He just has three loops of rope around my chest, practicing a simple harness when he sighs, kissing the crook of my shoulder and half whispers, “Why is this so hot?  Rope on skin?”

We kiss over my shoulder, me trying to hold back the smile threatening to part my face from ear to ear, just long enough to feel his tongue on mine for a moment.  Then I turn away from him so he can finish the tying and so I can blush in secret; embarrassed to be this easily turned on. I’m unpracticed at giving in to someone else.  I’m so recently accustomed to playing at being self sufficient.  So it surprises me to lean into his chest, to long for his touch so thoroughly.

He’s fully clothed, large, warm and comfortable behind me.  And damn he feels good. I trust him not because its erotic to give power over to someone, but because he’s earned it by asking, “May I?” or “Do you want this?” while looking me in the eye.

Why is this so hot?  It’s just a chest harness. One little piece of rope.  I’ve done much more complicated or decorative or sadistic rope with others.  But sometimes it just takes the one piece of rope applied in just the right way by the right person. 

I have to remind myself to silence the sarcasm and mouthyness I use to keep people at a distance.  Reminding myself that he’s invited in. That vulnerability is the necessary and delicious evil required for intimacy.  That this man is an adult, capable of closeness without the mind games, gas lighting, and narcissism I’ve recently allowed myself to become accustomed to.  So I let my guard down and let go of controlling the moment. Quiet, I just lean into him and coo at his touch waiting for him to proceed. 

He wants to learn how to bind my wrists behind my back the way he’s seen in photos so I teach him and he gets it right off, such a quick study.  And I think that will be that, he’ll untie me and we’ll move along.  Instead he reaches for my mouth with his again, reaches for my body with curious fingers.  Finishing undressing me, he thoroughly emphasizes the power dynamic.  His clothes rubbing against my nudity, a reminder that he’s in control as I dance my hands over whatever parts of him I can reach.  Feeling him under the layers of fabric, everything I want but can’t yet have.

Soon he tugs at his shirt, removing it so that our skin can touch.  The heat of him, of being only able to press my fingers against his belly but not return is caress, maddening in the best possible way.  The tease is my favorite part after all.  Our mouths keep finding one another, that’s all that matters in this moment.

Then he’s guiding me into the bed still turned away from him so I’m face down in the bed.  He can see and control my everything from here. And I feel him taking me in before joining me on the bed, hands and fingers and mouths everywhere. The taste of me on his fingers. That shocked and delighted look in his eyes.  Both of us panting.

Then the moment I thought would never come, he steps out of his pants and presents himself to me.  I’m so hungry for him and desperate to return the favor of boundless pleasure. And he lets me. My turn to listen to him sigh and gasp.  To look up his body and see his mouth open around nonsense words, eyes rolled back into his own world.

And I’m surprised again when he doesn’t untie me for the next step either, our bodies intertwining. Our moans and movements in rhythm.  Oh how I’ve missed this. For too long I’ve been teaching rather than experiencing rope.  The celibate rope slut.  Now here I am, thanks to him, experiencing everything I enjoy. I lean into the bed, angling myself into him, bound so simply and thoroughly by one piece of rope.

Why is this so hot?  It just is.