Posts tagged couch
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.