This movie was so unexpectedly silly I laughed out of sheer surprise, especially when Michael Jordan held Tweety Bird in the palm of his hand looking sheepish while the 2" bird chastised him. I even liked the new character, Lola Bunny, well enough to adopt her name temporarily for my online scampering. But what I enjoyed most was that my partner had hidden lengths of rope on him, which he presented like sleight of hand one-by-one during the movie. I had wondered why we sat so close to the front in a nearly empty theater!

Earlier that month when the movie came up in conversation, we talked about going during the week because it seemed to suit both our schedules. The bonus was that though it is a child’s movie there were none in the theater, only scattered adults. I would have been uneasy with kids around, especially since he planned to be perverse in this otherwise innocent atmosphere. And I love it that way.

As he reached over and wrapped my wrists in the first 2’ piece of rope, I studied his expression and thought placidly, "Okay - - cool - - so we’re going to have my wrists tied." When he finished I continued watching the movie, unmoved. The script was just entertaining enough to lose myself in the hijinks without being too distracted by our personal scenario.

A few minutes later he pulled out another rope and leaned down to wrap several loops around my knees and in between, tying it off tightly and tucking the ends in. His business-like demeanor never changed as he pulled another rope out and crossed my ankles, tying them off too. He again relaxed to watch the movie with his arm around the back of my seat, while I looked around. Excited laughter burst like bubbles from me as I realized that anyone sitting nearby would not be aware of the ropes because he had chosen black – they’d assume my giggles were stimulated by the movie.

He wasn’t done with me.

The last rope he produced was longer, lashing me surreptitiously with it to the seat by winding it over and under my breasts to the back of the seat quickly, then tying the leading end off on my ankle rope, pulling my feet to the side and back. As he cinched that rope tighter I made a noise that was suspiciously unlike laughter, at last totally distracted.

So what do you do with a trussed submissive? Anything you want!

Of course mostly we cuddled and talked normally. However his kisses, pinches, hot words and intimate touches kept me on edge throughout the show. Anyone who noticed us as we left the theater assumed my flushed face and chest was the result of a well-crafted comedy - - instead of well-tied restraints.

* * *

I always thought Phantom of the Opera was a very D/s-like scenario, and I’m positive I’m not alone in that opinion. This was the first and only time I’ve seen the play (it’s too damn expensive!), but I’ll never forget the power of the music, acting, and my Master.

The phantom (while in his mask) was a forceful entity with his need to control the voice and spirit of his charge, Christine. I swooned in the dark with most of the women when he appeared on the stage dressed in black cape and white mask, his deep voice throbbing lust. I stayed enthralled by the Los Angeles production from the moment the chandelier rose dramatically to the ceiling, to the finale in the catacombs - - but with an additional reason.

The moment the notes of "Overture" swept the audience, D. Wiccan trapped my wrists forcefully in his hands and held them, underscoring the message of the music while my heart pounded.

During the glittering chorus of "Masquerade" he quickly secured a short white rope around my wrists, leaving slack in it for him to hold. Thus tethered, we watched the choreography, or rather, HE watched while I floated on a fantasy. Connected physically with him through the rope and the lyric journey we were sharing - - I was wrapped in his control, which created a personal experience like none other.

Within the finale he released hold of the rope so my hands would be free to wipe my tears and grip his arm, wordlessly expressing my emotions.

When we rose to leave he left the rope as is, and led me out by his ersatz ‘leash.’ It was so crowded as we fought our way through the foyer and out the doors that sadly, no one noticed. On the streets proper I didn’t care if anyone observed us because I was proud to be led by him at this moment. It was especially meaningful.

* * *

When I ordered tickets for Irvine Amphitheater’s "Mozart in the Park" through human resources at work, I had no idea who would be going with me. Fortunately by the time they arrived several months later I had a trusted play friend who enjoys good music, good food, a good cigar - - as well as other sensory delights.

We’d planned to meet early and arrive at the amphitheater well in advance of the show with picnic basket and comforter in hand. But before we left, he put into effect his other plan.

"Pull down your panties and lay back on the bed."

When I lay back he prepared me with an appetizer of oral fun, then turned me abruptly just as I was getting to a point of not caring whether we left or not.

