Bed Bound (M/F)
Posted: Fri Jan 19, 2024 3:30 am
Bed Bound (M/F)
I sense
my bound body
lying on the big bed.
Paul’s nylon ropes
run over me
through my valleys,
cracks, crevices:
white roads
taut on bare skin.
My legs are splayed
in a giant vee
like a receptacle
for mid-air refuelling,
awaiting his probe.
I cannot see,
for a cloth blinds me;
he refused my request for a gag,
saying, “We’ll see.”
I love the constriction
imposed by the cords
on the flesh of my torso;
likewise the extension of my limbs.
My hands are tucked
into the web of ropes
chasing up my back;
they are secured so
I can’t pull them out;
they fall into the arch
of my spine, and sink
into the deforming surface
of his waterbed.
I writhe, to bring
repeated sensations of the ropes
running down my groin
and under my rear
where a knot pushes
on my anal opening,
thoughtfully padded by Paul.
The network of ropes
transmits pressure
about my body.
He comes,
lowers his lips to my nipples,
and caresses them
into rigid vibrating mountains,
with his tongue.
A few moments work,
and I crest;
waves of pleasure
pulsate throughout
every toe, finger, and limb,
head and body as well.
Mmmmmmmmmmm!
He promised me
four great ones,
before he probes me himself.
Three to go, but
he doesn’t know I came
while he was securing my body.
Then tomorrow it’s his turn,
save I’ll still require
my four first.
ST
I commented on a post Sinking into Slavery by @RopeBunny which had parts that could be put into poetic form, IMHO. So I contributed an old piece of mine.
@Xtc posted a poem a few days ago (When we are alone).
I sense
my bound body
lying on the big bed.
Paul’s nylon ropes
run over me
through my valleys,
cracks, crevices:
white roads
taut on bare skin.
My legs are splayed
in a giant vee
like a receptacle
for mid-air refuelling,
awaiting his probe.
I cannot see,
for a cloth blinds me;
he refused my request for a gag,
saying, “We’ll see.”
I love the constriction
imposed by the cords
on the flesh of my torso;
likewise the extension of my limbs.
My hands are tucked
into the web of ropes
chasing up my back;
they are secured so
I can’t pull them out;
they fall into the arch
of my spine, and sink
into the deforming surface
of his waterbed.
I writhe, to bring
repeated sensations of the ropes
running down my groin
and under my rear
where a knot pushes
on my anal opening,
thoughtfully padded by Paul.
The network of ropes
transmits pressure
about my body.
He comes,
lowers his lips to my nipples,
and caresses them
into rigid vibrating mountains,
with his tongue.
A few moments work,
and I crest;
waves of pleasure
pulsate throughout
every toe, finger, and limb,
head and body as well.
Mmmmmmmmmmm!
He promised me
four great ones,
before he probes me himself.
Three to go, but
he doesn’t know I came
while he was securing my body.
Then tomorrow it’s his turn,
save I’ll still require
my four first.
ST
I commented on a post Sinking into Slavery by @RopeBunny which had parts that could be put into poetic form, IMHO. So I contributed an old piece of mine.
@Xtc posted a poem a few days ago (When we are alone).