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“You can leave the underwear on,” he said. “Vince doesn’t need my giant dick swinging in his face.”
“That’s exactly the kind of environment I thrive in,” I said. “Or have you forgotten who I’m usually tying up?”
“Fair point.” Manson inhaled deeply, holding it for a moment. His shoulders were tight with tension and I grasped one of them.
“Let me know when you’re ready,” I said. “Nothing happens until you say.”
He still had control; I needed to remind him of that. It wouldn’t help for me to suggest he stay calm, or relax, or any other advice regarding his feelings. How he felt was personal; it wasn’t up to me to decide that. I could only provide him with the environment to explore it safely.
He needed the opportunity to feel however he needed to, without worrying about how it would affect other people. It wasn’t about me, or Jess, or anyone else. It was about him, and for a man who liked to be called a God, he wasn’t nearly selfish enough.
Jess spoke to him softly. “Are you scared?”
“Not scared. Not exactly.” He took a long look at the rope, as if it was an unwanted companion he was trying to be polite with. But slowly, after several deep breaths, the tension on his face melted away.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.”
Art couldn’t be rushed, and rope was no different. I had to know the body I was working with. I had to know pressure points, nerves, arteries. I had to know my supplies too, the strength of my rope, the density, the pressure. Every knot was made with purpose.
Kneeling behind Manson, I took my time as I pulled the ropes taut around his chest. Jess sat in front of him, cross-legged, her hands on his legs. He kept his eyes closed, at first; taking slow breaths in a timed cadence. I bound his arms behind his back, arranging the ropes around his chest like a harness.
Every loop around his chest was like a hug, slowly crushing all that anxiety and tension out of his body. At least, that was the way I preferred to think of it. If I wasn’t so focused, I would have been more talkative, but that was why I needed Jess there. While I was tying him, she kept Manson engaged in conversation.
“Have you let him tie you up before?” she said. She kept touching him, and I wasn’t sure if she realized how much it was grounding him. I noticed, but I’d also been around Manson enough that I could pick out his little tells: the way his breath got a bit shorter and faster, how the tightness in his muscles relaxed.
“A few times,” he said. “I let him practice on me when he was learning.”
“Did it scare you then, too?”
Manson made a soft sound, something between a scoff and a growl. “I never said I was scared, angel.”
“I know,” she said. “You didn’t have to say so.”
He shifted a bit, and I paused. “Too tight?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. You’re good. Jess keeps giving me goosebumps with her nails and I’m hard as a fucking rock, so...gotta adjust a bit.”
I snickered. “She’s going to have to do something about that soon.” I peered at Jess over his shoulder. “Why don’t you go rummage around in my bag? See if you find anything in there you’d like.”
She gave Manson a slow, ridiculously sexy kiss before she leapt to her feet and dashed over to the bag.
“Holy shit, you brought so many toys!” she said when she saw all the goodies I had packed away. “How did I have no idea you brought all this?”
“I tend to come overprepared,” I said. “I may not end up using 90% of the shit I packed, but I still want to have it just in case. It’s the worst when you go on vacation and realize halfway through that you forgot your favorite paddle, or didn’t pack enough butt plugs.”
“Or the time you and Jason went camping and you forgot the poppers,” Manson added. His eyes were still closed, but he smiled as he reminded me.
“My point exactly,” I said. “Never be caught unprepared. Always pack your poppers.”
As Jess continued to hunt for toys, I completed my last knot. It wasn’t as restrictive or as extensive as the ties I usually liked to do. But the point wasn’t to construct an elaborate predicament of bondage. I gripped my hand around the nape of his neck, and he leaned into me, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders.
“How does that feel?” I said.
“Good,” he said quietly. “It feels good. It’s tight.” He took another deep breath, and I rubbed my hands across his shoulders, stimulating the circulation in his back and arms. “Thank you.”
“No need to thank me,” I said. “I enjoy this too, you know. It’s like meditation.”
Tying someone up didn’t have to be a purely sexual experience, or even an arousing one. Sometimes, it was simply intimate. It was another way I could connect with the people I was close to, a way that didn’t require words. The process of creation, of makingsomethingout of essentiallynothing, was such a vulnerable act. Rarely did the recipient of that creation, the observer, have the opportunity to be vulnerable as well.
