Rope: Slave Rouge's First Flight

I placed slave Rouge's hands on the upper bar of the suspension frame. The metal contraption was painted bright red, the same color as the collar around the slave's neck.

I could feel her nervousness. She was pretty much vibrating with it. She had never been fully suspended before. She knew there would be pain, but she was unsure how much of it. She probably wondered if she'd be able to endure it.

At the same time, I could smell her. She smelled really nice. Clean, and warm, and inviting. The kind of smell that, combined with how running my hands on her pale soft skin felt, really woke up the primal me and made it come out to play.

I contemplated the beautiful woman that stood before me. An inch taller than me, there was a lot of her. And I liked that. Her weight was similar to mine. I knew that someday, somewhere, she would run into an idiot that would tell her that women like her could not be suspended. That only tiny bunnies could fly. I wanted to make sure that after the experience she would get today, she would know for the rest of her life that this was lies. That she could confidently know that.

Rouge was very receptive to rope. As soon as the first contact between the hemp and her skin occurred, she started to melt. Her long, beautiful red hair cascaded over her shoulders. I asked Mya over so she could hold it up for me. Of course, I could just as well have used a hairband. But where would the fun have been in that?

I began to form the chest harness that would provide the bulk of the support for the suspension around the slave's torso. As I added more wraps, it constricted her more, designed as it was to hold her up in the air, but she was surprised to find she could still breathe comfortably despite that. As the upper wraps completed the frame around her breasts, she let out a sigh. Mya ran a finger between the slave's legs, and for sure, it came up wet.

Having Mya to stand behind Rouge and hold her up, I could for once enjoy the luxury of coming around to the front of my bottom to tie the front part of the harness. As I tied that very familiar pattern, I leaned in to kiss Rouge. Kissing her was always highly pleasant, with her soft lips and gentle tongue. I noted the staccato of her breathing. This one was a natural for rope, no doubt about it. At least for the kind of rope that I enjoy.

I slid around to be behind her again, brushing against Rouge's skin with my whole body as I did, and slightly displacing Mya to the side. I began to tie the last part of the chest harness, and decided to be generous to the slave. She had been in non-stop service to us for nearly 24 hours, and her body had been through some tiring things. Rather than tying a classic stem that would dig into her skin in the suspension, I gave her the mercy of a flat weave at the back that would support her in a way less painful way. She'd earned it.

The harness thus completed, I grabbed the top of the slave's head and pushed her down and inside the suspension frame. This gesture was first born of safety, as I didn't want her to bump her forehead against the heavy steel structure. But there was also a symbolism in it that didn't escape me: feeling protective of her while at the same time pushing her towards something risky and dangerous, guiding her deeper into things with a push of my arm. Once she stood in the center of the suspension frame, I spun her around to face me, and started the process of anchoring her.

The first upline was attached to the front of her chest harness, just between her perky breasts. From there, it shot up to a vertical bar above. I instructed the slave to bend her knees and lean back, putting some of her weight into the harness. Rouge thus felt her harness come alive for the first time as loading tensions ran through the rope all around her ribcage, and she discovered the sensations that from then on, would do nothing but become more intense. The upline now taut, I locked it in a robust fashion, very mindful that this particular set of hitches on the main line was what made the difference between my slave flying and her crashing to the mats below. As I focused on this task, Mya, who was watching from the corner, couldn't resist the temptation to crack a joke at how I was creating such pretty uplines nowadays. Fair, I saw what she meant, although still touchy about my rope being called "pretty". I turned back to look at slave Rouge and saw a lot of anticipation in her eyes. Things were becoming pretty real, pretty fast for her. I liked that look on her a lot.

Grabbing one more coil of 6 mil, I went down to entrap her left leg into a single column tie, just above the knee. In turn I brought the line stemming from the loop to that same bar overhead her chest was attached to. With the pulley system formed, I leaned back with the rope to leverage her leg higher and higher, until her knee was almost 6 feet over the mat. The slave's brow furrowed as she came to terms with the new experience imposed upon her. Mya watched with interest from her corner, and although she was behind me I could feel her benevolent smile. She circled the suspension frame and went to crouch close to our slave's ear, and whispered encouragement and advice.

Meanwhile, I had already prepared another single column around Rouge's waist, and run it up to the frame, but I had not tensioned it yet. This one would have its role to play later, but my experience was that when it would be needed, it would be needed fast. Might as well have it all laid out in advance.

I then ensnared Rouge's other shapely long leg. Hoisted it up just the same as the first one. And just like that, it was done: there was no part of her body that touched the floor anymore. She had taken off for her first flight in rope. Seeing her gasp at the intense torment of having her whole body supported by only her chest and her two thighs, I acted quickly, and also pulled up the waistline that I had laid previously. All could hear the big sigh of relief she gave at that, as her spine was straightened by my pull and the pain level became a lot more manageable.

So far, her hands had been grabbing onto the crossbars of the suspension frame firmly. Hanging on for dear life, probably so tight her fingers would have turned white around the cold, red metal. But in that moment, feeling her Master's rope hold her securely, and hearing her Mistress's calming words, she decided to let go. Her fingers disengaged from the bars, and her arms slowly lowered towards a ground they were much too high to touch. Likewise, her neck relaxed and her head bent backwards, sending her long beautiful red hair in a torrent of fire that barely cleared the mat below.

She submitted to the rope.