OK i feel a little guilty for this one
Only a little.

Long long ago in a rented flat far far away..... when I was with a mentalist highland bitch with whom I had mistaken lust for love*.
Anyhoo, said mentalist was rather into, well not quiet BDSM but shall we say kinky bondage with a few extras. She was rather more into it than me, as I regarded it somewhat of a kerfuffle on occasion. But I was confusing lust with love and proceeded to fulfil all her desires to be tied up in various positions/places and spanked/fucked/what-evered. To give her fair dues, I was rather entranced by her kinky suggestions on most occasions.

This went on for a while.

Once day, having, I suspect, been reading too many Nancy Friday books, she requested to be tied upside down over a door and thoroughly pleasured, i was rather/extremely dubious but encouraged by promised of unearthly delights partaken from her upside-down form I consented to help. This was an engineering challenge of the first water as she wasn’t by any means anorexic and I was thinking with the main brain only by this stage.

So I get her to do a handstand, protect her ankles with a towel, loop some tow rope over the door and her ankles, go round to the other side and hoist away. As she grunted aroused success on the other side i was stuck with a more practical problem, how did I attach the rope to prevent her falling on her head? I couldn’t attach it to the radiator, that would impede my re-entrance to the room and much anticipated unusual sex. So what to do? I failed around and spotted an old metal hoop on the bottom of the door, presumably to hold the door back or something (I know it was outside the room but perhaps someone had reversed the door in aeons past), so I looped the tow rope through the hoop and job done.

I stood back to admire my handiwork and to let the creative tension build on the other side of the door. Opening the handle I prepared to enter the room and my gf, only to have the door snatched from my hand as the silly bitch’s weight ripped the fucking door clean from the frame and wedged it firmly both on top of her and into the door frame.

There was a moment of dread calm as I rapidly achieved de-tumescence.

Jesus-Titty-Fucking-Christ, I’ve killed my gf I thought.

Until i heard her snarling lilt from under the door requesting in plain terms for me to get the fucking door off her sharpish you fucking twat.

Problem is i couldn’t.

Fucking thing wouldn’t budge, not a fucking inch, it was fucking wedged, now we’d only just moved in and there were no tools in the house, so i (luckly it was Saturday lunchtime) volunteered to go get a saw/crow bar and a new door, I’d be back in under an hour i said as i gallantly stepped on the door to get back into our room and get dressed.

This was met with a torrent of the single least lady like language i’ve ever heard from a woman. Ever!

I scarpered out, bought the tools/door and rescued her but a mere two hours later. What a hero. After promising my eternal silence on the matter i repair the damage and normality resumes.

So where’s the guilt? Well before i went to the DIY place, I went for a pint or two to calm my nerves and had to tell the entire bar why i was laughing so much i spilled the first pint and had to sit down, she coudl never quite udnerstand why i stopped taking her to that pub and why my colledges/friends/relations/people in the street where either all soo very flirty or so very cool with her for years afterwards until we split up and i really started telling the story to all and sundry.

I still giggle when i think of it nearly 15 years later.
( edz314 smelled the glove on, Tue 4 Sep 2007, 17:28, Reply)