Tie Me, Make Me Fly

Her descriptions got me so wet. They prompted a craving, a wanting.

She told me how her man seduces her with rope. Using his expertise to wrap it around, drawing her into him, to put her under his control. How he takes it from loving seduction to crack down on her knees, before she knows what’s happening, bound and ready for him to use.

He puts a rope bracelet around the top of one thigh, then the other, sliding his hands around her back to sit her up, kissing her lovingly then a flick of a momentum and there are rope loops around her shoulders, holding her tight. Almost dancing with her as he uses the rope to bind, to make her a work of art, a detailed pattern of intricate knots and loops.

She is restrained, tied holding her knees, thighs against breasts. Motionless and feeling safe, enclosed, protected. They are breathing in time, his breathing deep from the exertion of his dance, hers from the arousal as she is cocooned in his web, especially designed for her.

Slowly, he puts a tiny pressure on her forehead, with no means of stopping she rocks backwards. Helpless. Rolling onto her back, she is fully exposed with her legs tied open, pointing at him, at his hard wanting cock. She is fucked. Fucked so hard and there’s nothing she can do about it. She loves it.

I craved the intimacy and closeness she described. Rope bondage was such an important part of her relationship with her man, enhancing it, bringing them together. She called him a poet of movement; of love, form and sexuality. Or a poet of brutality, using harsh restraint as a preamble to deserved punishment.

I knew I would love the feeling of being bound by rope; I got so much from restrained, hands, belts, dressing gown cords, whatever was close to hand. The firmer the better; so when offered my first opportunity to be tied using rope I gave myself willingly.

Date 2

The chest harness looped across me, above and below my breasts, binding my hands behind my back. Rough rope against my soft naked skin. I was impressed with how quickly it happened, from first loop to fully encased in the tie. Each length passed across me and pulled taut taking my arousal up a notch.

I felt like I was being hugged everywhere the rope touched. Completely restrained and at the absolute peak of my arousal I was touched by experienced hands; fingers stroking my sensitive skin, gently working inside, so full, so satisfying. Immobilised and held tight by both the rope and the arms of my rigger, I was unable to move or stop the waves of pleasure washing over me.

Moving to the Hitachi wand, forced orgasms rocked my body until I couldn’t take anymore, until I begged them to stop. I became the gibbering girl-wreck, after-glowing, admiring the pretty marks the rope left on my skin. Delighted that it was everything I imaged, everything I wanted.


This first experience with rope made me crave more. This desire and the excitement of trying something new inspired our anniversary plans. A celebration of our lasting love through all our favourite indulgences; alone time with good food, cava, chilli chocolate and spoiling each other with gifts.

With a knowing smile he unveils his present, his thoughtful gift bought for us, to try together for the first time, an experience to share. The rope is similar to the one I was tied with before but slightly smoother, slipping through my fingertips as I run it across my hands. Grasping it tightly I pull it taut, imagining how it will feel against my skin.

I am instantly excited. With all my self-control I force myself to eat dinner at a normal pace, ignoring the nagging tingling in my pussy in excitement at what would follow. I know he can tell, as we exchange cheeky smiles my cheeks flush and I can’t restrain the giggles.
I adore him for being so astute to my desires, having enjoyed watching me be tied, seeing how I responded. I love him for recognising the fun we could have with it too.

He orders me to stand before him and despite intent to play it cool I bounce into place, eager to please. I’ve stripped down to underwear, my bare skin prickling with excitement and responding more than usual to the way he strokes me. Holding the rope loosely, he lets it drape across me as his warm hands brush my skin.  I love the look of rope in his hands, how he holds it so comfortably, so naturally, so powerful.

Playfully I tease him, threatening to wriggle and make the tie harder. My giggling and grinding silenced with a look, a stern look with a twinkle of an evil smile. I behave, locked into his gaze. I relish the feeling of having his complete focus.

Concentrating and taking guidance from the books he’d purchased he begins the tie; a harness that will secure my arms behind my back, a beautiful symmetrical design called the Dragonfly.

Each length wrapped around holds me tighter, taking the control away, I willingly submit to the restraints. Stroking my sensitive skin as he pulls the rope across, he expertly holds the tension, nimble fingers tying each knot with ease. Responding to my movements we work in harmony, a fluid energy passing between us. I am impressed with his seemingly effortless skill, despite a few hitches, a couple of steps backwards to restart, he moves as though the rope is an extension of him. I wonder how he seems to be so good at everything.

I feel like I’m vibrating inside. My arousal a swirling force unrecognisable externally as I appear the centre of calm. I am unusually quiet, enjoying the feeling of being secured; I watch his face in the mirror as he works. I feel safe, connected with him. I happily tumble backwards into his arms once the tie is finished, content in complete restraint.

Lowering me to the floor I am given a moment to breathe, to feel the rope against me, holding my top half in place, comfortable but restrictive. The sort of restriction that makes heat rise within me. I close my eyes and concentrate on how the rope is holding me, like being enclosed in a loving embrace. Hearing the camera click makes me smile, I love that he’s proud of his work. I’m proud of him.

Sitting me back onto my heels he feeds me rum from his glass, smiling smugly at his creation and stroking my hair. I audibly moan as his petting takes a firmer edge, using strong hands to control and move me into position before him. His fingers weave into my hair, rocking my head backwards to look at him. I catch a glimpse of his serial killer look before I am swept into passionate kisses that tap into the nerve of my swirling horn. The rope still holding me securely as I melt into his kisses.

Straightening up, he moves away; unable to grab after him with my arms tied I pout in protest, desperate to have the affection back. He makes sure I’ve settled down and have given him my full focus before he slowly removes his belt. The sound coupled with the intense look on his face makes me whimper and wriggle as I know what’s coming.

I open wide, licking my lips in preparation. A demonstration of my hunger for him, the desire to take him in my mouth. I have nowhere to go as pushes me up against the furniture and fucks my face, gripping gently the back of my head to prevent it bouncing against the hard wood.
I fight against the rope, not for freedom but to test it, to confirm the unrelenting hold. Determining that my movements are securely restricted. Happily, completely restrained.

And just as she described I am fucked. Fucked so hard and there’s nothing I can do about it. And just as she described I love it. As I knew I would.

We find closeness in untying, uncoiling the rope and into each other. He lets it loosely trail over my skin as he unravels the loops. I am over-whelmed by the relief of holding him when I hadn’t realised I wanted to, needed to. Stroking him, tracing the line of his muscles, breathing him in, blissful. I feel like I’ve been soaring, flying higher than before. Changed. The dimples and indents that wrap around my arms all the way to down to my wrists are a far too fleeting reminder. We lay for so long, just being with each other.

Our first experiences with rope would not be the last. We’ve come so far, made fabulous friends who have a mutual love of ropey goodness and come to understand more about why it gives me so much, a feeling of safety and protection coupled with complete undeniable vibrating arousal. How it makes me slip into a quiet blissed out space that can evolve into the most intense lust given the right fuel. How a simple piece of rope in the right hands, with the right intent, can make me fly.

Our Rope

This entry was posted in Bondage, My Journey and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Tie Me, Make Me Fly

  1. M says:

    Beautiful! It must be something if you are having so much fun you are begging to stop!

  2. Claire says:

    Desperate to try rope and all it’s wonder, you make it even more appealing.

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