Crimson

The rope was crimson, a dark blood red, that seemed to vibrate through the packaging. She held it in her hands, not sure what to do with it.

It was a gift, a random gift from a stranger who, when presenting her with the small plastic wrapped hemp, said only, "For you." She'd thanked the woman, not knowing what else to do, but also not knowing why it was given.

She'd never met the woman before. She'd never met anyone here before. It was her first kink event; everything was new.

She sat on her bed, the short length of rope, still wrapped in plastic, throbbing in her hands.

Well, I don't think she gave it to me just to look at it.

Gripping hard, she ripped open the packaging, and sent the sweet aroma of the hemp blazing up her nostrils. An audible "ah" left her lips.

Putting the plastic aside, she ran the chord through her hands. She liked the feel of it as much as the smell, that way it grazed her skin, the caress of the natural fiber rope.

As the chord kissed her flesh, each pass created what she could only describe as a line of energy, pulsing warm over her.

Still, even as she felt the energy, felt the raw power, she didn't know what to do with it. But she couldn't let the rope go, this amazing unexpected gift bestowed upon her by a stranger.

She began running the rope along different parts of her body: over her arms, across her thighs, lightly against her stomach, kissing her breasts, and finally around the back of her neck. It felt right there, as if the power of the rope pulsed and surged throughout her whole being.

With a simple knot, she created a necklace, now wearing her gift. It felt true; it felt like her. From that day on, the rope rarely left her neck, and never left her side.