Bertie had been called a number of unpleasant things in his life. An ex-girlfriend had called him spineless years ago. An employee he’d fired for drinking on the job had said he was a narc, and his own mother in a moment of frustration years ago had called him an ungrateful child.

But, having his own girlfriend refer to him as a ‘tight-ass’? That particularly hurt.

Less than an hour before, in a rare moment of serendipity he’d gotten home to the apartment just before Rachel would have left to grab her customary pre-shift shawarma. He opened the door to find her bent over in front of him, lacing up the boots that she insisted on wearing even in the height of summer.

It wasn’t her feet that captured his attention, of course, but her round and denim-encased posterior, wiggling slightly with each knot and tie, like a ripe blueberry dancing in a light breeze.

The temptation was too much. He had to smack it.

To say that he’d caught Rachel off-guard was an understatement. She turned on him suddenly, her face flush with… shock? Embarrassment? Anger? Her expression righted itself, and she fixed him with a cold glare and a smirk.

“Feeling naughty, are we?” she asked, kicking off her boots.

He’d nodded, perhaps too eagerly, and before he knew it he’d been dragged to the bedroom, his pants down around his ankles, having his tiny pat returned to him a hundredfold on his bare behind. Still worth it, he concluded. He might have even called her efforts halfhearted, but he’d learned long ago not to criticize a woman who kept a hairbrush within reach.

The afternoon soon turned toward rushed if more conventional pleasures, and it was in that brief afterglow that he and Rachel began to discuss their plans for the rest of the week. And it was in that context that the T-word was dropped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just kind of…” Rachel struggled for the word as she thankfully put the brush to its intended use, “…incongruous, I guess? I mean, to make kinky friends and then complain about them being kinky. What’s the point of being around other people who are into spanking if you’re just going to talk about football and bagpipes?”

“We’re talking about Sunday night, Rachel. You know why he invited us.”

He hadn’t expected this much resistance to his turning down Jeff’s offer. While the older man was a talented cook and great conversationalist, he was also a Daddy-dom who reserved Sundays to punish his ‘little girl’ for her weekly errors. Spending the evening with another guest who’d be nursing a sore bottom was awkward already, but the situation was made even worse with the knowledge that Jeff’s current submissive was Rachel’s younger sister.

“Sure,” Rachel conceded, “But the cat’s out of the bag on that one. I’ve made my peace with it, Jeff’s cool with it, even Leanne seems cool with it, which blows my mind but whatever. The only person who isn’t, is you. I don’t want to bring up Mika—“

“Honey, come on…” Bertie muttered.

“—But you had a cute twenty-something girl literally throwing herself at you – with Jeff’s full permission, by the way – and you kept hiding behind me.”

“Mika was a handful, and not the fun kind.”

Ignoring the risk, he dared a second nip of Rachel’s juicy backside. She caught the movement in her periphery and swatted his hand away.

“Bertie, I’m serious.”

“So you’re saying that you wouldn’t have a problem with me having sexy fun with a younger woman?”

“Not at first, but…” She took a moment to gather her words. “Look, I’m with you if you want to play with other people. But if you’re not also willing to expand your horizons, what’s the point?”

Bertie didn’t have an answer for that one, and Rachel was able to get her thick hair settled. She pulled up her purse from beside the bed.

“This has been a fun change of pace, sweetie, but I’m going to be late for work—“

“It’s fine,” he said, and reached for his underwear. “I’ll drive.”

***

After dropping Rachel off at the station, Bertie didn’t feel like going home to an empty apartment. It occurred to him that Oubliette still held Thursday night classes, and if nothing else he would be getting his money’s worth from the annual membership fee.

He was happy to see that he’d arrived just in time. A small group had gathered in the basement of the downtown sex shop, most of whom he saw congregating in pairs. At thirty-six, he was likely the youngest person in attendance, which while not unusual always made him feel self-conscious, like a kid sitting at the adult’s table.

Most of the attendees were people he knew from Oubliette’s member rolls, if not actually friends. The few classes he’d attended here had involved group activities, and he considered which of the people there would be most open to his joining them.

