A Ropeslut who gets it:

From Cunningminx‘s Livejournal:

“[My poly family and I] went to a BDSM 101 talk at the local Atlanta club, 1763. One of the presenters was a rope guy, and when he pulled out a length of rope in his talk and ran it through his hands, even that nonchalant gesture turned me on. I miss rope, and here I was.

So after, I asked him for a suspension. I was kinda greedy about it, and my apologies go out to [my metamour] and to [my boyfriend] for hogging the evening. But I’m glad I didn’t pass up the chance.

The ropes caressed me. Some of them were from Twisted Monk, fresh out of the box, and they were tougher, scratchier–but I didn’t care. I was in heaven. J took time to make a really secure harness, and I felt my body yearning, growing impatient… I wanted more from the ropes. I totally gave in to the rope. My body was eager, lusting, yearning. I wanted the ropes to hold me, cut me, fuck me.

And then… I flew. They bit, they caressed, they became part of me. I flew. I moaned in ecstasy. I struggled. I felt every twist, every strand, every bit of those ropes a part of me.

Thanks, J, for the suspension. Thanks to everyone else for letting me take up so much of the evening. Thanks to [boyfriend] for the aftercare.”

That, folks, is what it’s all about…

I’m going to Shibaricon next year.

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