Posts tagged cock bondage
Home Sweet Home: Rope Journaling 6-1

Life for Mr. Right and I became a whirlwind of packing and moving. Shopping for an apartment in Portland’s abysmal rental market. Doing all the honest talking and processing of us deciding to shack up.  So utterly commitment-y!  Especially for the girl who promised to never live with a partner again.  Who baulked at the idea of having a drawer at his place.  Now a year later we’re comfortably ensconced in our shared living space. We seal the deal and shop for a couch…even more commitment-y.  

And after a month so busy we didn’t have time to come up for breath long enough to even celebrate our anniversary, it’s finally a week after we unpacked, hung up the art, and bargained for space on the bookshelves and elbowed one another for kitchen space for our various cooking tchotchkes. We sit on the couch exhausted, bodies aching and realize we don’t have any pressing issues for the first time in a long time.

So I retrieve a too long neglected bag of rope and drag it to the living room and push Mr. Right out of his clothes.  And slowly, savoring every moment, every pull through of the rope over my palm I bind his wrists together and then bend them behind his head, leaving his under arms vulnerable.  I push him back on this commitment couch, heathered grey with a mid-century modern feel and funky chaise lounge style back rest.  His shock of curls, reddened with the even the briefest of Northwestern sun fall against the cushion.

I grin to bind his cock next, already hard and at attention, cinching it tight until it’s even harder, almost shockingly so.  It’s beautiful there poking into air, untouched before him, dancing to beg for attention that I deny it and him as I undress and stand before him.  He looks at me myopically, waiting, taking my blurry form in.

“Ready to break in this couch?”

No answer, just the barest smile which I line my body up with and sit on his face where he gamely licks at me while I tease him with my tongue, giving him just the slightest attention possible, tasting him so that I’m desperate for more.  My hunger for him never allows me to tease him for very long; soon I lift myself from his face and lower my mouth over his cock, taking him in so deeply I’m choking on him, that sweet drool from the back of my throat coating him shamelessly. 

He looks so delicious there, arms and legs bound that I can’t help myself, I know what comes next.  I want this to last, to use him until I can’t use my tired legs any longer.  So I untie his arms from behind his head and replace his still bonded wrists to the far leg of the couch, stretching him across it, leaving him with only tip toes on the bamboo floor, trying to find purchase to raise himself up, hips bucking in the air. 

I can’t help myself; it’s been too long since we’ve had more than the bare minimum brand of sex.  There’s been no time for kink, just naked need and release.  So my desire is so great I have to have him, swinging one leg over each side of him and lowering him slowly inside of me.  We both sigh and close our eyes; a year later and we haven’t tired of one another.  Not even close.  He feels good in his familiarity, his ability to know what I want, what will get me off and vice versa.  So much so I have to remind myself to hold back, to make this last, just because I know how to get him to the finish line doesn’t me I want to visit there post haste.

Raising myself up and down along the length of him, again and again we’re both groaning, but quietly as we’re trying to be polite with the wide open windows and new neighbors.  This double holding back, withholding desires has us wound up tight.  I can’t help it; I want to come so I release his hands from the couch, still bound and guide them between my legs.  A suggestion that he rub my clit which he takes and I redouble my effort bouncing on his cock until I can tell we’re both ready. 

And soon we’re going through the motions of pleasure given and taken, wetly and enthusiastically.  After, spent and sticky with come and sweat we smile sweetly at one another. 

“Well the living room is broken in.  Want to tackle any of the three bathrooms next?”  He rolls his eyes at insatiable me, thinking I’m kidding, where as I’m imaging what I can tie him to in the guest bathroom….  Mmm, next time.

Wiggle Room: Rope Journaling 11-3

It’s been a week of “be careful what you wish for.” In the past I’ve wished Mr Right were a little more switchy and now here I am, two days since we last hung out and I still can't bear to look at my vibrator let alone imagine longing for an orgasm. To be fair it's at least half my fault. I did start it.

See my brain spent all of last Friday distracted and dreaming up ways to torment Mr Right. It was an especially creative day in the naughty section of my brain because it was the sort of day where I was hardcore procrastinating at work. And Mr Right’s butt was the focus of all my creative energy as I avoided doing boring crap like accounting and answering emails. So that by the time Mr Right picked me up from work I had written a dozen bad ideas (well bad for him, great for me) down in my rope notebook and had an evil smile on my face I couldn't hide.

By the time we were ready to retreat to the bed room I was grinning up at him like a creep. “Nope you don't have any ideas.”

He tried to kiss away some of my smugness but it only made my head full of deviousness fuller. My look seemed to be making him a little nervous, which it should have, I was feeling downright cruel. While he was in the bathroom I got to the task of hiding hard points along the length of the sides of his bed frame by tying rope there. He came back just in time to catch me finishing up. “No, no ideas! I'm not in any trouble.”  He promptly walked out of the room.

“Glad you understand. Now, less pants!”  I called out to him.

My hands were grabbing at his ass before he could fully drop his jeans to the floor. Such was my desire for him. I hoped I could resist the urge to fuck him long enough to fuck with his mind.

