Anticipation. That is the land of the mind fuck.
When the blindfold is on and you hear him
moving about. Picking things up,
and then putting them down again. Making you
guess: was it the flogger, your favorite, or
the paddle with the holes, your nemesis?
It's the slow slide of rope around your thighs,
drawing them apart, until you feel the strain.
Your hands tied up by your head, your hips pinned.
Your cunt, exposed. And then the high, high buzz
of the wand on maximum. The scream
prepares itself in your throat, your nerves brace
for the onslaught of ecstacy turned agony.
The glow of the candle as the wax heats, softens
and then pools, ready to drip onto tender skin.
The endless moments where you stand, naked,
in inspection pose while he prowls around you,
looking for something to punish you for.
It's standing in the crowd in the dungeon, watching
as another submissive is reduced to begging,
and he whispers in your ear that you will be next.
It's every beat of your heart as you scurry
through the dark, glancing into every shadow,
waiting for the moment that he takes you down.
It's the slow, methodical movement of his hand
and he attaches the zipper a peg at a time.
It isn't the strike of the came,
or the pinch of the clamp.
When he thrusts inside you too deep,
or when he cuts off your air.
The mind fuck is all in the waiting. The moment
before.