I’ve been lurking on [r/gonewildstories](https://www.reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/) for a little while, and thought this month’s contest was the perfect nudge for my first post – because my favorite sexual and tale-worthy encounter happened at work. It’s an encounter based in frustration, in pent-up excitement, in long, fulfilling release.
A bit about me: I’m genderfluid, female passing, and a shibari rigger. This means I’m a rope top. I tie people. Like all good perverts devoted to a sexual craft I can’t stay long without broaching the subject, and the rule held true during this weird, inexplicable, awesome summer job. (The job itself was alright. It was the bondage that made it fantastic.)
So here I was, two weeks in, discussing fetishes with my coworkers because, one, it’s kind of my thing and, two, because my colleagues were pleasantly sex and kink-friendly. We were a team of five people. My manager was a tall, was-kinda-buff-in-the-days guy, and the girls who worked alongside me were copy-pasted versions of the petite works-in-advertizing cutie archetype. Smaller than me, thin, supple, long hair, good clothes, two loud brunettes and one quiet blonde – the intern. She was finishing her master in journalism and you could see she had sacrificed her social life for her studies: While we were recounting tales of hookups and sexual friendships, she was shrinking in her seat and ogling the floor. You could see the nape of her neck and the straps of her bra underneath her slightly see-through top.
To put her at ease, I started to talk about alternatives to explicit sex. Cuddling. Kissing. Biting. Holding. Binding. Tying. She was red to her ears, but at least she wasn’t shutting me out. I held her stare while the others grew in curiosity, asking questions about the ropes, the techniques, the safety, giving me a path on which to lay promises. I don’t think she realized it but she bit her lower lip when I described the risks of rope burns.
That fucking lip is still carved into my memory.
I’d like to tell you that I had a rope in my bag during this discussion, that I suggested to tie her for demonstration purposes, that I held her in my arms as the other watched and bound her small body to mine, that I pulled my hemp under her tiny breasts and pinched her tits with it and invaded her mouth, her thighs, her ass. Sadly, I did not have a rope with me. I felt her slipping away because words were not enough, and when the manager suggested booking a meeting room for a bondage demo, I was half there when I said yes. What was the point, if I couldn’t bind that little mouth right away and see what her drool looked like?
Two days later, the five of us were in the meeting room. Nice natural 4 o’clock light, a long grey sofa, soundproof walls fitting this audiovisual company. This time I had some of my ropes with me: Narrow, sexy-looking black cotton ropes designed for beginners – which is kind of a lie, because if they do look alluring and harmless, they actually have a deeper bite than classic hemp or jute ropes. I knew my colleagues would keep their clothes on, that’s why I took something more aggressive. To be honest, I was also frustrated because I let the intern slip away and took these specific ropes because I needed to vent a bit. She was right here, staring at the walls, avoiding the sight of me in my stockings. I was dressed to impressed but not to draw attention from other coworkers: The fishnet was hidden under my pants. My see-through top mirrored what the intern was wearing when I almost had her. I’m detail-oriented. I hoped she realized.
She asked to be tied up first because she needed to leave early, and it broke my heart. After some back and forth and discussion she accepted to have one leg bound to itself: I would not tie, touch, brush anything above her thigh. I tied her up, looking for her eyes that she refused to give me. She was tense, and I could not break that distance. I refused to linger for my own satisfaction and took the rope away, leaving faint marks on what little skin showed between her sock and her pants. I knew the red streaks would be gone in a handful of minutes.
She put her shoes back on, thanked me, and scurried away. My knuckles were white around the rope, and I turned to face the three remaining colleagues. They were looking at me. They were expectant, intrigued, mocking. The manager was hiding a wry smile behind his hand, and the brunettes were giggling while they discuss out loud the intern’s lack of courage and my obvious frustration. Fine then! I’d start with them. You wish to hold and defy my gaze? I’ll make you stare down so hard you’ll wish you never had eyes in the first place.
I asked if being bound together was fine with the two girls, and their playful mindset immediately pulled a yes out of them. Good. I made one sit on the armrest of the sofa, the other sit on the actual cushions, an armlength away from the first. They faced each other and continued to tease me. “Don’t do something too light!”, “Don’t do something too short!”, “Don’t look so pissed, hahaha-”
I broke her laughter by pinning her wrists in her back, tying her arms together in one swift and precise motion, pressing the rope across her chest and through her back. She audibly gulped and the sound made the other shut up. The manager moved to have a better view, lying on the backrest to embrace the vision of the now silent girls and their rigger, me, towering over them.
