When John Brownstone told me he’d found purple rope, I was intrigued. When he said it was jute and in the traditional Japanese style for Shibari, I listened a little closer. When he said it came with a blindfold, I was sold.
Please order it. Like yesterday.
And he did.
It sat, unused, untouched, but not forgotten. Days went by. We both looked at it, longing for just a few minutes to twist and tie, to bind skin and souls.
“I don’t want you to kneel tonight, Babygirl.”
I gave him a quizzical look. A “whatchu talkin’ ’bout Willis” look. I’m not good with a disruption in the routine.
“You’ll stand here,” he pointed to the middle of our bedroom, “and face the wall.”
Naked, a little trembly, and excited, I assumed this new position. When I saw the cloth blindfold in his hand, I smiled. Ahhh, I know what we’re about to do.
The cloth was light and soft. Sensuous over my eyes.
The rope, still new, no body oils to soften it, was scratchy. He wound rope one way and then another. Loops were made. The coils tightened around my flesh, squeezing me in a gentle hug.
His fingertips skimmed across my skin with almost every movement.
Rope work requires or teaches patience, depending on your perspective. It’s a lesson I never remember for long. Just as I was about to shift and twitch and ask when we’d be done, he stepped away and started taking pictures of his handiwork.
Not much later I found myself bent over the bed, legs spread wide, ass jutting out. He used the harness as a set of reins as he pounded my pussy from behind. Each thrust caused him to grab the rope with a tighter grip. I knew my prize was more than a rough fucking. I would wear the marks of his claim long after the sticky fluids dried from between my thighs and the scent of our desire left the room.
Welcome to Boobday! When I saw how pretty my boobs looked in the rope harness, I knew it was time to join in the fun for another Friday.