And then he thought, what am I joining them for?

“Hello, everyone!” A familiar voice rang out. “Just to remind you all, tonight’s course is ‘Learning the Ropes: A Beginner’s Guide to Bondage’! Please take one of the lines from the box at the front and pair up if you have not already done so!”

The woman beside him must have seen him cringe. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just recognize the instructor. They were my couples counselor.”

“Ooh, drama. You have a partner?”

“I do, she’s just not with me tonight.”

“I meant for the activity.”

For the first time, Bertie considered the woman speaking to him. He’d put her in her mid-fifties, her tied-back blonde hair white at its roots. Form-fitting exercise pants outlined her trim figure, and wiry arms extended from underneath a sleeveless T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of what Bertie assumed to be a luxury brand.

He shrugged. “Sure, I’m free.”

“And I’m prepared,” she replied, holding up a bundle of rope. “Do you rig?”

Bertie bit his lip. He knew next to nothing about bondage, though he was reminded that it came with its own glossary of terms he probably would have reviewed if he hadn’t chosen this class on impulse.

His new partner clearly understood the expression. “You’re brand new at this, aren’t you? I was asking if you’re the one looking to get tied up or doing the tying.” As an afterthought, she held out her hand and added, “I’m Ellie.”

“Bertram. Do you have a preference?”

She met his eyes, perhaps considering her answer and perhaps considering him. After a moment, she passed him the hank and held out her wrists.

“I like to think I’m a trusting person.”

Bertie chuckled. “And you’ve done this before, right? So what brings you to a class for beginners?”

From the front of the room, the instructor Kelsey began a prepared spiel about the importance of safety and consent when engaging in rope play. Ellie waited until the speech was done to answer.

“It’s been a while. Bondage takes patience and preparation. My ex-husband eventually decided he didn’t have time for it… and then he didn’t have time for me.”

“I’m sorry,” Bertie whispered reflexively.

“We’re going to try a basic column knot,” Kelsey continued, “This is a non-collapsing knot, which means it won’t get any tighter if you pull on it. Even still, this should only be attempted on a compliant partner. Those of you who like to play rougher...” they took this moment to single out a blushing gay couple at the back of the room, “…this is your first and last reminder about rule four. We’re going to start by finding the midpoint of the line. This is called a ‘bight’…”

The rope was rough in Bertie’s hands, and he was unsure how smoothly it should flow as he unspooled its length. It seemed far too long, how much was needed to bind one person’s wrists?

By contrast, Ellie’s hands were soft. He paused, briefly transfixed by a thin tan line across one finger.

“It’s old news now,” said Ellie. “But I can’t take for granted that my next man’s going to be a sailor or a cowboy, so it’s possible I’m going to have to teach him. Hence the classes.”

Bertie copied the steps as they were modeled from the front of the room. Finally, he tested the rope with a pull. “Well, I’m no sailor, but what do you say?”

“Tight.”

“Thank you.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Millennials. No, it’s too tight. Look at my fingers.”

Bertie followed her gesture. He’d been so focused on following the lesson that he hadn’t left any slack in the rope. Ellie’s fingertips were starting to turn purple.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, untying quickly.

“It takes some practice. I get the impression you’re not used to being the one on top?”

“It’s… complicated.”

He wasn’t certain how much he was comfortable sharing with a stranger, but as close together as they were standing, silence felt almost offensive.

“I used to top my girlfriend, a long time ago,” he admitted, winding the rope again. “She’s a few years older than me, but I figured at the time that our experience was about the same.”

“No, huh?”

“Not even close. Having me on top started to feel like a joke. I wasn’t as good as I thought I was, I even hurt her a couple of times.”

“Comes with the territory, Bertram. You apologize, listen and do better the next time. If you can follow that, you’re doing better than my ex.”

“Well, the good news for me was that we both like to switch. And after a while of that, she got more comfortable on top, so we left it like that. I’m satisfied with the change.” He finished the knot and stood back.

After a moment, Kelsey came down the row, inspecting their students’ work. They nodded in acknowledgement toward Bertie, and then took hold of the knot binding Ellie’s arms together.