Once he was naked I fell to my knees admiring his hardness and inwardly reminding myself to not take him in my mouth. Instead I leered up at him while I tied rope lines all up and down both of his legs then lines around his hips and belly and chest. Finishing with the most comfy wrist cuffs I could devise.

“Boy it's a good thing you're not up to anything.”

“Me? Nope just want you to be comfy since you're going to be in this for a while. A long while.”

“Oh really?”

I push him back on the bed, briefly knocking the sass off his face. “Yeap, now scoot to the middle.”

First I bind his wrists spread eagled to the far corners of the head board.  Next I use the rope I’d tied to the bed earlier to snug the ropes around his chest and waist, repeating this on both sides so he’s trapped in the middle of the mattress and can’t move an inch.  I test his confinement by periodically tickling him, if he can still move I tighten the ropes around his torso until he has zero wiggle room.  There comes a moment when it clicks with him, the general idea of what I’m up to and he looks at me like, “Really?  You’re going there?”  To which I just lean into kiss him and whisper, “You’re in a lot of trouble, mister.”

He shyly smiles at me and I return to the work of binding his legs, the entire length of them--not just his ankles--to the bed, so he can’t even wiggle his thighs.  This is the most important part, the part I’m counting on, so many of my plans hinge on being able to torture his exposed thighs and teasing his still hard and unused cock without him being able to turn away from me.  So when I tickle test him again and he can’t move at all, I snicker and leave the room, increasing his vulnerability, in order to retrieve the things I’ll use on him.  “Don’t go anywhere!”  I joke over my shoulder.  

Next comes the blindfold.  He’s seen me gathering most of what I’ll use on him so the general idea of what will happen can’t be a surprise.  And yet this addition always seems to quiet him, making him more compliant as he waits, down his ability to see or move.  So who am I to deny him the pleasure of denying his ability to see.  Plus he looks so cute in my red satin scarf that I use as a blindfold.

Who can remember what order I tease and hurt him in.  There’s ice cubes (especially cruel for the man who hates to be chilly), a pin wheel, clothes pins, tiny rope tied around his cock, a vibrator run along the ropes, and my hands or a cane applied to his thighs with him unable to flinch at the pain.  I occasionally brush his cock with my hands but not sexually, totally denying what he (and let’s face it, I) want.  So that by the time I untie his dick, it absolutely dripping with longing.  I take pity on him, lubing up my hands to stroke him to which he makes the most beautiful sighs and moans, louder and more plentiful than usual to make up for the fact that he can’t move.

Soon I can’t take it anymore, I tie his hands in a more comfortable position, and untie the waist ropes so that I can straddle him.  I take off the blind fold so that he can see I’m naked where I hadn’t been when I started and he can watch me fumble for and apply a condom to him.  The joint relieved sigh that issues from us is incredible and we smile at one another as I continue.  I fuck him until I can’t anymore and have to untie him and insist he take over. 

And yada, yada, yada…sex. 

Flash to the next afternoon, we’re sitting watching something dumb on TV or making a cheese plate or looking at dog pictures…any of those mundane activities we enjoy together when not fucking one another’s brains out, when he looks over at me.  “I have ideas for later.”  It’s said with that gleam in his eyes that I know exactly what he means.  My turn to feel shy, blush a little, and feel that lightening hot flash of lust pass through me right to my cunt.

“Oh really?”  He nods and waggles his eye brows at me.  “Well shit, this is the hazard of teaching you things, now you can use them against me.  Oh darn!”

No enormous surprise that later that night I find myself undressed and tied up much the same way I had tied him the night before.  “Oh gee I wonder what you have in mind.”

“Nothing, nothing.  Totally innocent and virtuous thoughts only.”

He even tosses me in the bed the same as I did to him before tying me to the bed in the same way.  I have to laugh as I resign myself to what’s about to happen, knowing just how screwed I am.  Probably literally.  And there’s the blind fold, and the rattle of the ice maker and the clink of the pin wheel and clothes pins.  He applies them all to me much in the same way I did to him expect meaner because I can take it.

“Is this what you mean when you say you like awkward rope and pain?” he asks at one point as I squeal and admit, “Yes!” 

And he places the evil new vibrator between my legs as an ever present torment and distraction.  Evil because it has settings built into it that are very good at keeping a person just on the edge of orgasm but never vibrating strong enough for release. It’s also surprisingly powerful, and able to drag orgasms out me, orgasms outside of my control, orgasms so powerful I lose the ability to speak or move or function as a human. Something he found out the other night when he helped vibrate me to an orgasm but then refused to stop, holdingme down until I couldn’t move anymore and screamed, “Fuck you, I hate you, shut up, I hate this, you’re terrible.”  Much to his great and endless amusement until he stopped just before I was worried I would pass out.

This in mind, I thought “oh shit” the second he turned that vibrator on and seated it in just the right place between my legs.  I knew exactly what he was up to and I wondered if I’d survive the number of orgasms I’m sure he was plotting. And what felt like an hour and a million and two orgasms later the answer is, just barely.  He did eventually untie me for…yada, yada, yada water, more sex, and oh so much cuddling.

This is how days later I’m pout/grinning about how exhausted my clit still is.