Tag Archives: rope

Open letter to rope people

Dear rope people,

The takate kote is not the only way to tie someone up. There are plenty of other ways to tie someone up. You don’t have to put the arms behind the back. In fact, you don’t even have to tie the arms up at all. I promise, nobody will take away your Official Shibari Master Club card. And really, if you are all so concerned about the dreaded nerve damage and the even more dreaded wrist drop

Maybe you should do a different fucking tie.

Seriously. I am sick of hearing the “woe is me” whining from rope bottoms bemoaning how they have to sacrifice their body for their art. Newsflash, you don’t have to. I’m even more sick of hearing the self-congratulatory blatherings of rope tops about how they have tied up someone, that someone got nerve damage, and the top is doing the right thing by admitting it happened. Congratulations for being a decent human.

Now you can all keep whining about nerve damage and the dangerous dangers of your dangerous shibari…

Or you can do a different fucking tie.

That is all,

Anonymouskinky

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30 Days of Kink: 6 – 10

Day 6) Describe your weirdest/most interesting sexual fantasy.

I have a hard time determining what is “weird” and what isn’t. So many things seem quite normal to me, but my perspective has likely been skewed by spending so much time in kinky or kink-friendly spaces. I’d say that my blood play fantasies would probably qualify as weird or interesting to several people. However, they seem quite normal to me and they are largely no longer fantasies since I get to do them.

What might qualify as “weird” and is definitely in the realm of fantasy is my love of tentacles. I’d love to have tentacles with which to tease and torture my partners! I’d make one sexy tentacle monster.

Day 7) What’s your favorite toy?

Hmmmmm. I’d be hard pressed to pick a favorite. I do consider both the Husband and the Wild Thing to be my boy toys. So they’re my favorite toys. However, if we’re talking about kink implements, I’d say either the scalpel or the bullwhip. I really enjoy making people bleed. There’s something very visceral about seeing your lover bleeding and knowing that he’s bleeding his life’s blood for you.

Day 8) Post a kinky image you find erotic.

from the tumblr work is never over http://workneverover.tumblr.com/image/100771907976

from the tumblr work is never over http://workneverover.tumblr.com/image/100771907976

There are so many things to love about this picture. He’s a cute young pretty thing. She is older. He is in sexy lingerie and they are matching. I have a weakness for petite femme boys who will let me dress them up and torture them!

Day 9) Post a kink related song or music video you enjoy

Oddly, this is a struggle for me. I don’t play to “kink related songs.” I play to songs I like that have a good beat. A few things come to mind though. “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. It certainly isn’t meant to be kinky. But the chorus states: They don’t love you like I love you. And, well, non-kinky people usually don’t show they love someone by tying him up and beating the hell out of him!

Day 10) What are your hard limits?

No minors. No animals. No scat. No vomit/rainbow/Roman play. I do not share my partner(s).

 

This is my life: Silent Witness

This moment. You and I and the rope and the music on the stereo. Black cotton sheets under your body become the dark matter of the universe.

Moments become years. The beat of the music is the sound of atoms colliding. Our bodies intertwining like a helix, we are reflection and creation.

Years are eons. I surround you as you bare yourself to me, and we are one thought, one feeling, one motion. We raise our voice in whispered songs as the galaxy stops to listen.

Time loses itself in us. Our passion spirals out into the nothingness, becoming everything. All that is and was and shall be pauses, breathes with us, and moves as one.

 

 

(Yes, this was my weekend experience. Sometimes he’s so beautiful I have no words. And sometimes I do.)

This is my life: Saturday

He was lounging on the table so casually. Naked. Unselfconscious. Relaxed. Humming along to the music I had playing. He looked so incredibly inviting. I could hardly wait to begin. But I wanted to take this moment to admire his casual grace. He saw me notice him and smiled. It only served to increase his charm. I told him how relaxed he looked and he made a joke about lounging on pianos and singing to me. It was sweet and funny and it ended the moment enough for me to want to start tying him up.

