Hot Dude’s Predicaments

It all started when Molly Ren tweeted “I love this image so much and I know almost nothing about who took it or where it’s from.”

My first impulse was to tweet back something snarky like “There’s an app for that” with a link to my $5.00 porn research and attribution service that not enough people use. But I made my saving throw, and thus spared Molly my snark.

Still, the image that caught her attention was intriguing and engaging, even though (like so many Tumblr specials) somebody had cropped off the watermark. I ended up tracking it down anyway, along with a companion image. They are from a page that currently loads some source but will not render for me in any of my browsers, that’s also not in the Internet Archive, but fortunately at this very moment Google Cache has it. (That last is a temporary link, natch.)

According to mouse-over tool-tip text in the cached page, these photos are “Collaboration #1” and “Collaboration #2” by Michel Groisman and Manuel Vason, and they’re dated “Nottingham 2006”.

Am I good at this? Yeah, I’m good at this.

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Try Not To Pee On Your Rope Harness

Wearing a rope harness in public has its perils, as Red explains:

It’s funny, I would have thought that the rope harness peaking out from under my black halter-top dress would have made me blush deeply if seen in public, but for some reason it wasn’t phasing me. No, instead my attention was focused on the rope ends dangling down the inside of my legs, cresting just below the short hem of my dress. Every time they grazed across my skin, I was sure my jolt and my smile were obvious to anyone watching.

The coffee shop closed, so we left. Monk finished his coffee with a flourish — how he did it so damned quickly was beyond me. I continued to nurse mine as we drove down the road. This leg of the car ride was particularly difficult – not only was I steadying a hot cup of coffee, I was trying to stabilize my wiggles and movements as the car went over bumps, doing my best to stop the rope drawn tight between my legs from making me yelp *too* much. I’m pretty sure I only partially succeeded.

The space was quite busy when we arrived, but we found a spot quickly nonetheless. I watched intently as he prepared for the scene ahead, taking it in, letting my imagination get ahead of itself as I did so. Finally, he looked at me with eyes that spoke their intent very clearly. We were about to begin.

“Better make a pit stop,” he told me, “Cause once we start…”

Visions of my crotch rope danced before my eyes. It’s like he could tell what flew through my mind, because he looked at me with terribly amused eyes and said “I guess you’d better be careful.”

I no doubt flushed red, as my embarrassment burned in my cheeks before channeling down my spine, making me ache deep within. As I fumbled with the rope, trying desperately (and successfully) not to pee on it, I blushed deeper. My sex throbbed deeply against the line of hemp drawn across its core, calling for more struggles and more friction. More more more…

I doubt that the blushing had subsided before I was back before him, but I didn’t care. His eyes smiled as he drew the rope through his hands.

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