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The stink of leather and sweat fills my nose, overpowering and thrilling. There is something about that combination that sets my blood boiling, making it that much harder to keep still.
Just one more distraction to overcome.
One more hardship to endure as I wait, the anticipation sweet and painful.
A trickle of moisture traces its way along my lower back, it tickles, and I have to fight not to squirm. If I move it would disappoint her, and that is the last thing I want to do.
My arms ache.
My knees tremble.
My breath echoes against the soft leather, beading moisture and making my head light.
I cannot see.
The dark is almost negligible. I’ve grown used to not using my eyes. For some reason though, tonight the darkness ranks more. I don’t know why. I’m confused.
I don’t like it.
I MUST clear my mind. She’ll know if I’m agitated. Know I was thinking; brooding. She doesn’t like it when I brood. I agreed in the beginning to give her the control, taking away any reason I would have to brood.
I am no longer in control of my own destiny. My fate is in her hands. The only decision I make is if I don’t want to be here.
And I do.
I am calmed with my fate no longer my own. Pride swells withing me as I think back on these past months. I am good, where I am, with what I do, with what she does. The amount of restraint, of control over myself that I have achieved, has astonished me.
It’s all for her.
And for me.
The leather stinks with stale sweat, damp with new musk, but I don’t know what to pray for; a merciful end or more hours of motionlessness. Mostly, I pray for her to return, to take the decision off my mind. It is already out of my hands.
Somebody up there must like me, for my prayers are answered. I hear her step on the stairs, the hard soles of her heels clacking on the wooden stair. My heart races, my breath shallow, and I struggle to compose myself. But I can still feel my skin flush, my brow dampen.
The door opens.
She doesn’t speak. She never does, not at first. Her presence, the gentle sounds of her settling in - clink of jewelry on the dresser, the sound of a zipper.
Hands on my head, untying the mask. My head moves to aid her, but I keep my head bowed, eyes closed.
She humms her approval. “
“So good, so still. Such good behavior will not go unrewarded. Bow down before me.”
Already on my knees, it’s not hard to lean forward, to prostrate myself before her. I move without sound, though my joints, stiff from disuse, scream in protest.
“So good.” She murmurs again. “Open your eyes.” I do, and I look, for it is beyond my control not to. She allows it and I am stunned, struck dumb by the beauty in her mastery. “Stand.”
I comply, not falling my sheer will alone.
“Come.” Her tone books no room for argument. Once again I put my life willingly in her hands.
And I follow.
Just one more distraction to overcome.
One more hardship to endure as I wait, the anticipation sweet and painful.
A trickle of moisture traces its way along my lower back, it tickles, and I have to fight not to squirm. If I move it would disappoint her, and that is the last thing I want to do.
My arms ache.
My knees tremble.
My breath echoes against the soft leather, beading moisture and making my head light.
I cannot see.
The dark is almost negligible. I’ve grown used to not using my eyes. For some reason though, tonight the darkness ranks more. I don’t know why. I’m confused.
I don’t like it.
I MUST clear my mind. She’ll know if I’m agitated. Know I was thinking; brooding. She doesn’t like it when I brood. I agreed in the beginning to give her the control, taking away any reason I would have to brood.
I am no longer in control of my own destiny. My fate is in her hands. The only decision I make is if I don’t want to be here.
And I do.
I am calmed with my fate no longer my own. Pride swells withing me as I think back on these past months. I am good, where I am, with what I do, with what she does. The amount of restraint, of control over myself that I have achieved, has astonished me.
It’s all for her.
And for me.
The leather stinks with stale sweat, damp with new musk, but I don’t know what to pray for; a merciful end or more hours of motionlessness. Mostly, I pray for her to return, to take the decision off my mind. It is already out of my hands.
Somebody up there must like me, for my prayers are answered. I hear her step on the stairs, the hard soles of her heels clacking on the wooden stair. My heart races, my breath shallow, and I struggle to compose myself. But I can still feel my skin flush, my brow dampen.
The door opens.
She doesn’t speak. She never does, not at first. Her presence, the gentle sounds of her settling in - clink of jewelry on the dresser, the sound of a zipper.
Hands on my head, untying the mask. My head moves to aid her, but I keep my head bowed, eyes closed.
She humms her approval. “
“So good, so still. Such good behavior will not go unrewarded. Bow down before me.”
Already on my knees, it’s not hard to lean forward, to prostrate myself before her. I move without sound, though my joints, stiff from disuse, scream in protest.
“So good.” She murmurs again. “Open your eyes.” I do, and I look, for it is beyond my control not to. She allows it and I am stunned, struck dumb by the beauty in her mastery. “Stand.”
I comply, not falling my sheer will alone.
“Come.” Her tone books no room for argument. Once again I put my life willingly in her hands.
And I follow.
