Flitting Fingertips

Her breath quickens with each knot

Stillness tastes like fear.

Eyes dart, wrists secured,

She flinches at fingers near

Laughter not yet born.

Soft silk holds her still,

Feathers rest where thoughts once hid

Control fades to touch.

She says, “Just be nice…”

But her toes curl in warning

A storm held in flesh.

A hush fills the room,

My hand hovers, cruel and calm

You tried to act tough, like you’d laugh it off,

Like this was a game you’d never get lost in.

But now you’re strapped in, eyes wide, lips split,

Fighting giggles like they’re secrets you never meant to admit.

You called it *curiosity," said you just wanted to try,

To feel the weight of leather and the brush skating by.

But you didn’t know what it meant to be known,

What it feels like when fingertips learn every zone.

You’re mine now, tickle slut, and I *see* through the bluff.

The twitch in your thighs, the breath getting rough.

Each flinch is a tell, every gasp gives you up

You’re not stoic, you’re *starving* for the tease, for the touch.

I find the places you forgot you could feel,

Where a whisper of motion makes your control peel.

You're not tough, you’re trembling, trying to cope,

While my fingers write sermons in your skin like a joke.

You're helpless, hopeful, wet with shame,

And every laugh you choke back fans the flame.

Don’t pretend you're resisting. That’s part of the play.

You were *made* to be broken in exactly this way.

I won't stop with the surface, not just ribs or soles

I’ll trace you deeper, where submission folds.

Feathers flicker, brushes sweep,

And I’ll keep you laughing long past the need to speak.

So go on, struggle, pout, pretend it’s too much.

But we both know what you really want is to be *touched*.

Not sweetly. Not gently. But thoroughly wrecked

But there is something poetic about using my straitjacket.

1. I love holding it up in front of you. I tell you to put out your arms. Or maybe I ask if you would be so kind as to extend your arms out in front of you. The tease that it's your decision, that you have to will it really gets me.

2. I love the moment once the back buckles are secured and you notice how form fitting it is, you look at the ridiculous long sleeves your arms don't fill out. And you watch me circle around in front of you.

3. I love the somewhat confused, clumsily walking baby giraffe moment when I help you guide your right arm and then your left arm through the center loop.

4. My favorite moment isn't this next one. You're looking forward to this. Around you the sleeves tighten, and I gently but certainly feed the strap back through the buckle and pull out that extra slack, the slack that gave you a little extra breathing room, the slack without which the truth of the situation becomes now so obvious. But my most favorite moment is then, while you're testing it and learning that truth, I reach between your thighs from behind you, grab hold of the end of the last strap, and trace it down over your sex and then back up behind you. There it is tightened and secured.

Now, every time you squirm, try to move your arms, jostle about, or even change positions in the slightest, you'll have a very real, a very visceral sexual reminder.

Play it off—say you just want to try it on, just curious how it feels, how heavy it is.

Of course you'll say you can get out on your own. Anyone can escape a straitjacket, right?

But once you stop tugging at seams that won’t budge, once your strength starts to ebb and you feel the truth sinking in—that you’re helpless, restrained, exposed—that’s when I’ll begin.

But once you stop tugging at seams that won’t budge, once your strength starts to ebb and you feel the truth sinking in that you’re helpless, restrained, vulnerable, that’s when I’ll begin.

It will start with a quick light flit of my fingertips. Just a whisper of touch—delicately skimming across your ankles. A primer, a warning, the coming truth.

My fingers dance in the air in front of you.

When they come back down and make contact on your exposed skin, then you'll know then the real truth.

Maybe I will see you've changed your mind. Maybe I'll tease, "I see you actually are not done trying to escape. Perhaps you think you can still get out if you try more. Maybe I can help you wiggle and squirm out. There? Are you almost out? Do you need more help? How about now? Did that help? We can't give up, we just can't give up. Oh, I have an idea! Let's try this spot here at the bottom of your toes."

I'm a collector, did you know? Keep laughing. Every giggle, every beg for mercy, every twitch, squeal, and broken little gasp you make is mine now.