Rubbed the Wrong Way

The only rope that did not hurt!

She tried to contain the mass of spit in her mouth. She curled her lips around the large ball and breathed steadily through her nose. She worked against the ropes hoping just one would slip or just one knot would start to loosen. It was an effort in futility that she had repeated for almost an hour. Her body ached and her fingers tingled. The more of her that went numb the more other areas began to throb. She continued desperately to try to free herself, but discomfort was the only reward for her fervent struggles. She grew tired, but she had to keep going. Each minute drew her farther and farther from the hope of ever freeing herself and ever closer to a shameful surprise she could never expect. She gyrated in the ropes and tensed against their tightness. Fingers without feeling flexed. Arms on fire swayed back and forth, and shoulders bucked against ropes that would never yield. The struggles were taking their toll, and the sweat glistening on her body grew heavier with each movement. She began to notice a familiar sensation. It was those damn ropes between legs, pulled deeply inside her and up against her womanhood. They rubbed with each movement. They stimulated her. She paused from her struggles to let the rising subside, but the clock caught her eye. Her hour was almost up. He would be back to take her away. All would be lost without escape and so she struggled again with renewed fervor. The sensation grew but still she struggled. She writhed and moaned, and the sensation grew. She pushed her hips into the tight ropes over and over, and the sensation grew. She needed to get free, she fought the ropes and the sensation grew. It grew and it grew and it grew and then ... she was out of time. The flood came over her and waves of sensation flooded her body. Her entire body shook with spasms. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she opened her mouth wide. The drool drained from her face, flowed from her chin and ran down her chest. She screamed into the ball as saliva bubbled and sprayed into the air. She panted, and tried to catch her breath. She still had time to get loose. She could still be free. It was then that she heard soft clapping in the shadows. He emerged still applauding her show. He had been there the entire time hidden behind the bright lights. The bastard had watched every movement and witnessed the agony of her predicament. Escape would have to wait. She knew this little show was far from over.


Crotch ropes are a necessary element of predicament bondage in my opinion. I correct myself, tight crotch ropes are necessary. They add a certain element of helplessness for sure because the damsel cannot even prevent a rope from going between her legs. The predicament comes into play because struggling will always remind a girl that there is a rope between her legs. It might hurt. It might chafe. It might feel like awesome times twenty, but a girl will always know it is there. That is the essence of a predicament for me. The damsel needs to struggle, but the struggling will always let her know there is a crotch rope and just where it is rubbing!