Everything we do is dictated by motive.
My motive in rope is to feel.
It’s inescapable when thus enslaved, imprisoned within the emotion itself, until the orgasm I tear from my body heals the rift.
The tie was experimental, vague ideas, my only need was restriction, to feel the rope’s bite, not it’s caress. To feel the knots press uncomfortable, painfully uncomfortably, aesthetics not a consideration.
To feel;the one thing I’ve avoided of late.
The tie wasn’t perfect, tension uneven, one boob compressed, the other merely held. Any other day, disappointment would leave me disheartened, and from the rope I’d turn.
But today, somehow the disparity worked, fitted the mood.
I was restless, unsettled.
I needed what the rope provided.
I needed to feel, no matter what that feeling was.