Bondage for Bondage Sake
Bondage for Bondage Sakeby Lee "Bridgett" HarringtonAs I sit next to his bound form I close my eyes and can hear every shortened breath straining against the ropes. His chest tied tight, wrists bound behind his back, and his paired ankles pulled up to the back of his shinju in a tight hogtie. No, not a hogtie, a gyaku ebi, reverse shrimp, my delicious morsel ready for me to devour.I’ve been asked too many times “what do you do once they are tied up?” I believe in bondage for the sake of bondage. Rope for the sake of rope. Sitting beside my bound lover while they sink into their skin, float beyond themselves, plunge into the darknesses of their own soul is not killing time. It is fulfilling time. It is connectivity.His breath is raspy as I roll him over onto his side, his cock half-hard as my fingers dance across his skin for a moment to adjust a rolled line and feel the sweat of his finger tips and the temperature of his skin. I let my firm hand take hold of his and squeeze, feeling for his response to my existence and his own circulation. Then he is alone again, his body pressing against ropes, pressing against the wood floor, his eyes bound in ropes obscuring the single light bulb I’ve left on for my sake. I love watching him breathe. At first serene, then troubled, then the twitch of his right shoulder and a few moments of strain against the ropes at his wrists.I sit on my knees, proud Owner of this creature before me and yet my pose reminds me that I am still a student. In each breath and movement he teaches me so much. A new way to tie a line. The way he moves when he’s alone. My own desires to be in rope. The way the spirit of the divine dances through his goose bumps and the sweat on his brow as he reaches what he believes is the limit of his endurance- but then pushes on.Slowly I loosen his ankles and slide a firm hand under his chest ropes to pull him up onto his rump. My thighs slide around the back of his neck and push his chest down towards the ground as I lean forward and with a seductive breath I lean down past his ear and pull his ankles in towards one another. He becomes my lotus, my flower, my ball with ankles tied together before him and my fingers pulling the line from his ankles up to his chest and back down again. We dance in this cubic meter of space, he my cushion beneath me as a chestnut of flesh and above him I am part of his being. I am bound to him just as he is bound by me. As I lift myself from his body I can see him adjust once more to his solitude as I leave him alone, leave him to his fears and desires.He is my living sculpture. He is my potential. He is my pride. He is my lover, my slave, my strength. As my submissive he shows me the potential of what my hand can create, can master, can inspire. In public he is the reflection of the greatest of my joys- the canvas for my art, the power if my will in crafted desire, and his simple act of fetching me a glass of water while a length of my rope dangles from his tied testicles as he walks with grace… reflects on me.As I study the masterpiece before me, this man of humble words and strong limbs is before me something more. I leave him in ropes to let him sink in to his potential. To let go of a long day of stress and work. To remind him that time does not matter when he is mine. I leave him in ropes to let him fly. To let him soar. To let him dive. To let him be more that he thought he could be, To challenge him. To push him. To let him go.When I finally release him from his ropes the dance can always change. For this is what it is, a dance. Some days it is ballet, soft, sensual, fluid and delirious. Some days it is Tango, heady, sweaty, longing and heart-thumping. Some days he swings me to big band and I feel myself fly away as I unwind his ropes and he winds me in his arms. Some days it is a waltz from ropes into more ropes mixes canes, crops, wax and his screaming moans. Some days I can feel my punk days close at hand as I break him down. Some days we just make up the moves as we go along.Bondage for the sake of bondage. Rope for the sake of rope. Time for the sake of time. Love for the sake of love. Some days we need no other excuse.