They turned to Bertie. “You sure about this?”

They pulled. Ellie’s right wrist came loose without a hint of resistance.

“Try again.”

Bertie gathered up the rope with visible irritation and began to unwind. The cord was starting to feel familiar in his hands, and this time he found the bight as much by muscle memory as measurement.

“Are you a good bottom, though?” Ellie asked.

His hands continued to work, but his mind froze. Finally, he answered, “I don’t know. I always thought it was the easier position to take, if you had the tolerance.”

“And I would have said the same when I was married, until I started tolerating weeks of going to bed alone. What you’re doing isn’t giving up power, Bertram, just giving up responsibility.”

A fruity scent began to tickle his nostrils. Ellie’s body wash. It must have been there from the beginning, but he’d only started to notice.

“Maybe I like being on the bottom,” he snapped back.

The knot complete, he tested it again. For a moment, it held, and he was ready to cry out in triumph – but he saw skin peeking through the braids, and with a tug the whole tie fell apart.

Bertie threw up his hands. While the other students around him may have missed the gesture, it appeared that all of them had successfully secured their knots and were preparing for the next lesson. Only Bertie had failed.

Ellie laid her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was warm.

“One more time. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

He was ready to give up. Bondage didn’t hold interest for him, and was clearly something for which he had little talent. But for some bizarre reason, this woman that he barely knew believed in him.

He let the line slacken and unwind one more time.

“You did well in school, didn’t you?”

Bertie nodded, this time his full attention focused on the rope before him. On Ellie’s arms, bathed in a thin sheen of sweat from the dungeon’s poor ventilation. On her fingers, cracked with time but still crackling with life.

“You were smart. Polite. Well turned-out. You always got A’s, even without studying or even really trying.”

He placed a finger between the rope and her wrist. There was just enough space.

“So when things got difficult, it couldn’t be that you didn’t have the experience or skills – it was because there was something wrong with you. That you were imperfect.”

Her words touched at something in him, but he would address them later. He checked his knots again. They definitely looked right…

“And somewhere along the line, you forgot—“

He pulled, softly but insistently. There was an almost imperceptible hitch in Ellie’s breath.

The line held.

“—that practice makes perfect.”

He sighed in relief.

Kesley peered over. “Congratulations, I see everyone has managed a double column. Don’t congratulate yourselves just yet, as this is just the beginning. What we’re going to try next is called a belt knot – feel free to trade roles at this time if you so choose…”

***

By the end of the hour, Bertie’s knuckles were in agony. He’d never been very dexterous, and sixty minutes of anchoring and unlacing had been a workout.

He caught up with Ellie after the class had been dismissed.

“Thank you,” said Bertie. “For the show of faith.”

She laughed as she pulled a fresh shirt from the bag she’d brought with her. “It’s confidence, not faith. Will you be here next week?”

“Probably not. I mean, I’ve learned a new appreciation for rope work—“

“—But it’s not really your ‘thing’, right? Fair enough. I want you to remember, though, whatever you choose to do from here: Confidence isn’t something you’re born with. It grows with you.”

He couldn’t help but blush. It was a very ‘mom’ thing to say, and he was reminded that this woman, regardless of their common ground, was nearly old enough to be his mother. A tiny bit of that confidence spurred him on as she approached the door.

“How do you feel about spanking?”

Ellie drew up short. “Bertram, are you propositioning me?”

He immediately went red. He’d known it was going to be a long shot, and he’d been stupid enough to try anyway.

“I mean, I’m flattered,” she continued, “But there’s some basic logistical issues. For one, my sons think I’m going to the gym on Thursdays.”

“Your… sons?”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered. I hope your girlfriend’s told you that. Tell you what – if this old girl ever decides she needs a proper spanking, I’ll come look you up.”

And then she slung her bag over her shoulder and left.

Bertie fished his keys out from his pocket. If he left now, he’d get home just before Rachel’s bus could arrive. He had so much to talk about with her, and no idea how to start the conversation.

He supposed that he could tie her down first...