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The online diary of an ethical pervert.

Saturday, 11 July 2009


I'm blindfolded, on my back on the bed. Aphex Twin ambient sounds float in the air, it's a warm summer evening and I'm blissfully relaxed, soaking up the gentle tension of the rope as The Photographer slowly wraps loop after loop after loop around my limbs. It's been a while since I've felt like this, happily letting myself go and retreating to that space just behind my eyelids. My fingers and the soles of my feet are tingling, like the precursor to an Ecstasy high. I'm extraordinarily calm, no need to move or make any noise, just lying back whilst he arranges me however he likes. Perfect.

My right wrist is tied to my right knee, coils of rope on my thigh spreading my legs apart to try and lay them down frog-like, I can't quite make it and am left with it partly in the air. The left knee is bent and bound to my left thigh, there's a taut, spreading sense of not-quite pain, more a growing warmness as I try to hold the position, enjoying the element of resistance involved. My left wrist is brought up to my neck, rope curled around into an impromptu collar and my fingers touch my face. Held there. Finally he parts my lips with exploratory fingers, inserting a knot of rope, fixing it behind my head.

He pauses, briefly to pinch my labia, first gently, then harder and I gasp with pleasure, enjoying the harshness of the touch, it feels like an examination, checking the goods. He leaves me there, at the foot of the bed and goes back to his reading. I can feel his feet press against my side, he moves them so his legs are resting on my stomach. I'm stretched out for his pleasure, his comfort. I smile to myself, happy within my body, within the room, within the rope, endlessly his thing.

Later he uses me, the rope has served as excellent foreplay and my cunt is very wet. Limbs slightly sore and strained from the position, still blindfolded, he feels like a stranger fucking me - I become in my mind an object that he has found, a body he is taking. It isn't our usual position, I have no control of my arms to be able to offer it to him by holding my labia apart so he can take his ease. I'm a fixed point, a utility without autonomy. He removes the blindfold, and suddenly I can see him. He's smiling, his hands rest lightly on the side of my face, I twinge, the lightest touch on my cheek always gives me the split-second expectation of a hard slap but it doesn't arrive. He's gentle tonight, taking his time. Our connection is restored and the sensation of him inside me becomes intimate, less alien. There you are. And with that, there I am, becoming the person who belongs to him, rather than the object used by someone.

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