I unraveled a length of rope and let it dangle between them as I started to tie the second girl. I mastered my rhythm, slowly brushing her hair away from her shoulders as I slid the rope across them, binding her arms in her back – this time, I went lower, pulling her wrists right above her ass before bringing the rope across her stomach, plunging the cotton into the fleshy handles of her flanks. I could have grabbed her and threw her down, but I resisted. I had much grander plans.
The giggling started again, this time fueled by a desire to take control of the rising tension that I was building around them. They avoided looking at each other, letting me work around their arms and chests and discussing how nice it looked, never how it felt. But they knew how it felt: The rope slithered against their t-shirts, pulling the cloth across their skin, revealing unprotected areas where I could apply my rope and its bite, slowly, precisely, one knot after the other. My plan was unraveling and I was getting ready. I waited for them to relax, to dare speak about anything else than the rope. “It’s funny because just the other day I was thinking about how my boyfriend-”
I PULLED.
The rope tensed up, brutally sliding across their arms, pulling them into a violent embrace, locking their bodies as one. They huffed in unison, each head above the shoulder of the other girl, their chests pressed together. I slid my hand in between, checking how pointed their nipples were, pulling the rope in between them – one shivered and the other loudly moaned in reaction. I specifically remember hoping the intern had heard that. Behind the two panting girls, manager-guy was wide-eyed and buried himself in the sofa, holding his breath. His left hand was grabbing the cushions, the other hovering below his belt. I stared at him and tsk’d. His hand stopped moving. He couldn’t look away – he knew he was next and would not be allowed any initiative.
“I’m going to untie you. Are you ready?” I asked the girls.
One of them looked at me. Why ask before untying? She nodded, and the other whimpered her approval.
And the rope flew. I unraveled the knots, pulling, pulling, pulling, keeping the tension, sliding across their skin, pushing my hands in their hair, under their chins, above their throats, against their breasts. The rope flailed and clapped against their backs, making them groan and tremble against each other and seek their mutual softness as protection against the storm that raged around them. They hid their faces into each other’s hair, breathing so hard that hints of wetness soon traced their necks.
When the last strand of rope finally left their arms and slapped against the floor, they crumbled on each other, silenced. Bright lines donned their beautiful skin.
I turned to the manager and asked how he’d like to be tied up while caressing the girls’ heads. “Topless”, he said, “and alone.” (To be fair, there was much less eloquence as he was pretty shaken, but allow me some poetic license on this one.)
He checked the room’s clock: We had about fifteen minutes remaining before the next meeting took place. We waited for the girls to come back to their senses and push their clothes back into place. I noticed with satisfaction that they helped each other with careful affection and the deep knowledge of a shared moment. They left the room and I had my boss to myself.
He didn’t wait for my signal and took off his top – he had a summer tan, and a body with delicious abs lined by some years of beer. My tension had fallen, and I just wanted to delineate his muscles, highlight his shapes, magnify his silhouette. I took a single rope and blocked his left arm on the side, letting the other free. I knew the spectacle of the girls had bought his obedience. And, indeed, he followed my dance. My rope became the sensual prolongation of my hands, cotton fingers tracing him, holding his flesh in a tight, tight embrace. I kept him close, breathing on his damp skin, grazing him with my lips without going any further, trying to resist the invitation of his sighs. What I wished to do with my tongue I did with my rope: I invaded his armpits, his neck, his fingers, untied him, tied him again, again, again. I slowed down to avoid breaking any limits. He was drunk on rope, open, broken. I was everywhere and he was everything.
When the clock imposed its rule again, I had to leave him and free my prey. The rope reluctantly let go, its heat stopped enveloping him and in that excruciating moment of separation, he shivered, deeply. None of us spoke for fear of breaking the spell. I left first to let him recollect his thoughts and put his clothes back on. Outside, the two girls had vanquished their stupor and snickered when they saw my flustered face. I know they imagined things far beyond what happened and far below what I had hoped to do. I sat back at my desk, ears buzzing, the rope unfolding in my hand and my brain unfolding in my skull. I make a joke. The girls laughed. He joined us and followed up with a new joke and the moment was over. The spell was broken.
The blonde finished her internship the following month and I never saw her again. I know the trio went to be bound again afterward and pride myself on having the honor of taking this uncanny virginity. I’ve never managed to tie colleagues again: It was a happy coincidence of the right people meeting at the right place and the right time.
And yet, ever since then, I’ve carried a rope in my bag.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/ewvwgi/i_nb_turned_rope_virgins_groupmfff_into_rope