Upon reading this, NE had this to say: “My darling master, your post was lovely…but you forgot the most important word. The word that actually put me down. ‘Concentrate’.”
So I did. Consider it included.
***
“Kneel.”
She went to her knees beside the leather ottoman I was sitting on. I reached over and removed the plastic wrap on the large fruit bowl sitting on my desk. Her eyes followed my hand.
“Let’s start with a grape.”
She leaned over, selected a large grape, and brought it quickly to my lips. I shook my head. “Too fast.” My fingers caught her wrist and I drew it back to the bowl. “Do it properly. There is no rush. You are making an offering to me.” I wanted to be clear. This was for my pleasure. She was merely the instrument of it.
She tried again, going slower this time. I parted my lips and bit into the grape. It was juicy, succulent. I gave her a small smile and nod. “Better, but still not quite right. Try a strawberry.”
Her hand trembled and it took her a moment to draw out the strawberry. The trembling spread to her arms and shoulders. By the time the strawberry had reached my lips, her entire body was shivering. I accepted the strawberry, enjoying the slightly sweet bite it carried.
There is a beauty in the naked form. An honesty of lines and curves. She had nothing to hide behind, and as she fed me cantaloupe, grapes, and strawberries, she slid deeper into a role her subconscious craved with a keenness that made her shake.
It was my pleasure that she feed me – and my pleasure to see her fed. I lifted a grape and brought it to her lips, feeding her from my own hands as she had done for me. She understood I would take care of her. In placing herself into my hands, she was trusting me with her body, mind, and soul.
I could be cruel. I could be kind.
I am often both.
“Enough. Stand.”
Having been on her knees for so long, she had difficulty drawing herself to her feet. Being in the slightly disorienting space of submission did not help matters. I lifted her up and indicated that she should follow me. We crossed the hallway to my bedroom.
My bedroom is simple. A bureau, a nightstand, a bed. Today, the bed was stripped of everything but black silk sheets. I pressed her onto the center of the bed and told her to close her eyes.
From the nightstand I drew out two leather cuffs. Lacking rope, I had been forced to be creative in how best to use them. A black pillowcase, cut in half and tied at one end to crimson silk would work in place of rope. The silk end tied to each leather cuff, and the black cloth of the pillowcase tied to the top posters of the bed.
I placed her wrists in the cuffs, fastening her hands up over her head. “I want you to test them. Pull on each hand slowly.”
This served two purposes: I wanted to make sure they would not come free over the course of the next hour. I also wanted her to know how strong the bonds are. There is understanding, and then there is knowing.
She tugged. The cuffs remained secure.
“Harder.”
She pulled harder – and the silk tied to the left cuff came undone. I retied it, making sure that to keep it tight.
“Again.”
She tried again. This time they held.
Now the real fun could begin.