"Kneel, and stay still," He ordered as I protested.

I struggled to see what he was doing over my shoulder, but only caught a glimpse of him taking something from his bag and palming it. He kneeled behind me and slowly worked a cold, lubricated butt plug inside while I held my breath, pausing momentarily with his hand on my bare hip to give me time to adjust to the intrusion.

Once done, he helped me stand and patted my bare bottom with a chuckle, "Let’s go."

All the way to the concert I squirmed in my seat, savoring the medium sized plug. I’m sure his purpose was to set me up for any further plans he had for the evening and he succeeded beautifully. By the time we reached the Amphitheater I was breathing heavier, my eyes were glazed, and my face was flushed; anyone who spoke to me at that point would have thought I was ‘on something’ and - - I was!

I tried to discover a way of sitting comfortably on the grassy knoll we chose for our musical picnic, but it wasn’t easy. He chuckled again and again as I shifted position, yearning to concentrate on socializing instead of moaning. I worried I was a boring date because I was too distracted to make conversation!

He compounded my discomfort tremendously with a hot kiss as I leaned in to whisper; "This is going to be an interesting concert, Sir."

"Indeed it is."

Puffing a fine cigar he brought with him and cuddling me in his lap, I was once again blissfully transported by a Dom’s nasty inclinations each time he made me stretch upward to puff too. He eventually told me to go to the restroom and take the plug out because I was getting too aroused for the general public and he felt we should only enjoy the music, fine cigar, and wine from then on.

Mozart was never performed better.

* * *

My first view of Father Tree in the waning daylight was that of an immense canopy of leaves protecting the ground like a domed shield. As we walked closer I became enthralled by the sturdy trunk with burgeoning roots lying aroused at its base. Finally standing under the dome Master thrust me against the tree, his body firmly on mine.

And the games begin.

Containing me against the trunk he wrapped a blue-gray rope around my wrists behind the tree; tying off loosely because of the awkward position he was in. I quickly glanced around for unwanted witnesses as he caressed every inch of my torso, staring inscrutably into my eyes until all I saw was him.

Because it was still light, and we were so close to the thoroughfare, all we did initially was neck. But when the mask of night dropped he positioned me away from the sidewalk and pulled my blouse up, rolling it so my breasts and midriff stayed exposed. Walking calmly to the nearest tree he reached up and cut a switch of leaves while I protested weakly, mouth dry and heart pounding so I could barely speak.

He alternated swats to my breasts and stomach with sensuous caresses of his hands, tongue, and mouth, until I warmed up and begged for more. Then, ignoring my protest and gasp of self-consciousness he yanked down my leggings and kneeled in front of me gripping my thighs, face at my crotch. I know I could have used my safeword at any time during this scene, and he would have stopped immediately -- but I wanted exactly what he was doing and he knew it, because I had told him so many times.

My fantasy of being tied to a tree wasn’t nearly as good as this reality: Dead of night secured to a tree, with my Master manipulating me like the toy I am. Sometimes I wonder exactly who it is that gets the most out of these scenarios, the Dom or me? I think it’s me. Because from that point on I was a writhing, moaning, senseless creature until I screamed out my delight. Slipping to the ground when my wrists loosened from struggling, I was unaware I had plopped my bare bottom on the muddy ground, until he helped me stand several minutes later.

While he brushed the dirt off my cheeks I noticed someone lighting a cigarette in the dark compound of the adjacent picnic area. When I pointed him out we burst into raucous laughter, realizing that during our session someone had joined us for the show! The stranger never said a word, nor did we, as we continued on our way - - me being led slowly by the rope on my wrist because of my shaky knees.

* * *

Why is this last scenario the best and the worst of all? Because one of my foremost fantasies was fulfilled in real life by a skilled sexual Dominant I called Master for a year online. Why is it also the saddest? Because our relationship is now defunct. It’s hard to maintain a long distance relationship; the communication it takes to do so has to be exquisite for it to work. I am heartbroken but I will survive this.

There is more to this story, much more - - but I’m not prepared to share as yet. However, I begged to keep the blue-gray rope he used for this scene. Some day I’ll fondle it again.