Good With Knots

There’s a long essay at Pillowbook about two bad real-life bondage experiences, one teen-aged and one adult. I liked the bit where she gets tied up by some lounge lizard channeling the ghost of Dean Martin:

He stuck his tongue fair into my slit while i was standing there, and he started licking away at me like there was something inside my cunt that he needed to get into him in order to survive the next five minutes. his breathing got more and more laboured, and he started to sweat with excitement.

no kidding, he started to sweat visibly in the few moments that we stood like that. well, that i stood like that, and he knelt like that, licking at me.

beads of sweat popped out on his shoulders, forehead, back… it was like he was a frosty cold glass of hairy iced coffee, placed on a bench in a humid room, and condensation was forming on him as i watched. except, of course, that condensation is just pure water, and this was his salty, filthy, body juices, oozing from his pores.

it would be ungracious for me to say that it was at this point that he went from being dean martin, to pepé le pew.

so i won’t say that, even though that was what happened.

and i figured that was what the ropes were for. to stop me squirming away when the body odour hit.

well, i thought to myseln, and to any mind-readers who may have been listening, he’d better get those ropes working pretty soon, or it’ll be too late…

how about, he gasped, taking his tongue out of my cunt for a moment so he could form words, we use the ropes now?

i wondered for a moment if he could read my mind after all…

ok. would you like me to tie you up face up, or face down? i aksked, all sweetness and innocence. in my mind i added, ‘, you hairy fokken gorilla’, just to see if he *could* read my mind.

he didn’t react to the gorilla comment, but he did laugh when i suggested that it was to be him that got tied up.

i’ll tie *you* up, princess. here, lie down.

with the possible exception of russia’s anastasia, and maybe neverland’s tiger lily, i couldn’t think of any princesses who had been tied up, and i suspected that one or both of them was fictitious anyway. nonetheless, i lay down on my back, on his slippery bed, and submitted.

without too much messing about or delay, he tied each of my four corners to the four corners of his bed. it was one of those awful white enamel beds with brass knobs and flower decals on the posts.

he did, of course, a lousy job of tying me up.

i knew that at any moment, whenever i felt like it, i could get out of the ropes. i wondered if i was sposed to feel that, or if i was sposed to be feeling all overpowered or something.

the only thing overpowering me was his body odour.

standing dangerously on the oil-slick bed sheets, he looked down upon me, subjugated at his feet. with a flourish akin to a particularly lame shopping mall magician producing a startled pigeon from his sleeve, he produced his half-hard penis from the flap in his scungies.

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