Bondage Part Two: Ropes

There was a time, a long time ago, when I was introduced to the idea of bondage.  It was a gentle introduction.  I played along, completely new to the very concept of someone deriving pleasure from binding me and teasing me sexually.  Bit by bit, I grew to understand the subtle, nuanced urges that developed as a result.  My tastes were trained, in other words; the grooming was successful.  I wanted the rope (as much as I wanted the leash).  I wanted the challenge of describing, virtually, what my skin, really, responded to with every new position.  With every new knot.  With every new touch.  She who introduced me is never far from me in my memory and imagination.  Closer than I believed, in fact.  She who introduced me, I carry with me always.  And now I want Him, He whose chair awaits, to continue the lessons.  (I don't know who He is.  I will know for certain, eventually.  I have no doubt He exists.  And I am in no rush... I still have too much to learn before offering anything.)  Nice chair, though, right?  Only the best for my imaginary owner and Master.  And the best comes from Maxwell Graf of Rustica fame.  It is mesh; and I love mesh; and I love everything Sir Maxwell creates.

If I were going to groom a girl to develop her taste for Shibari, I would make sure I kept a diary of all her expressions, all her reactions, all her slightest hesitations and eager presumptions.  I would make sure the diary was close to the suspension rig so that very little need interrupting as I recorded her personal growth.  I would make sure there were flowers nearby; lavender or roses.  Aroma is hypnotic.  I would want her focused and aware, distracted only by sweet fragrance or arousing rhythm.  I would make sure, then, the rhythm was arousing... Drum beats.  Percussion.  The sound of distant thunder.  I would make sure the only voice she could hear was mine.  I would make sure the only walls she could feel were mine.  I would make sure the only hands she could feel were mine.  Until such time as it was necessary to let other hands sample that beauty which I owned.

The ropes demonstrated in this pose are from Netsui Kigo; the very ropes on which I was trained, so long ago.  Misao Nakamura is a true artist: her poses are superb.  The ropes are good on their own (nadu and tower postures, or hog-tied and little-wee-package postures...) or with a suspension rig (delivered on command anywhere anytime with a click) or with the kinbaku rig or any other contraption available at the store.  But her poses really are quite stunning.  And the fit of her wares is very convenient.  There are many sizes available.  I enjoy being able to mount a suspension rig anywhere in my house (or anywhere on the grid that allows me to create objects) and just hang around like a tarot-character.  The ropes are RLV-enabled if you wish; and they are owner-activated if an owner is set.  Or, they can be set to public access if you're in the mood and do not necessarily have access to RLV set-up.  Miss Nakamura has considered everything.

In speaking with Sir RB about ropes, yesterday, it got me in the mood to reclaim my yearnings and secrets and knot them all together in a string of fantasies that feel safe and sound because they are tied to something strong in me.  My submission now reminds me of a growing vine, winding and encircling, like nature's rope.  My submission is in the pages I keep; it's in my seeking; it's in the never-ending search for high-quality items of comfort; it's in the never-ending quest for perfection in image; it's in the ever-present feeling of someone incredible looking over my shoulder even if I cannot see; it's in the waiting and the sure demonstration of patience.  My submission is channeled into all of this.  "Why do you submit," someone will ask me, someday.  I will answer, "because, my Master, to you I am so bound."