I tied him around the waist and down each leg. I needed to tie him to the table, but wanted to have something prettier and more extensive than simply tying his ankles to the legs of the table. He loves when I’m creative with rope. He preened in the rope and looked so happy. I had him lay down on the table so I could tie his arms to the front table legs. I wanted to give him enough play to reach me if he needed to touch my skin for comfort. Or to shift his shoulders. I planned to be very mean to one of them.

I cleaned my hands, I cleaned him. He looked quite relaxed and peaceful. I knew it wouldn’t last. The first needle. It was smaller than the last time I did needles with him, but I knew it would be harder. I slid the needle in. All of it. I buried the whole metallic length under his skin. He might have thought he was prepared for it. I’d told him what I had planned. He wasn’t prepared. He wailed. I smiled. I’d known it would be much more challenging. I also knew he could handle it.

And he did. Needle after needle. Some of them directly on top of each other. Some crisscrossing other needles. Some on their own. I put them in one after the next. He made such beautiful noises. He tensed his muscles. He grabbed my legs for support and comfort. He cried. I love when he cries. Then it was done. They were all in. I looked at him, bound and bleeding on my table. His adorable perky ass cheeks were framed beautifully by the ropes. I started spanking him.

He was caught completely by surprise. Unprepared for this new and different pain. It was magnified by the pain of the needles in his back every time his body tensed. I spanked and cropped and hit his beautiful bottom until he was breathless. Until it was bright red. He was crying again in great heaving gasps. I stopped and rubbed his lower back and arms as he reached for me, craving the touch of my skin as much as he could get. I comforted him with pets and skin while he cried.

Then it was time to pull out the needles. I was kind with a few of them, pulling them straight out singly. But it’s not my nature to be kind during a bloodplay scene. The rest I twisted, turned, pulled them out in pairs and groups. He screamed. It’s probably worse than when they are going in. Just when it seems like the pain will be over, it isn’t. But then they were all out. All gone. And he lay bleeding and sobbing on the table. I untied his hands and climbed up on the table so I could hold him gently. I love to hold him as he cries in my embrace. I love how he suffers so beautifully. I love how he trusts me enough to give his body to my ministrations fearlessly.

This is my life: Tuesday journey

He was already feeling things before we even got started. I was in the bed getting things arranged how I wanted them. He came to the edge of the bed and knelt with his head in my lap. I knew it was going to be one of those nights.

I had him strip and get in bed so I could get his hair out of the way. I needed to see his beautiful face. I wanted his hair out of his eyes. I pulled it back and told him to go get me a length of rope. One. So he slid out of the bed and brought me back my rope. He presented it to me on both hands. Which made me smile. Then I had him get back in the bed so I could tie him up.

I bound his chest and arms. Pulling him against me. Kissing his neck. Biting his shoulder. Holding him in my arms as much as with the rope. Then I ran out of rope. I teased him by having him go find me more rope while still bound. He was adorable looking around the room at all the rope til he found one that was the right length and color. I made him kiss my feet before squirming back into bed. Then I finished tying him up.

I laid him back and had him close his eyes. I wrote on his pretty face. My message to him. My desires. My needs. On my beautiful canvas. Claiming his skin and his freedom. Taking what I wanted. Taking his skin in my mouth and under my hands. I tortured him with pain and pleasure. I wanted him to hurt and soar and ride the waves to where I wanted to take him. I watched him struggle and sigh and soar. And when I was ready, I led him to the end of that journey. Letting him explode for the price of pain. And find the end of his journey. My arms.

He fell asleep in my arms. Still bound. I wish every night could be like that night.

Musings on aftercare

It was a night like many other. I had tied him up. I had teased him. I had used him how I saw fit. I had made him the canvas for my art, my kink. I untied him and had him clean up a bit. And then, suddenly, it wasn’t a night like any other any more. I was in the bed waiting for him. Waiting for our usual post-scene ritual of snuggling and just feeling each other’s skin. He came up to the bed and… announced he was very tired and was going to go get some sleep.

