I had a thing I had to buy rope for. There was some rope left, and as I was holding it to put it away, I asked Wonderboy: Should I leave it here? It happened to be, a freudian lapse of sorts perhaps, on his bedside table. He nodded and said yes, almost enthusiasticly. I was happily surprised.
Later on I inquired was he going to tie me up some time soon? He was again enthusiastic and expressed consent. I was thrilled like a little child. It didn’t even feel all that important, but I still kept bringing it up. I’ve noticed that that’s usually the way my sexual desires show up. I’m so in denial, that I can’t even feel the desire I feel. Just how I voice it, though, might be perfectly normal not to feel and read all that much into it.
Yesterday it finally happened, but not the way I had hoped. He was too tired and kind of sick too to want to have sex. He voiced his concerns, when I said, as a humble submissive should: Let’s fuck. Will you tie me up, too?
We cuddled naked anyway, and soon he offered to lick me. I was feeling oddly reluctant, even a tad sad. I didn’t want him to lick me. I wanted… What did I want? I then realized: I only wanted him to tie me up. That’s all I really wanted. So I told him. He seemed reluctant to tie me, because it was a new thing, which he’d rather play with when he’s in the mood himself. I understand and understood, and still stood my ground. I’m so proud of myself! I kept incisting the thing I wanted, a thing I have failed in from day one of our relationship – and my life.
I’ve been studying, so I was the one to teach him the newer American version of a Japanese douple rope hitch (or whatever) with which he tied my hands above my head. The rope was an anchor rope from a hardware store, and it was perfect for us. It was smooth and still very ropey, very thick and restricting.
It was only my hands. I was free to move around and do as I will, but the minute the rope was on, everything changed. I was deep into submission, I was fragile, I was his. What was really hard about it was that he was kind of playful and detached. Nothing changed for him. Except after a minute or two he saw the change in me, and it started to have an effect on him to. He came on top of me murmuring what he’d do to me, and kissed me more obtrusively than usual.
Then he proceeded to lick me like he’d promised. He was doing a fine job at that, but I felt that I’d been robbed out of something very important. I kept thinking about him slapping my butt, and then I got mad at myself. Why wouldn’t I just ask for it? So I did. Would you flip me over and spank me a bit? He obliged again, and I was in heaven. The shivers creeped up my spine, my upper back. My jaw dropped, my body was tingling. My hands were tied. I could feel the rope around my arms, and it made me go somewhere else.
He started to fuck me with his fingers from behind. That’s the thing though, I didn’t want that. I just wanted the beating. I would have thought it weird even a year ago, and maybe I still do, (or am afraid that he will) because I couldn’t say it. Stop that. So I tried to concentrate on the slaps and smacks, and ignore the fingers. But it doesn’t work that way as anyone (well, any woman) could tell you.
Soon he flipped me over again and licked me to an orgasm. I spent the whole time thinking that he was still spanking me. And then I came. It was incredible. I came and I came and I came. I haven’t had an orgasm like that in a looong time.
The rope came off soon after, but the markings stayed with me. He wouldn’t understand. He hugged me for a bit, but didn’t get why I was all tangled up and tearful and fragile and in need of his emotional support. I tried to explain. I even said it was good of us to do it like this the first time, because it was so hard for me.
He left to do his things, and I was left alone. We revisited the question later, when he confessed he thought I was angry with him. I explained how intense the feelings had been, and that I was happy about it all, really, really happy, but that he would have to be more alert with my feelings when we’d do it again.
He has never heard of aftercare, because he doesn’t feel the need to share this with anyone. When we were still in bed I asked if he ever felt like he had to think about these things, and he said no, but then he corrected himself: Well, I am thinking now, how I can use that rope on you. It will take a while, though. And that was the extent of it. I don’t understand, and I guess he doesn’t really understand why it’s so hard, so emotional, for me. But I bet it’s part of the thrill for him.
It is Wednesday night, and tomorrow I’ll be home again. The rope is still there, on his bedside table.