We want what we can’t have. That’s true of a nice car or a new phone. But when it’s something more than a luxury, that’s different. When it’s air to breathe or a friend to spend time with…when it’s something that is a requirement for your quality of life or for sustaining life at all…then it’s not just a “want.”
It’s an obsession.
I am obsessed with this art by @KnkyMaxAI . And I have just the best news for you. I’m gonna tell you why in my Tina-best explanation. That’s a new “Tina-ism.” “Tina-best.” It means: “of the highest quality that can be achieved by Tina.” That’s as opposed to “Clean Tina-best” which is the same thing only without cussing, bitches. 😊
God. Look at this fucking gorgeously serene view of a crossed wristed, bound damsel. It makes me swoon Y’all. I need this shit in my life. Let me explain…
First is the rigging. Cue close up of the wrists. Check them out, closely.
Yeah, that’s bad as hell. The loops ALL compress her skin. The ropes are like ¼ inch thick but only protrude like 1/8 of an inch over her skin because they’re indenting her the other 1/8 of an inch. Nice parallel lines running perpendicular to her arms. There’s lots of surface area being covered for maximum friction. I don’t care how strong or how much pain tolerance that girl has, she can’t twist her arms in the least. There’s no potential for slack. Read my lips. Her hands are not slipping free of those rope loops. Period.
Now let’s also note the perfect 90 degree angles formed by the “X” of her arms. This is the optimum angle so that the wrists fit into the natural curves of each other like spoons. That fact, as well as the HEAVY cinching that is applied makes it all but impossible for the damsel to flex the “X” tighter or open the “X” wider by raising or lowering the level of her hands. Nope. Her hands are stuck right there against her ass, not by a crotch rope or other tethering mechanism but rather just by every single fucking degree of her range of motion being put on lock down by tight-ass ropes.
OK. I’m enthralled. I’m beside myself. I’m totally panting and in heat and after I post this I’ll be tied up and working on my toys to deal with this need I can’t escape. None of that has anything to do with this piece of art but I figured some of Y’all pervs might want a mental image. Am I wrong?
ADHD deactivated. Returning to the bondage report…
You might have picked up on my statement about wanting (obsessing over) what we can’t have. “Shit Tina, you get tied up tight like that all the dang time. Don’t ya?”
Well, yes…and no. I get tied up tight, but not LIKE THAT. I don’t get those perfect parallel layers of rope and the friction of all of that soft skin on the inner wrist. Touch that skin on your wrist. It’s like, crazy soft, right? Softer than…well…softer than a lot of other soft spots. Anyway, I can’t tie my wrists like that myself. And cinching like that is completely not possible. I can cinch my oval-shaped wrist loops into something of a figure “8” if I tether the cinch rope to something solid like the rafters and really put my body weight into it. And that does a good job, but I can only do two or three turns of the cinch rope between my wrists. That gets tight, but it doesn’t “fill up” all of the negative space between the wrist loops. See, by doing a dozen or so turns of the cinch rope, it becomes this great big mass and turns the three parts of the wrist tie (right wrist loop, left wrist loop, and cinch rope) into one solid mass of rope, immoveable and perfectly molded to that delicate skin.
Now remember the fact that we have those perfect 90 degree angles that don’t allow my arms to move around. I can’t move. I can’t wiggle. I can’t get slack. The ropes don’t even flex or stretch or creak no matter how hard I struggle.
Oh God, y’all, I gotta hurry the fuck up.
The next part that I obsess over isn’t the rigging. It’s the casual essence of the damsel. We can’t see her expression, but don’t you just know that she is calm? She is peaceful. She is comfortable. She is not being judged, or mocked, or avoided for being a weird former prom queen/turned Tom-boy with guns and tools who only wears baggy hoodies and sweat pants nowadays.
None of that shit.
She’s out in the sun with her hands bound and not one fucking care in the world. Least of all a care about getting free. Fuck getting free, y’all.
I just want to wander around the field in my messy bun up-do and comfy jeans with my wrists tied like this and not even once consider what someone might think or say if I happen across them.
This is just GREAT art, y’all.
And I more than want it. I’m obsessed.