The wrong side of the tracks

“shh, you hear that? Is that someone coming?” I whisper in her ear.
The light rain pattering off the hulking steel of the train cars makes it hard to tell if the sound is actually feet, crunching along the rail line or just a trick of the night. Either way, the warning worked. Her body stiffens and lets out in voluntary shudder as she does her best to stifle her moans.

Danger, especially the danger of getting caught can be a powerful aphrodisiac.

Me? Me I’m wondering to myself, “I certainly hope that I got the right set of rail cars and picked the two that are on the unused line…”

It all started with a request, she loves the thrill that one gets when there is a potential for discovery, that danger that spurs your adrenaline on. “Some place in the open, someplace dirty” was what she said. Good thing the neighborhood surrounding the Abbey becomes an industrial wasteland after dark, perfect for what I had in mind.

The first problem when planning a good scene is location. Much like real estate, it is all about the location. Where you play impacts how you play. A seedy motel room sets a far different tone than the loft over a painter’s studio. While I have a number of secret hot spots that I can draw from when planning a scene, outdoor and industrial takes a bit more planning. One has to factor in not only the obvious danger, getting caught, but also the dangers inherent to life in the industrial district. Are the people living in the abandoned warehouse you are planning on using? Is the property you are on owned by the port authority and patrolled by homeland security?

This and more went through my brain as I cruised the back streets and rail spurs late one night looking for the perfect location. I eventually found it, a storage spur once used by a sugar refinery to fill tanker cars, now abandoned, save a string of storage cars. Their giant rusting hulks would provide excellent cover as well as hard points for what I had in mind.

Yes, I said hard points. If you are gonna do a scene, go big or go home. My victim would be suspended between said rail cars.

Next problem, the bottom. Take care of, she sought me out and saw to it that I would be well rewarded for the application of my devious talents.

Then there came the problem of the actual tying. While I am known for the speed at which I tie, suspension bondage is a time consuming thing and something that requires a focus and attention to detail if one wishes to not hurt their partner (in the non-planned way that is). Now I knew we would not have a ton of time to play, the part of the rush of public play is the pace, that frenetic “OMG what if we get caught” feeling. Add the chill of the night air against naked skin and even the most flushed of souls won’t last long.

Nope this would require pre-rigging.

I have a special fondness for tying rope against skin and then dressing the person up and taking them out into public. There is something delightfully devious about sitting back and watching your bottom smile and squirm as they sip their coffee, all the while a tell tale strap of hemp peeks out from the neckline of their clothes.

I would take this premise a step further and tie a set of thigh harnesses into a corset tie.


On the night in question, the rain had just paused as we pulled up to the spot. Killing my headlights before rolling to a stop, I look over at her. Under her trench coat she wore the rope harness and nothing else, save a few objects that I, being the gentleman that I am, won’t divulge save that they made her eyes cross every time the car hit a bump along the drive.

Taking her hand, we strolled casually along the tracks as they lead in between the massive warehouses, our feet crunching along the gravel that fills the track lines. Once at our destination, I set to work. In the bulging pocket of my BDU pants are several lengths of rope. I pull one after the other and begin to secure her in between the massive, rusting cars. Just as I pull her last foot up off the ground and secure it, the rain starts again. Cold and spattering it echoes off the rail cars and streaks her flesh. Coat open to the elements, there she hangs. Legs spread wide and trussed up between the cars. Open and ready for the entire world to admire.

Of course there were no footsteps, no errant homeless soul about to wander into the scene. Of course this did not stop the actor in me from suggesting that it could happen at any moment, Noting any sound and whispering just how dire her plight would be if someone were to find us and how I would have to offer her up in hopes of us both avoiding incarceration should we get caught.

Yeah, I’m a bastard.

When the rest of the game played its course and the time came to bring her down, I quickly cut away the lines that connected her to rail car and wrapped her shivering body in to the thick blanket I brought along and gently guided her back to the warmth of the car.

Days later I would return to the site in hopes of recovering the bits of rope I left tied to the rail cars only to find them gone. Not the rope, mind you, the cars themselves. Somewhere out there is a pair of tankers with several pieces of hemp rope dangling from them.