Attache-moi! (Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down)

bondage1

When I returned from San Francisco, I decided to become a bondage expert. I wanted to manipulate rope and be the dominant one – the “rigger”, as they say in the jargon.

I joined a rope group for female riggers called Hitchin’ Bitches. It was taking place one Sunday afternoon per month in a dodgy pub. The rule was: men allowed but only for being bunnies (being tied up).

I showed up for my first class, positively excited. I turned my head and spotted this girl across the room. She was tall, athletic, boyish, with a short hair. I instantly sensed she was gay. I instantly sensed I liked her.

She was teaching the class. Bondage Professor. She had a boy name, and cherry on the cake, she was American (I have a fetish for American girls). The topic of the day was “pelvis harness”. I discovered she was one of the top international people in rope, which is a fairly small community. She’s so good that she even creates her own knots and name them.

After class, I went to her, and I took her contact to get private lessons. Yeah. “Private lessons”.

A couple of weeks later, I found myself in a girls only Play Party in a dodgy sauna. Dodgy is fun. I turned my head, and there she was. Bondage Professor was randomly standing in the same room as me. My heartbeat accelerated. I knew that if I was playing it well, the night would be awesome.

I slipped my way to talk to her, I slipped my way in the sauna with her, and I slipped my way to tell her that if she needed a bunny for the night, I was her woman. I scored. She said: “Shall we do that now?”

She took me to a private booth. It was the size of a fitting room, with an Amsterdam Red Light District lighting, a mattress on the floor and some kind of beam for suspension.

One of the most intense and troublante intimate experiences of my life began.

She took out ultra-sophisticated equipment, like only a surgeon of bondage would have. Ropes of every size, colour and texture, wooden sticks, clothes pins and other things that I can barely remember or describe.

We kneeled on the floor face to face and she explained the rules. I was wearing my magical silver bikini, the one in which crazy things always happen (such as this or this), with a zipper on the top as an invitation to explore.

She first checked with me if I had any body injuries. She insisted that the communication had to be clear : it is crucial not to play games in the verbal communication, like saying “no” for “yes” and vice versa, cause safety can be at stake. And it is important to express any discomfort or pain for the same reasons. And she added: “Remember. There is no “supposed to”.

I agreed and before I could finish my sentence she grabbed my wrists with authority and I found myself in seconds with rope handcuffs. She instantly took the power over me. Oh. My. God.

I discovered that night what complete surrender means. I really was her thing. I let her manipulate me like a doll, do whatever she wanted with me within complete trust. It was a new stage of my life, because I find easy to let go at… 82%, but I have a hard time letting go at 100%. I went beyond that in no time.

She was putting me in overelaborated pauses, twisting me, stretching me, suspending me, and she could go really creative because I am hyper flexible. “Go for it, I am a dancer”. When she was finishing one creation, I was finding myself in a crazy position that was yet comfortable, so we were taking a break to talk. I was chatting her up completely under restraint, and we had casual first date exchanges: what do you do, why did you move here, how did you get into bondage. Surreal.

There was a strange contrast in how shy she was in the talk and how dominant she was in bondage. It felt like she was almost autistic and rope was her only true mean of connecting with others.

She was restless. As soon as she was liberating me from a position, she was getting me into a new one. Her creativity was endlessly stunning. She even tied knots with my hair.

As hours were passing, it got more intimate. She got the call for the zipper on my bra. I was surprised that she asked me. “Can I open it?” What a question. “Yes”, I said.  

I don’t know many hours we stayed in there, probably close to 3 hours. But time was suspended, just like me. We created a very special timeless dimension in a minuscule physical space.

Close to the end, I really started wondering if she was ever going to “do” me in a “traditional” way. At some point she removed all the rope off my body and gave me a giant hug, she held me super tight and I could feel all the intense emotion that we had both put in that moment finally releasing.

The only violence that night was to go back to the outside world. Inside the bondage cocoon, everything was incredibly soft and respectful.

A question was burning my lips though, I really wanted to ask her “Why? Why didn’t you fuck me?”

But I suddenly understood that she did, in a way that no one had ever done before. Bondage Professor fucked my brain.

The title of the post is a tribute to my adored film director Pedro Almodovar

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s