I love being tied up. More specifically, I love the intimate elements of it, the passion, and the spontaneity. I love when it’s rushed and heated, when he grabs my arms and yanks them over my head, giving me little time to react before a silk scarf finds its way around my wrists, hastily knotted and left to dangle from them. This leaves me wide open to his advances, helpless to them, unable to reach out and grab onto him, relying on him completely to take care of me.
It doesn’t have to be a silk scarf. It could be the belt he wore to work that day or the sash from a robe in the bathroom. Anything that he can twist around my arms and cinch closed, strong enough to hold me even if I twist and tug with all my strength. Certainly, a pair of handcuffs would do the trick, but nothing gets my blood hotter than when he grabs the first length of fabric within arm’s reach and uses it to hold my arms down while he ravishes me senseless.
Few things make this pet feel more wanted than that.