Near the end of the evening at Exploratorium Friday, Jennifer suggested to a very attractive woman present that she go get tied up by Uncle M. This petite spitfire turned to me immediately as if she had been hit with an epiphany and stated emphatically "Yes! Come tie me up!" Such enthusiasm I thought. Hummmmmm this could be fun.
My standard tie at my restrictive bondage booth is what I like to refer to as my signature hogtie. Simple, quick and very effective. Give me a single 50 foot length of clothesline, a good looking woman, 5 minutes and I will give you a package that is absolutely irresistible. As I have stated in an earlier blog, I have preformed this hogtie hundreds of times and not one single escape. The little spitfire or bombshell, I can't decide which but probably both, knew exactly what she was doing, immediately kicked off her heels, placed her hands behind her back and presented herself to me. Have I ever mentioned I love my job?
As I was forming a length of rope to bind the lady's wrists, as is my custom I asked if she had ever been tied up before, wrist to bedposts don't count. "Oh yes,"she replied without hesitation, "Please proceed and I would like a crotch rope." Must be my clean living. How else can you explain such luck? There was a knowing smile on her face which made me slightly curious. One of those "I know something you do not," kind of smiles.
Instead of the basic hogtie with one 50 foot length of rope, I now switched to crotch rope hogtie mode and used two 50 foot lengths. One length bound her wrists (10-12 feet of it) and the remainder was drawn up to secure her upper arms just above her elbows. The second length was wrapped around her waist several turns, down between her legs, under and over her tied wrists to her ankles, which were pulled up as tight to her wrists as possible. Her ankles were bound and the remaining 6 feet or so of rope was brought down from whence it came, between her legs and tied off to the rope around her waist in front. The harder she tried to pull her ankles down, the harder the crotch rope dug in. This of course was the effect all this extra effort was about.
This tie necessitated me rolling the young lady onto her side in order to tie off the crotch rope. At this point a cloud momentarily crossed the spitfires face. Ut oh. Crotch rope too tight? Not tight enough? Oh dear. She raised her head off the table as best she could, looked at me and exclaimed, "I can't get out! I have disjointed thumbs and I can get out of ANYTHING but I can't get out!" Can't get out until now I smirked inwardly. Does this women not know who I am? Does she not read my press? Apparently not. Or had she, and that knowing smile earlier was because of her confidence, ill founded as it was, in getting free from Uncle M's bondage? BWWAAhhhaaHHHAAAhhhaaaa....
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