The floor presses hard into my knees as I wait for you; back straight, hands resting gently on my thighs, palms up. Like I’m accepting an offering, a gift. Conceivably, I am. My legs are slightly spread in the way you prefer. Open to you, open to the experience. From you, I cannot hide, even in my discomfort.
My heart thumps against my chest. A rhythm that you recognise. One that matches your own. A secret ballad, for just us two. Like a lovers duet, a poem written in our bones. Each beat rocks my still form and I ponder if you can hear the rush as each valve opens and shuts. If you can see the ticking of every beat. Like a predator, sensing the warm blood of unsuspecting prey. I shiver at the thought.
The blindfold keeps me in darkness, although I know the room is shrouded in light. The illumination you prefer against the blackness I enjoy. The way it blankets me in calm, in the ability to be and feel unseen. I’m filled with a false sense of bravery, and I want to give in to my inhibitions. But you see me, and I know that even without my vision, a part of me sees you.
The silence is deafening, amplifying my thoughts. I focus on the drumming of my pulse, the ragged breaths I pull in and push out. How each one is for this moment, for the sense of security received from this part of my submission. How I struggle to let go but claim the virtue of succumbing for myself, wrapping myself in its promise.
My nudity keeps me aware of your gaze. Of how your eyes travel over my breasts, my lips, pausing at my core. How you envision your fingers, your tongue, running through my moist flesh. My shame is heightened as my skin burns under your probing eye. Your arousal matching my humiliation, a physical presence coaxing my own. It caresses me, whispers my name and I crave the taste of your unique brand of suffering.
I jump at the caress of your hands, as you lift me to bend me to your will. In the same instance, I melt into your touch, smiling inside as my arms are lifted above my head. No words are spoken here, but when we are in this space, in this time, no discussion is needed. Here I know absolute trust. At this time, we are one.
The rope binds around my wrists, pulling my arms taught. The strands harnessing me to your will. As I’m secured to the hook above, your lips capture my own, reminding me that I am cherished, that I am yours. I sway as you step away, taking the warmth of your body, leaving me to embrace my exposure. To accept the weight of my vulnerabilities.
I hear the whistle as the tool of your art arcs through the air. In that brief moment before impact, my body tenses. I know I will feel the bite, the sting, and I know with the pain, upon the lick of the first strike, I will feel my mind relinquishing to your control. A part of me resists, and I fight the pull, the undertow that’s created beneath the force of your rule.
In the cadence created a new consciousness forms. One that pulls me to its depths. I float there, in that void, struggling to remain in your space, in your now. With each stroke, I sink farther into that expanse, the abyss that exists just for me. A welcoming quietness where I become something new, something refreshed.
The command of its invitation pleads that I follow. And as I sink deeper, and let the sense of buoyancy surround me, I know that I have found what I was made for. Here I know rapture. Here I know surrender.
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