You Don’t Want Me

I’m probably not the person you want to read a sex story from. I’m an average woman at the cusp of thirty. I wear white Converse sneakers, blue Abercombie jeans, and a gray Alo sweater. It’s all well fitted – dare I say: my butt looks cute with a little A&F lift – but not sexy tight. I have an average job coordinating logistics for a fashion house. Men probably think of me as a fattie, but the line where bros apply that label seems to be right between skinny and normal. Every day on the NYC subway, I see people and more people. I can tell where I fit into the world. I don’t get the snazzy guys with the sharp suits and blue eyes asking me for my number. I get the occasional homeless telling me that he’d make me polish his shoes with my wet twat.

The thing is I love sex. Like every other girl, I dream about a buff chest ripping the shirt off or the geek with nerd glasses reciting Shakepeare while he rails me. But that world isn’t accessible to me. My world is lots of lonely time at work, on the subway, and at home with red wine, toys, and novels. I do put an effort in by going to yoga three times a week. I even got a racy yoga bra, but I never dare to wear it. I get the occasional sex. Platonic Paul called me a great palate cleanser after his girlfriend dumped him.

The wombat is a short-legged, muscular quadrupedal marsupial native to Australia. She digs lots of tunnels to hide in. The digging has made her strong, but she doesn’t look athletic. She looks brown, round, and nondescript. She can adapt to any habitat: mountain, forest, and heathland. She’s tough and can handle the crap that life throws her. But nobody gives her a medal for it.

I want to take you to a little subway trip out to Bushwick with me. Instagram puts all kinds of things into my feed. First, it was a bondage photo of a woman hanging from the ceiling with a bamboo stick across her back holding up her arms. That little heart that I sent her way opened a floodgate of bondage into my stream: Pained faces of women in excruciating torment poses, glorious smiles of naked bodies tied in public to construction scaffolding, and warm, gentle embraces of a rope bottom for aftercare. One rope bottom, dark_giggle, that I checked my stream for every morning upon waking up, added a long comment to her weekend photoshoot. She described her experience of going to a formal rope class, which was new to her. She had simply let her lovers tie her up.

The wild imagining of my mind as I painted out what a bondage class might look like intruded into my thoughts the whole day. Fairy tale ideas like a famous rope master discovering me and making me famous intruded. Worries that a small group of awkward people would make me pair with a weird guy scared me. I tried to gauge the realistic middle way. Maybe, I’d end up partnering with a woman. There could be some nice chemistry between us. I looked over some more bondage photos and imagined that pretty rope across my body turning me into something marvelous and worthy to be admired.

By the end of the day, the temptation and obsession of my mind had worked me to the point of signing up for a class. The web site was a black page with a link to a third rate ticketing service. It felt a little skiffy to hand over my credit card. And bang, the worry started of what to dress. Panic shot into my belly when I imagined having to be naked in front of strangers like the models were on the insta photos. However, after a little research, I found out that women wear yoga pants and other skin tight clothing that gives them a near naked body shape but complete coverage. It was actually very PG.

Bats are mammals of the order Chiroptera. Her forelimbs adapted as wings and allow her to maneuver flight better than most birds. With a flick of her wrist, she can change direction a 180 degrees. With an easy side swipe of her hand-wing, she’s three feet to the side. Flap, flap, she flew to five random places in the room. You can’t control what you can’t locate. You can’t locate what moves faster than you can see.

The class took me to Bushwick, a neighborhood that mixed poor working ethnic people with artists and experimental business as well as lots of graffiti. When the subway crossed the East River, I got a soaring view of boats, waterfronts, and skyscrapers. I always get a little pang in my stomach at this point. It feels like a crossing over from the city, Manhattan, to the outer world. People are poorer on the subway. People seem less trendy and more like they simply happen to be working and needing to commute. The sketchy characters in the crowd become more frequent and tougher. Also right after the first subway stops in Brooklyn, the crowd thins to make the sketchy characters feel more threatening and less restrained. I started feeling nervous.

