I got inspired yesterday to show the same BDSM situation in a variety of moods. These are my next two vignettes, both from the perspective of the top.
Remember, If you think it would be interesting to do this, too, I invite you to participate. I’m keeping the dialogue and specific actions very similar for fun—you could imitate that, or go your own way. Feel free to tag me on Twitter @AnnabethLeong with what you come up with. I would be so excited to see how others might present the same simple action.
And you can find out about the back story and read the first two vignettes here.
Three:
When I pull her arms behind her back, I have a moment of panic. I definitely don’t know what I’m doing. I mean, technically I do—I’ve gone through books carefully, taken classes, even practiced on her—but nothing could have prepared me for actually trying to top her. I started feeling shy the moment I picked up my rope, and when her eyes widened when she noticed it, I wanted to just drop it and run away.
“You ready?” I say into her ear, trying to imitate the toppy growl I’ve heard instructors use.
She nods.
She lets me guide her into position. It’s incredible how pliable her body is under my hands. She’s smooth as a dancer, and I get distracted worrying that I won’t lead as well as people who’ve tied her in the past. Still, she ends up mostly in the right attitude—arms behind her, chest pushed forward. She flings her head back and presses a random kiss to the side of my forehead—the spot she happens to be able to reach.
I try not to let that distract me, and begin looping rope around her wrists. She squirms, and I realize the coarse fibers are tickling her as they drag across her skin. I’m not putting rope on the back of a chair—I’m putting it on a person, my lover, someone I’m supposed to be connected to.
I pull her closer and take a deep breath. “Hold still.” I kiss the back of her head, slow this down for a moment so I can gather my thoughts. I remember that she knows me, and she knows about my experience—or lack thereof. I don’t have to pretend to be Miss Toppy Top. “I won’t get this on right if you can’t hold still,” I confess, and she doesn’t have to say anything back to make me feel her gentle, unwavering support as I go on with the tie.
Four:
I pull her arms behind her back, careful of her range of motion. I know what an act of trust it was for her to ask for this. Every takate-kote is individual, and I push down a flash of anger at the top who hurt her, the one who tried to force her unique body into position as if the rope was a cookie-cutter and she was a raw piece of rolled dough.
“You ready?” I murmur. I’m watching her carefully for signs of discomfort, my fingers light on her left shoulder joint, the one where she said she had the problem last time.
She gives me a nervous smile and nods.
I feel so protective of her. I guide her toward position, but not into position—I told her when we negotiated this that she would be the one to decide how far she wanted to stretch, but I show that, too, with the gentleness of my hands, the looseness of my grip. She pushes her chest forward, and puts her right arm all the way behind her, though I’m glad to see she doesn’t strain the elbow, letting her forearm fall into an obtuse angle. Her left arm nudges back, but not far.
She flings her head back, fixing me with a rueful stare. “It won’t be a real takate-kote,” she moans, looking ashamed.
I begin looping rope around her wrists. I let her feel the coarseness of the fibers, knowing that sometimes sensations like that can help people get out of their heads and into their bodies. “Who says it won’t be real?” I ask her. “It’s real to me. It can be to you, too, if you let it.”
She squirms.
“You feeling okay?” I ask. “You still want to do this?”
She nods again.
“Then hold still.” I kiss the back of her head to make the command as gentle as possible. “I want to be precise here, and that’ll work best if you hold still.”
***
Check back tomorrow for my last two vignettes!
No comments:
Post a Comment