Thursday, March 19, 2009


my warm tender rope slithers through my hands and twists and tugs to squirm away. it moves, slips, slithers and undulates dreaming of limbs and wrists to surround and hold. dreaming of flesh, warm tender limbs to swallow, to lick, to caress, to capture and devour.

Dreaming of hard nipples, engorged and flush with heat and lust, dreaming of drinking in the rhythmic rocking of hips that hunger for the tight grip of rope, and the drooling release of knots and bonds.

my rope grows taut in my hands, firm and full, it aches and pulses and throbs with need and urgency. A throbbing that needs to be devoured by stretched arms, open wet lips, and slippery creases of welcoming passion. My rope pulsates with lust, throbs and pounds longing for delicate alabaster skin, skin as soft and smooth as desire.

it dreams of fragile wrists , wisps of wrists, warm and surrendering. Wrists that pull and struggle and flex with defiance, then surrenders to the dripping passion of being bound and held. wrists with veins as blue as a sky that flow under the whispers of skin that beats and pulsates with hidden need.

it twists and coils arching its back, and throbs with its aching hunger. It snaps and slaps at tender heaving breasts and hips that whisper of the dark desires of coils of iron rope, and the twisted secrets of raw hemp. of legs spread and held open to the creeping and tender burn of tight running rope holding open the nether lips of desire.

My rope coiled in need, murmurs to my fingers, as it unravels and pulls tight around imaginary limbs. Capturing hips of ghosts, and in dreams capturing the thin mist of remembered Celtic flesh, green eyed and red-haired. My rope spins webs to capture the delicate sent of your nightly incubus and the stories of amnesiac skin.

it breaths its longing for long sleek arms, for firm smooth legs to bind, and full succulent breasts to cinch and caress with engorged nipples to irritate and rub rough. For long smooth necks, to cinch and strangle until heaven is infused into Irish eyes, and then released to gasp the flood of lust that gushes in final release.

my rope mouths its desire for flesh, mouths its longing to hold swollen bodies suspended in desire, for breasts to wrap and hold and pinch till nipples swell and engorge. The mouth of my rope opens for a warm torso to hold and wrap in a webbing of lust. To bind in passion and need.

it cries for the warmth that only aroused flesh can have, howls for the heat of flames and the dark need of the inferno that captures flesh and steals souls.

My rope sings of bound bodies in flight, imprisoned in a dream of knots. Of the flight of submission into the crisp October sky.

it growls its rage when holding wrists and ankles, as it contains the frantic strain of muscle and sinew, it hypnotizes with its tender warmth as it enslaves and imprisons.

My ropes in its blind lust hold its willing victim in a Mandela of braids and knots. Holds the aching slave suspended in clouds of passion, and streams of deep soul nourishing need.

the bite of my rope nips alabaster skin, and promises wind and sky and the liberation of captivity, promises endless air and the nurturing love of rope and captivity.

the rough hands of rope fondles breasts and thighs and slithers into your wet crease, brushes and irritates your erect nub, as
the slither of my rope holds you, lovingly and secure, as you reach beyond your crest, and you gush and squirting your final release.

my rope grips you and twists you in its binding hands, and holds you safe and free in my captivity.

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