You Can See The Bondage Coming
From Red Sneaker Diaries, where things always start innocently enough:
Anna and I had spent the evening before being rolled up in a sweaty lesbian fuckball, and we were moving slow. We’d decided to take Monk up on his offer of an Abbey tour before making the drive back north of the 49th, and that’s how we ended up in Monk’s low-ceilinged office loft on that sunny Monday afternoon.
Uh, oh. Maybe they can’t see it coming (doubtful!) but the rest of us sure can. “Would you like to come in and take the grand tour of my bondage rope factory?”
Nobody’s getting out of this anecdote until somebody gets tied up.
Correct:
There are areas of my skin pressing against rough hemp bonds and areas left blissfully naked. Yet somehow, it all blends into a harmonious feeling everywhere – like a hug from a woolen blanket. Warm, scratchy, musky and soothing. I am naked – my skin is responding to light breezes with goosebumps and stiff nipples, and yet, I am feel covered in comfort. My body feels heavy; my body feels light. Gravity presses me into my bonds and yet somehow they capture me and hug me and then, and only then, do they allow me to float. Free and unencumbered. Free of the weight of the world. I feel cold metal – the blade of a knife, trailing oh-so-lightly along the goosebumped skin of my abdomen. I have no control over the quivering response from my belly. The quivering makes my spine tingle. The quivering makes him smile.
