I wrapped Leah’s forearms once, twice, three times behind her back. Laying the courses flat and neat. Then the bite — that’s just the place where the rope is folded back on itself — goes over the six-lines, under and through, then through again to complete the limb loop. It doesn’t need to be tight, once the upper-arm lines compress the shoulders, her wrists will have nowhere to go.
The stem lines are always off-center at first. They go diagonally up from the small of her back to the upper arm, then across the front of her chest high on the breasts, and around to the back again. The working ends orbit the stem lines, reverse direction, and pull the stem lines to center, along her spine, as the box-tie begins to take shape. I lay the next pair of lines just under the first because it compresses her shapely breasts downward. I come all the way around to the back, and now this piece of rope is about spent. I go through the loop at the top of the stem and just wrap the horizontal lines across the back until it’s all gone. This rope is jute which has a lot of tooth, so friction will hold it in place without knots. I uncoil a second length and run it double through my hands until I hold a new bite in the center of the rope. That goes under the stem lines just below the passes around her chest. Pass the working ends through the bite and pull them through and you have a lark’s head knot, and fifteen feet more doubled rope to work with.
“Not too tight anywhere, is it?”
“Like you care, you pig,” Leah replies with just the right whiny tone.
“Pig? You’re going to pay for that, you know.”
“I know.”
I take the lines around and across her upper arms again, below the previous two passes. I reach around and lift her breasts, each in turn, so that I can snug the lines right into the base of each. To the back, orbit the stem lines, and reverse direction.
Shibari, Japanese rope bondage, has a rhythm; one, two; first clockwise, then counter-clockwise; three, four. Two passes above the nipples; one, two; two passes at the base of the breasts; three, four. It’s a Samba, with rope, in 2/4 time.
I come across her chest again for the last time. Lifting each breast and laying this pass above the previous one, because that will provide lift. The upper courses press down and the lower ones push up. The result? The breasts jut forward so invitingly, but I’m not done with that yet. Around to the back, orbit the stem lines, and up over her shoulder. Now, down between the breasts and under the lines below, then around and up again. Wrap around the descending shoulder strap and back up across the other shoulder, to the back again. It’s almost done, and I love this part. I reach around and run my hand across Leah’s taut breasts, then I pull down on the still-free shoulder strap. That pulls up on the lines below her breasts and taut becomes absolutely rock-solid, with nipples that distend and demand to be bitten. I finish off the last bit of rope, passing under the horizontal lines and wrap until the rope is gone. I check my work. The back can often get messy with all the lines converging there. I smooth the coils out, tighten them, snug the free ends and tuck them under. Perfect. In Shibari, neatness counts.
I’ll never understand those people that say that rope-bondage takes too long. The rhythm of the rope is foreplay. I turn her around and stroke my fingers across the hard points of her nipples. “Now, who’s a pig?” I say as my mouth descends and latches onto one rock-hard nub.
“You are,” she asserts until my teeth change her mind. “No, me, me, … please, Hal, no more!”
I relent and toss her backward onto the bed, then kneel at the edge between her legs. I raise both hands and slap my open palms down into her thighs, bracketing her glistening lips, and eliciting a sharp intake of breath. “Do me,” she groans.
I throw one of her legs over my shoulder, and lick upward from her knee to her thigh, then to the center, and part her lips with my tongue, as two fingers slide, just under my chin, into her wetness, and hook up across her G-spot. My free hand glides up her body and rolls one of her protruding nipples between thumb and index finger. It’s time for a new kind of Rhythm.
“Oh, god, Hal,” she moans.