Fuck rope

I recently uttered words so unbelievable, so shocking that they stopped nodder in his tracks. Err ... Ok, mid thrust.

"Fuck rope."

It wasn't an adjective used to describe a certain type of rope. I was a verb. And it was said rather emphatically. FUCK ROPE.

If you follow my blog or know me in real life, you know I'm passionate about rope. And if you read On planning and satisfying cravings, you know that I seldom plan a scene. However, this was one of those rare nights where I had a plan. And that plan involved rope.

Take Lilyana's plan, add wine and nodder's skilled mouth and the plan begins to dissolve a bit.

"I should make you get my rope bag," I said more than once in between orgasms.

"I can stop," nodder said, without pausing whatever he was doing to please me. "I can go get it."

"NO."

As much as I love D/s play, I still enjoy what I refer to as pseudo vanilla sex. I can't call it vanilla because when you're involved heavily in BDSM, I'm not sure you can ever have truly vanilla sex. Some kinky element always sneaks into sex, or at least it seems to be that way for me.

But on this night nodder and I were having sex that was almost vanilla and heavily laced with orgasms for me, tease and denial for him. And it was good. Very good. I was into it.

And then nodder asked, at a particularly good moment, "Are you sure you don't want me to go get your rope bag now," and I responded emphatically, "FUCK ROPE."

Nodder stopped mid thrust. "WHAT?? Did you just say 'Fuck rope'?"

I laughed. I hadn't been thinking clearly and now that I was, the irony wasn't lost on me.

Since then, nodder has mentioned it more than once. Rather gleefully, in fact. I think he's rather proud that he was able to get me to say that. And I'm sure I'll never live it down.