Little Miss Muffett (1)

She’d never gotten the full story from her parents about how they met, one foggy day during a love-in in San Francisco. Those were the days when commitments were for the next few hours, the bomb was going to be dropped at any moment, bell bottoms and Twiggy were the rage of the day, and free love ruled.
Which didn’t exactly explain how she had gotten here.
She was tied to the chair, quite expertly bound, unable to move more than toes and fingers.  Being called on from the audience to be a demo model for some rope bondage was a surprise. She was 40, and here reporting on the Rope-In, for the San Francisco Baysider.
“C’mon ‘Fi,” her editor had cajoled her, in his best “team spirit” manner. “Over 500 people are attending this event. Rope is becoming the new thing.”
“So is painting living rooms with seascapes, but I’m not going to the Paint Expo.” She had steadfastly refused to do this. Something about being helpless gave her a curious thrill that she chose to keep hidden in little closet deep inside herself.

Still he’d been adamant. She’d sighed, and finally said ‘fine, fine, whatever.”

Now here she was in the chair.  She didn’t want to admit how much the rope sang to her spirit. She didn’t want to admit how attracted she was to this spiritual freedom of immobility.  She could not get up.

Far from being frightening, being at someones “mercy” was oddly liberating.

“Mind wandering?” The young man was currently unwinding her from the bondage chair. He’d whispered to her softly, his words not carrying far. She nodded briefly. His hands flashed across her body, slow then fast, unknotting, coiling, releasing her.

When it was over, she thanked him, answered a few questions from attendees about her experience. She stepped off the podium and went to a chair at the edge of the crowd, and began to jot a few notes in her personal shorthand in a small notebook.

She was lost in thought, trying to capture the essence of the experience, so that she could give fair value to the piece that would appear in the paper.

It was hard to be objective about something that moved one so much.

“Excuse me, miss?” It was the young man who had recently bound her. “I’d like to introduce you to my mentor. He has been in the scene for a long time, and I was telling him about what a great live model you are. He …”

“Thanks Jared, I’ll take it from here.” He kindly dismissed the almost fawning younger man. With a smile, Jared left her alone with the Mentor.

“Hi, I’m Jack, but most people here call me Tie.” He extended his hand to her. “And you would be?”

“Fiona Muffett.” She noted her hand was steady, though her heart had skipped a beat. He resonated a confidence that vibed down inside of her. She almost rolled her eyes. She sounded just like her Mom. Vibed. sheesh.

“You’re kidding…Miss Muffett? Like the girl with the tusset?” His grin was contagious, lighting his face from within. She grinned back, “the one and same. I have about the same reaction to spiders as she did, by the way. Though i’ve never sat on a tuffet in my life,” she corrected him gently.

“Right, tuffet. Way back in the early days, I used to go by Spider-Man, but was advised that I should find another name and spare myself a lawsuit with the Comic company. Who thinks about Spiderman being  copyright protected when you’re 19, right?”

She smiled, then couldn’t resist. “Spiderman and Miss Muffett. We’d make a dynamic duo!”

“Funny you should mention that. I’ve just had a model drop out. I saw how calm you were with Jared and asked him if you were into the D/s lifestyle, a model or whatnot. He said you’re a reporter but…” He left it hanging.

“i am a reporter, for the San-Fran Baysider.”

“Well, want to try anyway?” His eyes looked into hers, steady and reassuring. There was more there but she was unwilling to dive deeper. She was instantly attracted to him. Gawds, hormones and pheromones.

“When do i need to decide?” she asked. It wasn’t an outright no, and she had to admit she was more than a little intrigued. What Jared had done with her over the course of an hour had soothed her, relaxed her, and frankly, she was having a marvelous time.

“Soon,” He said. “I’ll come back and see you at the bar in say, 30 minutes? I’ll talk a few other girls and then you can give me right of first acceptance.”

She nodded in agreement, but as she watched him move away through the thronging crowd, she called out to him.

“Tie?”  He turned, his eyes intent.

“Yes!” He smiled, and pointed to the stage he would be using. She nodded.

“30 minutes?” He nodded.

Her heart began to race. Suddenly she knew she was in danger of the peril that could befall a reporter…she was becoming the story.

Fuck if that didn’t make her hippy heart beat faster!