Ribbon and Rope

The bedroom seemed the same as it always had; everything was exactly where it had been every other time she had been there. Yet when he ushered her inside, it felt different somehow, filled with a sparkling sensuality. There was no soft candlelight, only the bold incandescent bulbs in the boring overhead lamp. She didn't hear any music or notice any incense or see at first anything new at all.

The reason for her undeniably excited feeling evaded her until she looked again at him; it was he who was glowing, his eyes radiant with anticipation, his hand gently on her shoulder nearly trembling with the effort to restrain himself. She had to smile at his pure joy, a smile that relaxed her and simultaneously alerted her ... some new game was about to start.

With a knowing wink, he suggested that she go into the bathroom and do whatever she thought necessary "to be ready" and then to come back again totally nude. After a moment's hesitation of tilted head wondering, she obeyed, returning a few minutes later. He had dimmed the lights only enough to reduce the glare, and had put on sensual symphonic music that was barely audible yet exactly appropriate. She saw a new full-length adjustable mirror standing in the room and a smaller mirror on the dresser. In this one she saw his reflection, caught again that sly, mischievous wink as he examined her body to his satisfaction through the mirror's perspective.

He opened the top dresser drawer and withdrew two black velvet bags, one that nearly filled the drawer and the other small enough to fit into her small purse. From the large one he pulled out yard after yard after yard of rope that turned out to be easily over a hundred feet of braided cotton, perhaps one-third inch in diameter. She had seen such rope many times at Home Depot and Lowe's but never had given it a thought. This rope had been washed thoroughly then uniformly dyed from its original white to a royal blue, a fabric sapphire – one of her favorite colors.

It was evident that he relished the attention she paid to the rope and to him as he laid it out on the floor and inspected it for any possible rough areas, tangles or flaws. Finding none he located the precise center and folded the rope in half, making a basketball-sized loop. He then motioned to her with his fingers, his smile, his eyes, his body, to approach him. She couldn't resist pretending not to understand, to play coy and slightly evasive. The hunger in his eyes intensified when she glided over to him, stopping teasingly a few inches away.

While she had obviously suspected the rope would be used around her, she had no idea how it would be done or how it would feel. He placed the loop over her head, letting it drape on either side of her breasts like a scarf so she could adjust to the feeling. It felt exactly like incredibly long rolled-up cotton balls. Soon afterward he grabbed the rope above her breasts, as one would with a neck tie, and pulled her to him, pressing her full length against his, kissing her passionately as he ground his pelvis, his already-hard-ness, against her willing flesh.

It took her breath away, and nearly stole his resolve to play with the props he had so recently arranged. How tempting it was to throw everything aside now and to make love! Instead, he steeled himself to push her away, despite her soft moan of longing when he did so. When he stood up straight and tall, she knew she was to do so also, and the playing began.

With the center of the rope around her neck, that left two strands each about fifty feet long, therefore when he twisted the rope ends three times directly between her base of her breasts, it took at least a minute of adjusting to keep the ends from knotting up. She remained quite still for this and realized that she would be basically a mannequin for perhaps an hour if not more; however, there could be no happier mannequin than she. He instructed her to hold the twisted rope in her left hand to keep it in place, and to use her right hand to lift her long hair up, away from the "collar" of the rope.

His fingertips almost tickling her, he caressed her skin as he moved around her, gently pulling the rope ends to her spine between her shoulder blades. There he twisted them twice, and with one hand held that twist in place while he pulled the yards upon yards of cotton rope through the back of the collar, looped each strand once around it, mirroring his design, then returned the rope to her shoulder blades. With both hands now he wrapped each strand outward twice around what would become the highest circle of rope on her torso in order to secure it. In this way, although the loop around her neck would support all the rope below, the balanced pull from her back would remove the strain on her neck.

Each flowing strand that was down her back he draped over her shoulders a few inches from the collar and along the outer edge of her breasts. Now standing in front of her again, with careful, tantalizingly slow movements he threaded the strands around the highest circle as he did in the back, with two twists but pointing toward the center. He then crisscrossed them inside the base of the front tri-twist and again below it. The foundation of the rope dress was completed and she could relax her arms to her sides.