To say I was astonished is an understatement. He’s usually all over me after a scene. He can’t get close enough to me. Which is fine with me since I thrive on touch. I may be quite particular about whom I want touching me, but if I want someone’s touch then it’s never too much. My shock must have shown on my face. He relented that maybe he could snuggle for a few minutes. Reluctantly. And he meant a few minutes. In under 5 minutes he was out of the bed and out the door. Never again.

I need aftercare. It isn’t always all about the one getting hit. Sometimes it’s about the one doing the hitting (or tying or teasing or humiliating or whatever) as well. For me, aftercare is as much a means of connecting with the person I’m playing with as it is a means to come back to reality. I will eventually come back to this world on my own. But I can’t connect to someone who isn’t there. And if I can’t make that connection, it can feel a lot like rejection. Rejection of what just happened. Which is, at the heart of things, a rejection of myself. What I do with my kink comes from my mind and my heart. And running off after I’ve shared my dark side and offered you a side of myself that very few people get to see makes me feel like… at best, I’ve been an experience which has run its course… at worst, I’ve shown you my vulnerable underbelly and been gutted for my trouble.

And I can now say with certainty that it feels even worse to have someone you love do this. And to feel as if your touch and your nakedness is a bother to be endured until an escape can be made. Never again. In the future, if someone doesn’t want to snuggle and reconnect with me after a scene…

I will tell them not to do me any fucking favors.

Things go wrong

Sometimes things are hot and sweaty and sexy and fun.

And sometimes, things go wrong. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s not due to lack of skill or lack of desire or lack of anything else. Sometimes, things simply go to hell in a handbasket.

And I hate it. I rail against it. Even though I know I can’t change it, I want to. I want every scene to be hot and amazing and mind-blowing. I want us to be so sated and spent that we collapse into a heap of blood, sweat, and tears. I want to be so good at anticipating potential problems that none ever come to fruition.

But that isn’t reality. And nobody can make every scene perfect. This week, I had one of those scenes. It was not the scene I had in mind.

The rope was my enemy. It was tying itself in knots. It was underfoot. It was stuck on my clothing. And on top of that, it was unduly uncomfortable for my submissive. He’s very good in rope. He loves rope. He’s happy to be tied up and tied down and suspended and… you get the picture. He couldn’t get comfortable in a tie we’d already deemed “quite comfortable for suspension.” I fiddled with it and re-tied it a dozen times. In the process I tore up my hands so much that one of my fingers was actually bleeding. Nothing was working.

Disappointing, but sometimes you just need to go to plan B. So I did. I untied everything and did an entirely different tie for an entirely different suspension. One I’ve done many times. And it still wasn’t working. This rope was slipping down. That one was sliding up. And when one is suspended, it’s really not great when things are sliding around. By the time I got things still and mostly comfortable, there was so much rope on the wild thing that there was almost no skin left to do things to. That was somewhat disappointing. But I decided to soldier on. Sometimes you can still have a wonderful scene by working with the unexpected.

I tried a few things from the hands to the whip. His feet were in the way of his ass, so I decided to hit them instead. For me, not an especially fun target. They are very small, highly mobile most of the time, and involve some very small bones which are not usually the fun kind of pain when hit in the wrong way. In short, they are challenging. But the only other real areas of skin available were the shins and the lower back. Neither of which were going to be fantastic to hit.

I finally decided to give up on the hands, teeth, and floggers. I switched to the whip. Eureka! Something I could use that would ignore the vast quantities of rope and still hurt him! The popper promptly flew off.

I was, at this point, getting quite frustrated. Nothing was going according to plan. And on top of that, I wasn’t really able to get into any kind of groove. I was not having fun. Here is a beautiful canvas hanging helpless in front of me, and I’m not having fun. There is something fundamentally wrong with this picture. Once I realized that, I started to move from soldiering on to becoming angry. So I decided it was time to call it a day. I’d tried. I thought that the wild thing even managed to enjoy my fumbling ministrations. But I was very done. I moved around in front to give him a hug before letting him down from the suspension.

It was at this point that I managed to kick the ottoman leg really hard with my bare foot so hard I was afraid I’d broken a toe.

Yes, sometimes things go horribly, inexplicably, astoundingly wrong.