I was wearing my yoga clothes: Lululemn yoga pants and a crop top. I threw a jacket over to cover up. My feet swiftly flew down the stairs to descend into the zoo that embraced me. The bursa escort bayan stores were cheap and full of bright posters. A medley of food carts offered slices of meat from a skewer, shopping bags with styrofoam containers full of Indian dishes, and Mexican tacos for a dollar each. Garbage bags had spilled open many times and colored the ground dark black. A street post was broken and lying on the side. People were bustling in every direction, coming and going from the subway.

Only a block away from the whirl, the street became quiet and deserted. I crossed a gas station without a single car pumping gas, as if the business had become derelict and real estate investors were leaving it for the time being to wait for real estate prices to rise. The dumpsters were locked with tough looking padlocks. What kind of neighborhood is it if people have to be so worried about their trash getting stolen. Residential looking houses had high fences with spikes in front of them. But the residences didn’t look like private homes. Their fronts were covered with lots of graffiti and no discernable design but simply lots of color. It’s the kind of neighborhood where you want to pack your pussy in tight.

I arrived at the address from the e-mail ticket confirmation. It was a brown brick building, three stories tall. A steep staircase led up to a roughed up glass door. Next to the door was a bolted on buzzer button. It seemed like a battery powered doorbell that’s connected to the wifi. I pressed it. Behind me a sketchy guy with untamed hair and torn jacket was waving his arms around as if he were scaring rats away while walking down the street: “You gotta keep them down! They can’t keep me down!”

A woman walked to the door, around my age. She seemed adorable and way relaxed. She was wearing sweats, t-shirts, and socks. She looked like she was at home hanging out and receiving a Grubhub delivery for a friend. She only addressed me with a smile and then walked ahead of me down a short corridor. We ended up in a room that looked like a gaudy palace. There was a baroque, purple couch, a fake chandelier, and mirror framed with ornate golden and richly embellished shapes.

“Can I have your name?” she asked me.

I told her.

“Can I see your vax card?” she asked.

I showed her.

“It’s down the stairs,” she said while plopping down on the couch and resuming some activity on her phone.

“What am I to expect? I have never done anything like this,” I asked.

“Oh, they’ll take good care of you,” she said with a brief smile over her phone.

Her hanging out at home watching Netflix attitude was in strong conflict with my roiling emotions. Were there ten guys hungrily waiting for a girl to show up down there? Would they take off my clothes and hang me from the ceiling by my ankles? Were couples going to have wild sex, while one of them was tied up? Was I dressed appropriately? Or would everyone else be dressed to the nines or in leather? My heart was pounding a little bit. She didn’t seem like she wanted to be distracted from her phone again.

So I simply did it. I took a first step down the dark stairs. The stairs were so narrow that I had to put my foot sideways. The angle was steeply down. The bottom of them felt much deeper down then a single flight of stairs. Carefully, I stepped down sideways, foot over foot. The room was so narrow that a person coming up would have to brush against me. I felt worry that if I needed to escape, this would be hard and far to get up. A sense of entering a trap of not getting away set in as I neared the bottom of the darkness.

A mouse is a small rodent with a pointy nose and cute, small ears. She loves to eat fruit and grains from plants. So she is always exploring, sniffing with her nose, waving those adorable whiskers. She senses around in her environment but doesn’t notice the curled up snake motionless waiting for her to come closer. All innocent, she climbs over the tail to see what could be there in the middle of the circle, they snake cautiously eyeing her.

As I turned to see the room, I could see a restroom with red mood lighting and the main room opening up. Only flickering electric tea lights lit up the room. The room was packed with what seemed to be mostly couples sitting side by side on puzzle mats. There was something relaxed and casual about the mood in the room. There was no yelling or loud talking. The couples were quietly talking to each other or simply looking to the teaching couple laying out hanks of different types of rope.

A brunette in yoga pants and a bralette looked at me, “Could you take off your shoes, please? You can put your jacket onto a hanger over there. Then find a spot on a mat. We’ll start in a minute.”

