I stood in the shed, topless and ready for Him to tie me.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
The new Manila rope smelled faintly like paint. As he wrapped it around my chest, it was cool and somewhat smooth, but stiff and unyielding against my skin. (The fact that He used this instead of the nylon probably should have been a clue that this was going to be more S & M than we’ve ever done.) But despite the fact that it’s not my favorite thing to be tied in, He likes tying me in it. And into a place of sweet reverie I go.
The chest harness takes a little while. I watch His hands for a bit, and then just drift in and out. The music playing is soothing with pulsing drum & bass lines. (Another reason I wasn’t anticipating the pain.)
When the chest harness is done, I remind Him to set a timer. (This is important in rope play! Bottoms, never be afraid to speak up and remind your Top to do it. It’s easy to forget in the heat of the moment! You’ll both be safer for it!)
He had me sit on the stool, and He began a single column on my wrist. I don’t know why I expected that to be it… but when He bent my arm and began tying a futomomo, I couldn’t help gasping. My mind was brought sharply to the present. And He made sure every tug of the rope kept me there.
When He finished with my right arm, He instructed me to spin on the stool to give Him access to my other arm. I did as He asked, and again He tied a futomomo on my left arm. It was at this point, I came down with the nervous rambling. I tried to tell Him the rope was going the wrong way (spoiler alert: it wasn’t). I think I was nervous because I knew at this point that this would be more than a peaceful rope scene.
“Are you sure about that?” He smirked.
As the rope slid over my shoulder and neck, I saw the ties were indeed identical.
Sheepishly I looked up at Him and whispered, “Sorry, Daddy.”
In hindsight, the look on His face should have been the first clue that I needed to shut my mouth.
At this point, He pulled me to my feet, and began to tie the ends from my chest harness, and both arm ties to the hook in the ceiling above my head. I had my hair in my face, and since He wasn’t finished tying yet, I thought I should voice my opinion on that because, um, bottoms should communicate.
“Daddy, the rope is in my face. Can you tie it behind my head?”
Ya’ll… You could have heard a pin drop – even with the music playing.
“That’s not what I was going for, so…”
I bowed my head, knowing I should stop talking, but did not have the ability to do so apparently.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I just didn’t want the rope in my face.” I felt Him move around me.
“And what if I want the rope in your face?” He said in a cool tone as He wrapped the manilla rope around my face and head.
I sagged in the ropes, feeling both embarrassed for the word vomit and my poor topping from the bottom, and aroused that I was sufficiently put in my place. I really have no other way to describe it. He removed the ropes from my face, and secured the lines all above my head.
It wasn’t long before the impact began. This time, there was less focus on my ass, and more on my back and tits. The breast torture was particularly painful this time, seeing as they had been bound for quite a bit already, and were extremely sensitive. At this point though, I couldn’t really tell you what happened. He hit me with the rice spoon on my back, warming me up. Then He did the same to my breasts. It was not pleasurable. This was not a sensual pleasure scene. It was at this point, that my mind actually registered this. And things were escalating quickly. I was beyond the point of soft moans and gasps. I was whimpering and squealing, and before long, actual screams were coming out of my throat. I think He even turned up the music a few notches.
The scene continued to escalate. He was brutal and unapologetic. This is the sadistic side to my Daddy. This is a side of Him that lurks just below the surface. It calls to the masochist in me. I take His lashes and the pain He gives me, and I transform it into pleasure for Him. Sometimes, when I open my eyes, I look into His, and I can see the Sadist. There is almost no trace of my Daddy, and only a glimpse of my Sir… This side of my man is not to be fucked with and cannot be reasoned with. His desires are dark, but they mirror my own.
Eventually, He released my ties. He cuddled me in the arm chair, giving me His body weight and warmth. He fucked me and used me thoroughly. I am grateful that I can trust Him to push me to my limits, and then care for me afterwards. I can’t really express how it feels to have someone KNOW exactly what you need and want, because it’s what they want too.
To date, this is the most pain He has given me in one scene. And the evening wasn’t even over at that point. But here are some enjoyable photos of our rope evening.