FWIW, this story is 100% true.

My Grace is absolutely wonderful, as she's helped me to discover, and then utterly fulfill, a particular kink I never really even understood that I had. Periodically, regularly, she gets strapped into her straitjacket and, while ingesting perhaps too much wine-and-weed, we sit, and talk, and debate, and argue but, mostly, laugh. A lot.

She'll sit with her feet in my lap, which I'll alternately caress and rub while she does the same with my nethers.

It sounds silly, crazy, weird; but aren't most kinks, one way or another? And yes, sex is often enough involved, although not every time. And that's fine.

Anyway...

We had a scene recently which went rapidly from a romance, to horror, and finished a comedy. I suspect it'd make a great "very special episode" for the right sitcom.

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The romance:

Things began casually outside, with a "Scenes from a Pirate's Fantasies" acting itself out. She'd left her straw on the glass table, having neglected to put in one of drink cups (she generally sets up two; one for wine, one for water, and picks the straw up with her mouth to change between the two, because she knows I love watching her be helpless).

I indicated that I wasn't going to help and so, with an exasperated sigh, she bent over and fruitlessly tried to pick it up with her tongue (it was so difficult because it's one of those stainless steel straws). After a few minutes of trying (and complaining that there were ants on the table) she had it up and clenched tightly between her lips. At which point she looks up at me, grins and says something like,  "Mmph mm fpmmph mmm!" because If she opened her mouth at all, the straw would fall right out.

I point out that she's holding it from the wrong end; it has a bend and will only fit into the narrow mouth of the water bottle one way. She angrily "Mmphs!" at me some more before making a weird face, clenching her jaw and slowly working it with her tongue from one side to the other, gently opening her lips just a tad each time, risking dropping it each time. It was truly a sight to see.

Giving me a smirk, she bends over to drop it in her water bottle and realizes that it's too far in on the table for her to reach. I have no sympathy, as she knows she's supposed to set this up ahead of time. Of course, I couldn't resist her puppy dog eyes; I slid it over and she drank a very healthy draught.

It was wonderful, and I'm sad I didn't catch it on vid.

After a little while things became physically intense (Grace is an excellent kisser, and so am I). We elected to move inside and onto the couch, the better to mack and generally make out before, eventually, retiring to the boudoir for some sexy bondage-adjacent coitus.

The horror:

Grace came in first and sat on the couch, waiting as I brought in the cell phones, grinder, pipes, etc. from outside. I should add that we were both incredibly stoned. This proved to be the evening's downfall, but more on that in a minute.

Just as I was to sit with her, I felt an overwhelming wave of nausea. I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to puke my guts out.

But let's rewind a moment; the area the nausea hit me was in my mid-upper-chest. So I placed my hand there as I stood, waringly.

Meanwhile, Grace sees me standing, distressed, and clutching my chest.

He's having a heart attack, she thinks, and I'll have to watch him suffer and die because I'm tied up and can't do anything. Almost a real-life "Gerald's Game".

But that feeling only lasts a split-second before I run to the privvy to puke my guts out. This continues on-and-off for around fifteen minutes (this has happened before when I got too stoned; or it could have been the steak sandwich from Wawa).

Meanwhile, Grace sits in the living room, literally helpless. Understanding that there's not much she could actually do, but very distressed that she can't do it. You see, she is the sort that is always *doing*, both for herself and others. It's sort of why she gets straitjacketed in the first place; she'll actually sit still and watch a movie with me.

Eventually I feel better and make my way back, collapsing on the couch and sipping water. After a few minutes of snuggling, she asks to be let loose. I oblige and she heaves a huge sigh of relief.

The comedy:

While it was highly distressing at the time, the fact that nobody was hurt suddenly somehow makes the entire incident hilarious. I point out that, in its own way, this was kind of sexy; a real life DiD scenario, with a helplessly tied girl unable to free herself. Meanwhile, the relief we both felt meant that suddenly every aspect of it was hilarious. We sat and giggled, and guffawed, and laughed for another half hour.

We agree that it'd make a great "very special episode" for the right sitcom. It begins with the sweet intimacy, goes suddenly south with the perceived heart attack and violent vomiting, then ends with everyone laughing at how unlikely and ridiculous the entire thing was.

Grace insisted I write it up, so here it is.

After about an hour, I wanted to tie her up again. She wisely suggested we not. We'll try again Wednesday (Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday are proscribed SJ date nights).

Oh, and after we sat on the couch (yes she was untied), stoned, talking, laughing, debating and arguing, for a few more hours. I won't say I didn't miss the straitjacket, but I always love spending time with my Grace.