I followed her instructions and slipped out of my Converse. I kept my white socks on. Then I stepped into the storage room. There was a clothes rack with hangers. While I put my jacket up there, I looked around in the half görükle escort light. There were half a dozen glass bowls filled with condoms. Durex seemed popular. A palette of lube bottles had the plastic torn open and a bottle removed. There was also a cardboard box full of baby wipes. They seemed to go hard for the private membership only events that the e-mail confirmation had hinted at. I couldn’t help but pull a drawer open to peek inside. The drawer was full of black, body colored, white, and glass dildos. The stack of chlorine bleach bottles made sense now. This place was for real whatever really happened at places like this.

The full room had only a spot free next to a guy with a red shirt of stiff cotton and holes in his socks. It wasn’t the toes. It was the heels that were worn all away. His blond haircut looked like it was from a five dollar haircut place. He wasn’t a complete weirdo, but it was also self explanatory why he wasn’t here with a partner. The other people were clearly paired up. You got the comfy, bigger guy in a blue sweater with the comfy girlfriend. You got the dressy blouse girl with the guy with the manicured mustache. You got the athletically dressed yoga girl with the guy in running shorts. Overall, it was your typical down to earth and chill Brooklyn crowd. There was something meek and nerdy about them like they were in it for the crafting portion of bondage rather than the edgy part.

The instructor couple was a chill Puerto Rican couple. They were in a little love bubble on their mat. They gently caressed each other’s arms and asked each other with excited puppy faces what the other person wanted to start with. And then they hugged each other with a long snuggly hug and a big sigh release. They acknowledged their nervousness and supported each other in a way that it’ll be all good.

“Hi, I’m Simone! This is my play partner Betrand! We don’t like to talk a lot. We want to get right to it. Turn to your neighbor and find a partner. Ask each other who wants to be tied and who wants to do the tying. Make friends!” said Simone. Bertrand was gently swaying to the melodic background music and nodding to support Simone.

There was a gasp in my throat and silence. This was the first awkward part. How much control would I give up? Was he going to touch me? Was it going to become sexual? All these people were sitting on the ground around me in this dark basement. What would happen if I was tied up? I’d depend on him. I couldn’t walk away anymore. I might not even be able to scratch my nose!

Humming birds are native birds to America with a habitat from Alaska to the tip of South America. The colorful bird has 360 different species. Flowers and hummingbirds evolved together in a symbiotic relationship for ages. She loves to sip on the nectar of flowers. The delicate creature can hover at standstill in the air like a helicopter. To do that, she beats her wings 15 times per second. To support that speed, her heart can beat as fast as 1,200 times per minute

“Can I tie you up,” asked the blond, young man.

I seized him up one last moment. There was no choice. It was this or being a wallflower. I smiled at his nervous grimace on the blood flushed face.

“Sure. I’m Mandy,” I replied.

“Theodore,” he replied to the point.

Simone moved around Bertrand on her knees. Then she graced her hands down his arms to gather his hands behind his back. With his forearms aligned horizontally, she doubled up the rope, held onto the loop, and fed the other end in a circle around both wrists. She fed the end through the loop, changed direction, and then wrapped the rope four times around his wrist. She showed two of her fingers to indicate to leave a gap between Bertrand’s forearms.

I half turned my back to Theodore when he already eagerly grabbed my wrist. He was rough – not in a strong but in a clumsy way like a man who collects garbage cans or carries dining room tables out on the sidewalk. Objects that didn’t need care and didn’t respond to care. He seemed like he was trying to be gentle but hadn’t developed touch. He pulled my forearms together. That pulled on my shoulders. I usually slouch a bit to hide my chest. He got my shoulders pulled back and into good posture. My tits lifted up and bared themselves. I blushed. I felt the heat in my cheeks spreading as I felt my breast, my sexual attractors presented to the room. The embarrassment made me quiet. I didn’t dare say anything. I got really sucked into myself.

Then the rope touched my wrist. He moved the rope between my back and the wrist. The first loop was made. The second loop, the third loop, and the fourth followed. I felt breathless. I got the feeling of not having my arms anymore. I couldn’t even see them. They were gone. Then he looped the rope across the loops in between my forearms to take up the two finger width of slack in a way that snuck the rope around my wrist. It was so tight. I knew that I couldn’t bursa escort bayan get out of it.

