The table feels comfortable despite how hard it is, cushioned by a soft blanket which is placed between the surface and my body. I can't see much, a coaster in old fashioned colours that was clearly swept off to make room for me and the base of a small leather sofa. And his bare feet.
My wrists feel quite tightly held, enough so that I can roll my hands to stop myself from sliding, a scarlet red rope threaded through the cuffs. I breathe, there's nothing more that I can do.
My senses are alive with noises from his tool box, hearing heavy chains, smelling myself on the blanket beneath, just waiting.
The initial onslaught is too much for me. I try to breath and my nostrils and sinuses fill from the position of my head, I try to relax, try to focus and fail. 5 minutes he laughs, knowing that he pushed me so quickly delights him but he pauses for me and I can breathe again.
He begins again laying 10 lashes onto the backs of my bare thighs and onto my lower back. I arch with the sharp sting and breathe, counting them down in my mind as he counts them with a soft, almost gentle tone.
He places various tools out for use, I hear him looking for the equipment for what he plans next. I breathe.
My nose by now is fully blocked, a sensation which I detest - it would usually make me panic but I'm calm.
More lashes, a softer whip this time, the sensation spread across my back and shoulders. I count mentally, he counts aloud.
I question whether I should be there. I question my strength. I question how he's react if I asked to be released and left. I question whether I can do this. I know that there is no way that I'm leaving. I need him. I need this.
My leather boots creak as he kneels between my bound legs and the rhythmic noise focuses me on my place and my role.
My sense of smell is gone but I hear him chopping something in the kitchen - I know that will be the root ginger that I was instructed to buy earlier. He places it at will inside me and weights it in place. 10 minutes he says and I watch his feet leave the room. Seizing the chance to breathe . My nose clears and I can smell the familiar cigarette smell from the doorstep where I know he'll be. I burn. I count. I breathe.
He returns and sits on the sofa, his feet rest on my back while tears stream down my face - I hear him drinking, I'm so thirsty myself but cannot speak to tell him. I count. I breathe.
He begins again positioning a bowl underneath my face but instead feel warmth on my face and neck, he relives himself on me and let's it drip from my lips. I thank him.
I trust him implicitly and he takes that to its limits, pushing me to give more which I gladly do.
I feel him next to my face, he whispers gently into my ear. Words which stop my tears immediately, he focuses me again and I know that this is what I've been craving since our last encounter.
He stands. I see the crop readied against his leg and know what's next.
I count my breaths. 1267 although I lost count at stages.
|
12:02 am Sunday, 30th July, 2017
Very deep but good |
