I wave and duck into the shelves not ready to ask for help finding what I need. The place is crowded with all the things a homeowner might need, hammers, screwdrivers and other hand tools. Racks of nails and screws in more sizes than anyone could possibly need. Shower heads, and faucets. Sprinklers and spools of tubing. There’s a little display in the back with paint swatches. Finally, I find a garden section with twine for tying up vegetables. Not useful for my purpose. I keep searching.
“Can I help you find anything.”
I jump and a squeal squeaks out.
“I’m so sorry miss. Didn’t mean to surprise you.” He takes a step back, same guy that was running the register. Not a threat. Not even scary. “You seem like you’re looking for something specific. Figured I could help you.”
“I need some rope?” I can’t even make it a statement.
“Cotton, nylon, jute?”
“Cotton.” Sounds like softest option. And I flash back to my grandmother hanging clothes on the line outside. “And clothespins.”
His smile is once again at ease. I’ve given him a reasonable explanation he can work with and I relax because I don’t have to explain myself. “Sun dried laundry always smells so fresh.”
He wanders back down the aisle and I follow him to the housewares section. Wouldn’t have guessed. But the “clothesline” coiled in a figure eight inside a plastic bag is exactly what I pictured. Not quite what they use in the videos, but it should work. The man adds a pack of clothespins and I almost blow it and tell him I don’t need those. But they’re cheap, so I nod and let him ring me up.
I can’t drive back to the inn fast enough. It’s nearly dinner time, but luckily no one expects me to join them for the meal. I could stop and grab something to go, but I’ll get something later if I’m hungry. The only thing that matters right now is getting the rope on my skin.
Back at the inn, I dart up the stairs relieved not to have to explain myself to anyone. Not sure how I would explain the outdoor laundry equipment with any kind of believability. With the door locked, I strip down to my underwear, retrieve the rope, and toss the bag on the bed. The plastic wrapper fights me, but I finally rip it open and unwind the length. It dangles from one hand as I navigate to my saved instruction videos with the other. With a tap on the pad on my laptop, the first video starts.
I sit on the ground and try the first tie around my ankle. The instructions are clear. Keep the line straight like a stick. Stay in control, using the rope as an extension of my hands. The videos are fast and I can’t tie the knots and complete the wraps and pause the playback. It’s frustrating and there’s none of the erotic appeal I got from watching the porn. With a huff, I stop the instruction and release my thigh and ankle. There are a bunch of other videos, I watch one on basic knots. She’s talking about knots I learned to tie as a kid. Another video teaches quick release knots. I have no idea which one I should try first. The basics seems like an easier place to start. Following along, I almost manage to tie my ankles together, but the rope is so thick. It doesn’t lay the way the instructor showed. The search for other simple ties I can complete on myself leads to love handles, and breast harnesses. Too difficult. I try a single column tie on my wrist. It kind of works once I get my thumb in the loop they call the bite. The terminology confuses me, but I’m trying to tighten the wrap to make it look like the image.
A knock a the door jolts me out of my rabbit hole. I click stop on the video and pull the rope, barely getting it hidden in a drawer when a second, firmer knock echoes through my room. “Coming.”
“SJ? Are you okay.”
The calming breath I take as I open the door does nothing to slow my heartbeat. Neither does the man propped against the door frame.
I hide my mostly naked body behind the door and shoot my leg out to the frame, creating a barrier to him entering. The bag of clothespins on the bed grows ten times in size, demanding an explanation I can’t give. Better to keep him out. “Did you need something?”
He turns his attention from my face to my wrist and the corners of his mouth turn up. The devil is dancing in his eyes? “What have you been up to, little rabbit?”
My mouth moves but not even a squeak comes out.
Alex wraps his hand around my wrist and steps forward into the opening, into my body - almost a hug.
Heat flashes through me, starting right between my legs and cresting like a wave up my neck to my cheeks. I must be cherry red with a blush this hot. He takes two more steps forward and I grip his shoulder to keep from falling backward, instead it’s as if I’m falling into him, losing all sense of reality. He lowers my arm between us, and opens his fingers. “Care to explain these marks?”
A deep shiver rattles my bones. “Promise not to judge?”
ALEX
She thinksI’d shame her? Overthis?
“Little rabbit. I’m not judging, but I won’t let you hurt yourself.” She allows me to guide her toward the bed where a laptop is frozen on a Shibari training video from a reputable site. But based on the marks on her skin, the instructions didn’t capture the subtle details that make rope bondage pleasurable instead of damaging. “Show me the rope you were using.”
She tugs her arm, but I can’t release her. I gaze into her eyes, there’s a mix of fear and shame, but most importantly, desire. I step closer, our bodies nearly touching, holding her hand down by my side. When she doesn’t move, I shift my hold on her to a caress along the length of her slender arm, along her shoulder, up into her hair. Threading my fingers through her red mane, I tug her head back with just enough bite to get her attention. Her mouth goes slack and her attention is fully on me. Fuck. She gorgeous. Perfect. “Get the rope.”
The tiny nod she manages works like a key to unlock my grip on her. She moves to the dresser and bends over, her heart shaped ass in the perfect position to receive my cock. I palm my hardened length down, trying to regain some control over myself. SJ spins, the rope behind her back, but dangling, I catch a glimpse of clothesline and bite back a bark of laughter.We all start somewhere.
And she has well and truly started.
She takes the two steps, returning to me, her head low, rope still clutched behind her.
“Show me.”
Her throat undulates with a thick swallow. I lift my hand, repeating my demand wordlessly. She lifts her head, looking for reassurance. She must find what she needs because the rope lands in my hand. I carefully inspect it and consider my words, letting silence do my work. When she fidgets, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, I say, “It’s not ideal. And your placement is dangerous.”
