs on the front of the bed from the previous night when I tied him and he was fiddling with them and adjusting them to my height. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t have a bag of tricks like you do.”

“You can use everything I used,” I pointed out where I kept the things. He went through and also found the vibrator.

“No,” he said immediately placing it back in my belongings.

The absolute denial of a vibrator still astounded me but it’s his comfort level.

Once my wrists were tied, he asked if I wanted a blindfold. “Sure,” I replied. The expression I was seeing before the blindfold went on was one of a lost person. I understood – I remembered occasionally taking control and thinking what I should do in the moment. It’s something I rarely do in the moment – I normally have a plan. I reminded him of his comment the night prior, that if he remembers what I did to him and how I made him feel, he already had a foundation to build from.

His fingertips and mouth caressed me, not for long and certainly hesitantly. The Wartenberg Wheel grazed my skin, lightly so it didn’t hurt and so quickly across the skin that the moment wasn’t drawn out or extended with anticipation.

I didn’t care – I appreciated all his efforts in something that was so foreign.

However, my mind couldn’t help but drift to someone else and all the times I was blindfolded with him. How he played my body so expertly, how he would dance that delicate balance of pleasure and pain that kept my mind silent and focused on the absolute present moments. I had moments where I rejoiced in the memory and the experiences that we had, and hated that they crashed in on the moment that I was having – that my heart was still breaking.

Water was splashed on my shoulder. I jerked in the bindings, at the coolness of the water, the sudden shock of the sensation.

“What? It’s just room temperature, I don’t have ice,” he was already defensive of his decision to pour water on me. He poured a bit more down the hollow where my hip bone was, and some trickled between my thighs. I gasped. He poured some more between my lips and I jerked up with the cool water trickling in between my needy and hot recesses.

Perhaps water wasn’t so bad after all, though the bed would be soaking with his decision. I disliked it on my body, but between my legs wasn’t so bad. Still, I wasn’t going to tell him what I disliked, I wanted to encourage him – he who was so tentative.

  2 Responses to “Water Tying”

  1. So was the bed soaked? Sorry the ocd freak in me needs to know!

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