Simone kneeled behind Bertrand and tilted his torso back to rest against her abdomen. He let his head ease back to feel her. They were so sweetly snuggled together as they supported each other. She hugged Bertrand from behind. Betrand surrendered with an expression of ecstasy into her embrace. Simone fed one loop of rope through the armpit from the front to the back. Then she brought the rope over the shoulder and through the two loops sticking out of the armpit up front. She used that to redirect the rope into a chest harness – a wrap of rope around Betrand’s torso above and below his chest.

Theodore came up behind me real close. He tilted my torso back against his lap without warning. I couldn’t stop it. My hands were tight behind my back. I realized how much he was in control of my body. I felt trapped. He hugged me from behind as he fed the rope loop under my armpits. His face was so close to my ear. I felt his warm breath. I tasted his chicken dinner. I felt his personality and energy seeping into me. I felt scared by it. I felt helpless. I felt daunted by what was coming next. He was fumbling around my breasts.

“Ask your partner if they like the sensation of rope running across their skin,” encouraged Simone. Bertrand nodded affirmingly. Then, she pulled the end of the rope under the loop of rope across his chest. She created a cross loop that moved the loop above and below the chest closer together. I knew that this was going to really accentuate and squeeze my boobs.

“Do you like the rope rubbing across your skin,” asked Theodore.

“Yes,” I whispered without thinking. That’s when I realized how much I had fallen into a trance from the touches and how deeply I had sunk into my head. I had become a point at the core of my being that was looking outwards to notice the sensation of the rope on my skin. I felt like a diver deep underwater peering at the surface, the surface that is full of light and out of reach. He rubbed the rope across my boobs. And then my boobs got squeezed together. They were pointing out like a torpedo. The surrounding rope tension made the boobs inflate. I looked down. My nipples became more visible through the top.

Trout fish that eat insects and other small animals. The rainbow trout has a beautiful hue across the silver skin. In the summer months when it gets hot, they like the shade under an overhang at the edge of the river. Not only is it shady but the colder water carries more oxygen. When a mischievous boy wades into the water and gently, slowly caresses her belly, she falls into a trance. And the wannabe fisherboy can grab her with his bare hands.

I could sense that Theodore was nervous. His hands were a bit shaky. His body was tense. He was breathing fast. Then I could smell his penis head. He must have gotten an erection. There is a thing about boys where if they don’t wash real well or get a little sweaty there, they can have a very unique musk aroma. He seemed to try to keep his hips away from back and his belly leaning forward. There was a shakiness, almost of panic coming from him.

I wasn’t sure that I liked him that much, that I liked being that close, that I liked that much raw boyish, bachelor energy over me. But I was also very drawn into myself. I watched that repulsion from a distance. The rope lulled me in. The repulsions started feeling warm and familiar like a cozy touch stone.

The room around me was happy and calm like a crochet class. People were focused on running the rope the right way. If they were aroused, they kept it in very well. The whole room felt more like a bunch of nerdy kids than a dungeon. I started feeling weird for giving Theodore so much attitude.

Simone picked up another hank of rope, a rich red piece of jute. She bent Betrand’s knee and then looped rope around the shin and thigh to tie him in the knee bent position. She encouraged us to tighten the rope more because we were too timid. And Theodore’s work already started falling apart. He went pretty strong, which pushed the trance button on me even harder. I could tell that my face must have told how gone I was. Without hands and starting to lack one leg to stabilize myself, I became more and more at the mercy of Theodore positioning me and holding me up. His hands started dancing over my body with increasingly familiarity. At first, his hand gently held my back. Then he started gripping the rope behind my back like a handle to move me. His hands graced my belly. I was so out of control and didn’t feel like I could tell him not to touch me because he had to touch me. My breathing grew soft and visceral.

When Simone demonstrated Betrand in a yoga pigeon pose, Theodor pushed my chest forward onto my bond leg and pinned my back down with his knee. I felt so helpless and out of control. I could only hear but not see Simone giving directions to lift up the bottom’s back leg so that it bent at the knee and to tie the ankle towards the wrist. With my hand tied behind my wrist, my bent front leg under my chest and my back leg first straight back and then bent back towards my butt, I was completely confined from moving.