Imprints

When I was in college, I tied up boys with silk scarves and karate belts. But when I first saw how hot a boy looked with his hands tied over his head in black rope, I become hooked on bondage.

I love it. I love the way boys look in rope. I love the way they look at me when they're tied up. But most of all, I love the marks that rope leaves on wrists and ankles and . . .

A couple of months ago, I tied up pk in my closet and left him there while I went out with a vanilla friend of mine to Fremont Street. I didn't know any great knots at the time and I was in a hurry so I just tied him the best I could. Actually, considering the length of time he was to be alone, I didn't want to tie him too well in case he needed to get out. Of course his cell phone was in reach.

Anyway, when I got home, I untied him and brought him out of my closet where he'd been comfortably nesting in my dirty clothes. I played with him a bit and then we snuggled on my bed.

It was then that I noticed the indentions the ropes left on his wrists. I marveled at them and touched the impressions, relishing the feeling of the pattern of the braid in his skin.

I remember telling him I thought it was hot and I remember him telling me he hoped the marks would go away. It was Saturday night. Surely they'd be gone by monday morning, right? Nope! I'm not sure how he hid the imprints at work, and eventually they did go away, but I can't tell you how erotic I find it even now, knowing my ropes left those imprints.