Red lights turn the center of the room
into a stage. She stands tall, legs straight,
buckled into the confines of the spreader.
Her arms reach up the heavens, to
chains and leather cuffs that hold her
open and exposed. He prowls. In sight
and then out again. Along the wall hangs
his collection of toys. Some fun, some mean,
Some frightening. She hears a scrape
as he selects one. Time to begin.
Her breath comes a little faster. She wishes,
for a moment, that he'd blindfolded her.
Better to see what's coming, or not?
Its too late anyway. Swish. Splat. It's the
flogger. Her favorite. On the bench
it makes her mewl and arch her back
like a cat. Here, standing, rawly exposed,
it curls around her hips, whips at
her belly and the underside of her breasts.
One rogue strand catches a ripples
and she cries out. The response is
a low laugh that promises more. He returns
to the wall. Chooses something new,
but he holds it low, down by his hip
and his cock, straining against his jeans.
She can't see what it is. That's… not good.
He appears in front of her, takes a firm hold
of her throat. She yields into the kiss,
pressing hard against him, pleading
for mercy with her mouth. He pulls away,
strokes her face with the smooth edge
of the paddle. Her breath catches: not
her favorite. He smirks at the big Bambi
eyes, the drawn eyebrows. As he walks
around her, gliding it over her breasts,
her ass, she trembles, then straightens
her chin and straightens her back. Mark me,
she thinks. Take me to the place where
I want to cry and kiss you, all at once.
Splat.