With great thanks to TR0608 for his kind suggestions. I hope I did your imaginings proud.
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Her secret was always with her.
It was a part of her, not something she simply carried as Sisyphus did. No, her burden never rolled back down the hill, allowing her to breathe, if only for a moment. It simply stayed, forever a curse to be endured.
She knew she would always hide herself away, away from eyes who would judge, at best. Her urgent thoughts told her to continually cover up, deflect attention, and hope those who would seek to destroy her, would find something else to captivate them.
As she grew, she found a world- a place of magic and possibility, where what is and what was, sensuously danced. Amidst the costumes of a time long ago, was her safety. Here, her cursed, perfectly green skin could remain hidden from view.
And here her gift could be shared.
As removed and separate from others as her skin made her, that’s as intimate as was her gift of understanding. At least that‘s what she came to call it. She simply understood what burned deeply within people- what made them weep, remember, dream and desire. She knew them, even when not a word was ever spoken.
She used her gift to become a part of that medieval world, offering keen insights to those seeking answers about their unhidden lives. As they sat before her, placing their hands in hers, many remarked about the excellence of her makeup. She never corrected a single one. It allowed her for a moment to imagine a life where her secret could be washed away at the end of the day.
On an early summer day, one ripe with possibility, she saw him stride across the field with determination, as was his custom. His was a gentle spirit yet there was something else- an air of authority which always surrounded him. It made her want to yield to him, something that both frightened and intrigued this soul who had survived for so long by simply being alone.
He was a man who guided others, who led by example, drawing everyone’s talents together to transform a field of the twenty-first century into a space where medieval dreams could flourish. She had found her own place there, hiding in plain sight.
He had come for a reading at the very end of the first day. She knew he was concerned about any number of details, for, of course, she knew most everything. But there was something else, brewing just below the surface.
It was energy, rolling off of him in waves that reached her long before his feet carried him nearer. It was an almost deafening mixture of need, passion, and an overreaching control, that she had seldom encountered in her journey. Usually those awash in that much desire were beyond reason, but not him. He dominated it, not the other way around.
And she was on fire.
She found some way to keep her emotions from surfacing and betraying her, as she softly spoke and asked him to be seated.
He did with a slow, courteous nod, as his hands slipped warmly into hers, and his words acknowledged her gift and his own searching.
His thoughts were anything but lost, though.
No, she could see into him, and what she knew made her heart race, and her soul bow.
She saw them together.
She knelt before him, her head lowered, gaze averted. Her hands, upturned, rested upon her naked, spread thighs. She could see matching cuffs on her tiny wrists.
He circled her, delicately trailing a single finger across collarbone, shoulder, back, shoulder, making infinite contact with that skin she had hidden from all.
He returned to face her, offering her his hand as an invitation to stand. He walked her over to an exposed brick wall, where dual chains dangled down. He affixed her cuffs and instructed her to place her hands above her head, upon the wall.
He whispered into her ear to arch her back as he traced each vertebra, his breath warm against her exposed skin. He ran his hand down her side, over the swell of her hip, and gently cupped her right buttock as he pressed himself to her. He whispered how beautiful her skin was, how he had longed to touch her, and how if he said she was lovely she must believe him. Over and over he repeated the words of “beautiful” and “believe” until she obeyed.
He told her that he was going to step back a bit, but that she must hold as she was right now- trusting, yielding, and believing.
She heard him pick up the triple single tail from where he had shown it to her earlier and she waited in delicious agony as moments seemed suddenly eternal.
Then, there, it was slicing through the air around her, cutting away her fears, and quickly licking at her flesh before returning to him.
Again.
And then once more.
He closed the distance between them, covering her back with gentle, whispering touches, wrapping his arm around her front, holding her shoulders tightly, steadying her, and asking if she wanted more.
Yes, Sir, was her gasping reply.
He loved her well with his whip, then gathered her to himself.
She was safe, she was home.
Finally, in her own skin.
