I thought I'd broken her for a second.
I had brought her to the brink of subspace only to stop and pull back so many times, all I likely had to do to send her over was wait, but as she hung in the wrist restraints, head lolling on her rosy left breast, I was afraid for a moment she'd simply passed out rather than crossed over.
But she'd been a good girl, and was now sailing, enjoying her reward. It was about time for Mine.
I took her down, picked her up, cradled her in my arms and lay her back on the recovery couch in her little basement dungeon, only to have her open her eyes and whisper "Thank you, Sir."
I wrapped a handy faux-fur blanket around her ample, near-naked frame, kissed her forehead, slipped a finger inside her and triggered her unique, signature, cat-wail orgasm in seconds.
Her recovery was slow and sweet. She was so childlike in this state. I gave her water to sip, enjoyed my wine, and let my hands enjoy her soft skin.
In twenty minutes she was all the way back, giving me her eager "What's next?" expression.
It is a truism that subs have expectations we Dominants must be ready to fulfill. Failure to plan is planning to fail, and a disappointed submissive is an unhappy submissive.
But we knew each other well, being dear friends of long standing in vanilla life, and had come to understand our mutual needs and rhythms. Sex was a huge part of our play and always capped off our scenes like icing on the cake.
The enormous old Victorian home she was remodeling had many rooms in various stages of restoration, a number of which I'd never seen. So, I conceived a game of hide-and-seek.
"I'll give you a fifteen minute head start, girl," I said, "While I finish off my wine. Then I'll come find you. Go freshen up, change into something slutty you don't mind being torn to shreds and go wait for me in a room in which I've never fucked you. It's time we christen the rest of the house."
"Yes, SIR!" She replied, eagerly, and scampered up the stairs.
***