Walking in the door from work and into my bedroom only to see that you’d left me a note on my bed.
“Be kneeling by your bed at 7pm. Have the rope ready. Wear the red.”
My breath caught reading this and my limbs grew heavy. What a fantastic way to end the week that had been so hard in so many ways. I guess it’s a good thing that I’m always home early, this gave me ample time to get myself ready.
So a hot shower, shave, followed by moisturising with your favourite smelling moisturiser. Doing hair and light make-up and making sure that the rope was bundled on the foot of the bed, waiting. Also spread out was a range of other implements that you had a soft spot for using just in case you feel the urge to mix it up. The preparation of everything slowly and but surely wipes away any and all doubts, concerns, and worries from the week. My thoughts focus on you, what would please you and how I can facilitate this with what I prepare and present for you tonight.
It’s nearly time. I slip on the red slip and rush off to boil the kettle. I time it. 5 minutes and counting. I get your cup ready, your tea and milk.
3 minutes: the kettle boils and clicks off. I pour the hot water into the cup and take the tray downstairs with the tea bag and milk carefully laid out beside the cup on the tray.
2 minutes: I organise everything so that it’s ready for you to walk in and sit down to enjoy your cup of tea and have a minute to breath and relax.
1 minute: I kneel by the foot of the bed, the smell of rope keeping me company and the thought of that rope slipping around me, restricting, constricting, hurting…. I shudder softly and take a deep breath. I lay my hands atop my thighs and wait.
I hear your key turn in the door. My heartbeat picks up and I nervously lick my lips. I can hear you walking down the hall and the waft of air as you open the door that brings to me your scent. So undoubtedly you, it makes me wet just being able to smell you.
I see your shoes come into view and inhale slowly. Savouring your scent. Watching you walk towards me. Pause. My heart skips a beat. I feel your fingers in my hair, pulling my hair so that my back arches and my face is tilted up and I have no other recourse but to look into your eyes. You smile at my hesitancy in meeting your eyes, as my eyes get drawn to your lips your smile widens. It makes me wonder what evils you’ve cooked up, your smiles always make you look so innocent. Yet that grin always makes me loose my breath.
I wait and purposefully draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly while you draw your fingers across my jaw and then stick your thumb into my mouth and pull my mouth open, while my head is still pulled back and you position yourself above me and start to let your spit pool on the tip of your lip as you wait for it to drop into my mouth. And I groan. I whimper. I hate it. This blatant exchange of bodily fluids. It makes my stomach recoil and my head spin. Yet I don’t move my head or close my mouth, even with your thumb still hooked into my lower jaw. I wait. And as that glob of spit gets bigger and starts to slowly draw away from your mouth I close my eyes because I can’t look. I can’t see and not flinch. I don’t trust myself. And then before I even peek through my lashes I feel it hit my tongue. I shudder. You laugh and tell me to swallow.
Such a simple request. One I find so very hard to follow. I hesitate. You remove your thumb and push my chin up till my mouth is closed. You repeat again, “Swallow it now”… I hesitate again with a wild look in my eye, keeping my tongue plastered on the bottom of my mouth in some vain attempt to keep your spit separate from mine while my mind frantically tries to find a way to avoid this whole situation and you cover my nose and mouth with your hand and growl “swallow slut”. I have no other option. I swallow. You remove your hands from my head and sit down watching my mental struggle.
You smile. I look down and away not being able to meet your eyes. I hate the little things that make it so hard for me to follow a simple command. Yet you find the joy in these little things.
Apparently it’s not always about the big things like the cane, flogger, pegs, whips, single tails or rope. Who knew?