Taking a break, he embraced her, caressed her with and through the rope, insured that no place was too tight, that it was evenly just tight enough to stay in place no matter how she moved, to support her and hold her with the exact pressure needed in every location.

Already she felt special, more beautiful even before the corseting began. More than a Paris supermodel, she was getting a perfectly custom-made outfit designed just for her, a one of a kind, never to be seen before or after, work of art that accented her best features. In a sense she felt that wherever the rope touched became her most beloved feature, felt more beautiful the more it molded itself to her. He made the inanimate rope come to life, or rather, to bring her to a new sense of life.

Positioning both her arms behind her head and holding up her hair, he relatively quickly aligned the two long strands with the top circle, leaving no gaps, as he encircled her ribcage again. At her back he secured each strand to the one above by weaving it once, initially at the edge of her back on either side, In the front he did the same weaving action, again on the far ends of her rib cage, under the outer sides of her breasts. Row after row he continued to mummify her torso, weaving the rope strands to the row above, yet each time a little more toward the center than the one above. Oddly, with each layer of rope encircling her, holding her, she felt a blossoming sense of freedom and capability, of sexually heightened awareness.

Every time he placed the rope around her, his fingers quickly or lingeringly grazed over some part of her increasingly attuned flesh, this time her forearm or another time her hip or her breast. He gave the appearance of not having noticed that he had touched her, but both of them knew every bit of his movement was well choreographed. Likewise, every time he had to weave the rope, he pulled the seemingly endless yards through annoyingly slowly, in part to prevent pinching or burning her with the rope, but moreover to play with her mind as much as to entice and tease her body.

At the smallest part of her waist the weaving reached nearly to her navel and thus created a V-shape under her breasts and on her upper back. Continuing a few more inches over her hips, he inversed the pattern and thereby ended with an hourglass design in the front and back. To the lowest level of rope circumscribing her body, he wove the last strands in such a way to hang not only securely in place but also to loosely drape over each ass cheek. Her rope dress was complete.

Strangely enough, she did in fact feel like she was fully attired in a dress. Those two bits of rope ends that dangled nearly to her ankles felt to her like the whoosh of a fully-skirted evening gown. The corset-like dress helped her to stand in a tall, confident posture and accented her now thinner waist and pronounced breasts. She felt covered from neck to ankle despite being only really covered in her mid torso. The illusion was so strong within her that when she looked in the full-length mirror she was shocked to see all her areas of nakedness. Regardless, the vibrant contrast of the brilliant blue against her skin plus the softness of the cotton entwined authoritatively around her filled her with awe to see such artwork in the reflection. When he held her, caressed her, the ropes massaged her skin and muscles, invigorated her while soothing her. Most amazing of all was how comfortable it felt; she knew she could easily and enjoyably wear her new dress for the whole day!

There was no denying the arousal she felt from the rope around her, embracing her. She felt her heat rise, her mound swell with desire. She longed for him to touch her more, to add more, to ... anything!

He sat on the corner of the bed to watch her radiant pleasure in the dress, and it was only when she saw that he held the smaller velvet bag in his hand that she came out of her private enchantment and back into the adventure they shared.

From this bag he pulled out a large roll of shimmering silver ribbon, about a half an inch wide and perhaps as long as the rope. He let her feel the silkiness of the identical top and bottom, and the suppleness of the soft edges. They both smiled happily because, above all else, this was simply fun!

He unwound the entire roll and, as with the rope, made a loop at the center. Motioning again for her to stand ready for the addition of the ribbon, she automatically raised her hands to her head to hold her hair up. It confused her when he lowered them then asked her to hold about a foot's length of that loop with both hands in front of her. Sometimes he would tell her to use only her right or her left hand while he worked, but at no time was she to wrinkle it, or drop it, or let it touch her body. Nor was she to touch herself no matter what he did, despite how tempting it was for her to do so, how ready she was. Telling her she couldn't touch herself made her want to do so all the more.

