<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Post-Tie on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/tags/post-tie/</link><description>Recent content in Post-Tie on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Fri, 21 Jul 2017 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/tags/post-tie/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>A Ghost Story</title><link>/stories/2017/07/21/a-ghost-story/</link><pubDate>Fri, 21 Jul 2017 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2017/07/21/a-ghost-story/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;The old house on the cliffs overlooking the sea must have been quite a place when it was built over 300 years ago. But now it was a little worse for wear and its once impressive gardens had long been neglected. The owners had plans to restore the place to something like its former glory. So, rather than allowing the place to stand empty until the restoration work could start, they had let Ken and Jessica live there rent free. The pair of them were quite excited about living in an old house that was supposed to be haunted. Then I got a call from Jessica inviting Mandi and me down for the weekend. She had already told us quite a lot about the house so I was looking forward to actually seeing the place and meeting the ghost. A couple of weeks later Mandi and I threw our cases in the boot of my car and set off on the 200 mile drive down to the coast.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>Lisa</title><link>/stories/2015/03/16/lisa/</link><pubDate>Mon, 16 Mar 2015 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2015/03/16/lisa/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;story continued from &lt;a href="lisa.html"&gt;part one&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Part 2&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;I took Lisa to a quiet little diner for lunch. Things were a little awkward, at first. But I could see the excitement in her eyes. I knew she probably had loads of questions for me but didn’t want to embarrass me by asking. I waited until our order was taken before giving her the opening to talk freely.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“I’m sure you want to ask me about some things and I suppose you aren’t sure how to start. Why don’t you just ask the first thing that comes to mind?”&lt;/p&gt;</description></item><item><title>The Afternoon Post</title><link>/stories/2002/09/12/the-afternoon-post/</link><pubDate>Thu, 12 Sep 2002 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2002/09/12/the-afternoon-post/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;A True
Story Of How The Winner Of The 3.30 Race, A Shopping Spree And Unwanted
Visitors can lead to An Unforgettable Afternoon Of Bondage.
&lt;strong&gt;The Background&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;When Don and I sat down to
write down some of our most notable bondage experiences I insisted that
this one was at the top of my list. I had only moved in with Don
a short time before this memorable afternoon. At that time we did
not have the large collection of bondage equipment we have now –just some
lengths of rope plus the leather cuffs, chains and padlocks that Don had
collected. Of course many folk think that this is more than enough
for any party. Well this particular weekend we christened two new
acquisitions –a harness gag and leather collar. These still remain
two of our favourite toys. But on that sunny Saturday I hadn&amp;rsquo;t reckoned
on them being the cause of such memorable events. With Don&amp;rsquo;s help,
let me tell you what happened.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>