Waiting. The room is quiet except for my
ragged breathing. Can't move. My hands
are cuffed to my ankles, my weight is tipped
forward. My face would be pressed to the floor,
but a rope tangled in my hair wrenches
my head back. I hold myself taught and
uncomfortable, because the other end
of the rope ties into an anal hook. And
the anal hook is buried in me. Can’t see.
A blindfold turns the world to darkness. Can't speak. A gap bit stretched my cheeks,
the ball in the center of it fills my mouth.
It's cold in the room, but I'm sweating.
My neck hurts, my cheeks hurt, my ass
hurts. My fingers twist uselessly, caught
beneath me, pulled back between my legs.
My cunt hurts. It's cramping and lonely.
Waiting. Goosebumps rise on my skin.
I want the thud of a paddle, the whisper
of a flogger. The sting of a whip. The heat
of wax or the chill of ice. The warmth of
your hand, the buzz of the vibe. Anything.
Everything. I want pain and pleasure. To
suffer, and to writhe in ecstacy. To plead
or to cry or to moan. I want it to start.
Hurt me. Love me. Choke me. Fuck me.
Do anything except leave me here. Waiting.