He began by kneeling in front of her, under her slightly raised hands with the long loop, and with his face directly in front of her pubic area he started to weave each ribbon end through the coils of rope. Her buttery smooth naked mound barely inches from his teasing lips, she could feel his warm breath on it as he exhaled somewhat more huskily than he had earlier. His presence there increased her excitement, her heat, her scent of sex. His dexterous hands sometimes faltered from the effect of his rising need – he was as ready for her as she was for him – but he steadily continued his task of dressing her in both ribbon and rope.

The silver ribbon for him was like a paint brush in the patterns he drew in the canvas of the solid layer of blue rope. He traced it along the hourglass design in the front of her corset, and laid it against her skin to accent the ropes of her bodice. Wrapping them around the rope as slowly as before, he could be more sensuous. The light weight of the ribbon allowed him to playfully spank her with bundles of it, or by applying slight resistance on one side of her body, drag it oh so lightly across her eager mound. Frequently, the edge of the ribbon slid over her breasts, giving her a dull scratch on her erect, little-raspberry nipples that made her all the more squirmy. She fought with more focus to stand still for her designer outfitting session.

In addition to adding color, he wove the ribbon in ways that both covered her and opened her. Laying the ribbon beside the ropes around her breasts accented their suppleness even more, and then another weaving of ribbon pulled the outside layers of ribbon and rope toward her back. He breasts seemed all the more exposed because more of her shoulders and back were covered.

Once the upper portion was completed, he entwined the ribbon again into the coils around her ribcage, his time in the back. Again he traced around the hourglass design, the ribbon accenting her narrowed waist, making her seem more vulnerable despite the strength the rope imparted. At the lowest circle around her hips, he paused with his breath on her ass, his presence there causing her to nearly cry out for him to touch her, lick her, take her. Instead he eventually secured the last several feet of ribbon as he had done with the rope, so it stayed in place just within the lowest circle, dangling down over her ass cheeks.

Believing him to be finished, she involuntarily started to move, but he stopped her, letting her know that he had something else to do. He told her to spread her legs a bit further, and then he reached between her inner thighs, tantalizing her honed senses with nothing more than the softest touch of the coarse hair on his arms, letting his forearm linger temptingly. Her slightest movement to rub against him, to ease her lust, failed because he would withdraw his arm precisely the same amount. When he then grabbed the loop of ribbon from her hands, she was totally surprised – she had forgotten entirely that she had held it.

He pulled the ribbon between her legs, insuring that it lay flat along and under her mound and up her ass cheeks. Wedging them in her crack, he pulled up somewhat harder than she expected and wove the looped ribbon held at the base of her spine with the draping ribbon ends and secured it all to the rope. By design or accident, all the ends of the rope and ribbon were now level with each other, cascading from her ass neatly and uniformly.

After her gasp when he pulled the ribbon taut against her skin, she realized the not-too-tight pressure caused her every movement to create intensified arousal. Each breath meant the ribbon pulled just enough against her mound to excite her, make her want to rub her legs together or reach her hand down to rub her clit into the orgasm she deeply craved. Also, each change in her posture, no matter how slight, pulled one or both ribbons between her ass cheeks, providing teasing touch and exposing her openings.

He stood, stretched quickly in what he hoped appeared to be a nonchalant manner, and then stepped back in praise of his creation. He made minor adjustments to improve the visual effect, but mostly he wanted to touch the fabric and the woman beneath it. He asked her to turn this way and that, and to admire in the mirror the effect of the blue rope, the silver ribbon, and herself. He treasured her joy, her increased radiance, and the knowledge that posing for him meant erotic stimulation for her as well as for him. He told her to pose in certain positions just for the effect it would have on her erotic appetite.

He knew she ached for sexual fulfillment. Likewise, she could very plainly see that he ached for her. Just as he had done before their rope play began, he motioned to her with his fingers, his smile, his eyes, his body, to approach him. This time she didn't hesitate at all but instead jumped directly to him, one leg wrapped around his, her mouth hungrily on him in an instant.