Weekend diary from a kink retreat
Friday – Arrival
Checked in just after 5 p.m. The retreat was held in a quiet house out in the woods. Not creepy. Just calm. Like your phone signal knew better than to work here.
The people? Surprisingly normal. A mix of couples, singles, and a few folks clearly here to learn. Everyone wore name tags with pronouns. Nobody asked why you were here. It felt good not to explain myself.
Met Lena over dinner. She tied her napkin into a perfect square and smiled like she’d already imagined me on my knees. She’d been doing rope for six years. I told her I was newer. She said, “Everyone starts somewhere. Most of us started in the wrong rope.”
Later, we sat in a circle and went over consent, negotiation, safety. No lectures. Just honest stuff. Like:
- “Don’t tie hungry.”
- “Don’t say yes just because you’re horny.”
- “Check circulation before you chase orgasm.”
Went to bed wired. Couldn’t sleep. Listened to muffled moans through the wall. Smiled into my pillow.
Saturday – First tie
Started the morning with a workshop called “Rope for Curious Bunnies.” We learned a single column tie and a basic chest harness. My rope didn’t match my partner’s. That bugged me more than it should’ve.
I volunteered to be tied. The pressure of the rope wrapping my arms made my stomach flutter. There’s something about not moving because someone else decided you shouldn’t.
The instructor kept saying: “Check in. Check often. Even if they’re moaning.”
In the afternoon, Lena asked if I wanted to do a scene that night. I said yes too fast.
Saturday night – The scene
She tied me standing. Arms behind. Chest exposed. Ankles together. It was slow. She moved around me like she was building a sculpture.
The rope hugged tighter with every pull. She stepped back, looked at her work, then added more. No rush. Every knot felt earned.
I couldn’t see her face, but I could feel her watching. She teased a feather between my thighs. I squirmed, but the rope held. She laughed softly.
When it got intense, she paused, leaned in, and whispered, “You still with me?”
I nodded. She said, “That’s not good enough.”
So I spoke. “Yes.”
It ended with me gasping, legs shaking, and rope marks across my skin like a secret language only we understood.
Sunday – The drop
We did aftercare wrapped in a blanket, sipping water. She stroked my hair and called me her clever little bunny. I blushed. She kissed my forehead.
That afternoon, a few people cried during the closing circle. One guy said it was the first time he’d ever let anyone tie him. A woman shared that rope helped her feel her body again after trauma. Heavy stuff. Brave stuff.
As I packed, I caught my reflection. Rope bruises peeked from under my shirt. I smiled. I looked owned in the best way.
What I learned
- Rope is about trust first, sex second.
- Not all moans mean yes.
- Pretty knots are nice. But being seen while you’re bound? That’s the real kink.
- Saying “stop” and being instantly untied? That’s where the magic lives.