"Kneel on the chair, hands against the wall," I whisper horsely in your ear as you stand half naked, back to me, staring dutifully straight ahead. My fingers play through your hair and across your shoulders as you momentarily contemplate your next move.
You step away from me to comply and in so doing feel the warmth of my breath on your neck replaced by the cool air of the room and shudder. From the cold? Anticipation? Perhaps a twinge of separation anxiety at our physical parting? Fear? No, you know there is nothing to be feared here, the trust that has been earned between us is our strongest bond and thus far proven to be unshakable. No, this is unadulterated anticipation. You have no idea what is going to come next, you never really do. But you have every confidence that whatever it might be, no matter how long or difficult the journey, there is always profit and reward from it in the end.
As you kneel on the deeply cushioned chair, knees apart as I would desire, you reach for the wall, back arched, ass out; presenting yourself to me in precisely the manner you have been taught. It is these small gestures, these little moments of exacting submission that cause my heart to swell the most with pride and desire. You have taken your submission seriously and carry it forth with great devotion and sense of accomplishment. When we are in this place together, your desire to please and be pleasing knows few bounds. While I have worked very hard to earn this submissive desire from you, not a day goes by that I do not feel a profound sense of gratitude to have been chosen to lead you every bit as much as I have chosen you to serve. We are a beautifully matched set as Dominant and submissive.
"Tonight there will be no bonds my Muse beyond the emotions that bind us together; no silk ties, no cuffs, no rope," I whisper, leaning over you and drawing in your scent through flared nostrils. "Tonight I want nothing but your will; that beautiful, stunning, powerful will that you exercise each and every time you come to me. You will hold perfectly still my Muse, no matter what. Perfectly still. Is that clear?"
"Yes Sir," you respond in barely a whisper, shallow breath quickening.
Straightening your hair back over your shoulders, I reach for your hands now pressed firmly against the wall, and ever so slowly trail my fingertips lightly across the backs of them and down your arms. A cascade of imperceptible little shivers rolls down your arms raising the nearly invisible hairs in their wake. I am bringing you to life, waking your body, raising its tempo to match that of your already racing mind. You shiver slightly and sigh in contented anticipation. Continuing their journey, my finger tips trail beneath your arms and along the sides of your beautifully curving breasts still contained in their revealing top. You squirm slightly as they trail down your sides leaving a delicious torment of pleasure and ticklishness in their wake.
"Be still my Muse."
"Yes Sir," you respond, head leaning against an upraised arm, eyes closed, lower lip clenched between your teeth.
"You are such a lip biter my Muse. I love that about you," I whisper in your ear, trailing my hooked fingers back and forth along the top of your silky panties, lowering them ever so lightly with each pass. "Christian Grey is an idiot. Bite your lip as much as you like my Muse." From long experience I have learned that when you bite your lip, sure as the tides, you will shortly be wet and aching with anticipation.
Lower and lower I ease your panties, gliding the knuckles of my hooked fingers back and forth across the swell of your shapely ass as I do, subtly signaling where I intend to focus my attentions this night. You moan as my hands draw back and forth, closer and closer to your sex, your heat radiating against my fingers as they pass. Instinctively you arch further, pressing toward me, exposing yourself to my attentions. Another green light. Another welcome sign. A quiet begging for more.
With panties only partially removed I pull my hands away from you and step back to admire the sight before me. You are partially exposed to both my sight and my touch, yet fully available for my every whim. But I choose to leave the panties there, half on, half off. The press of the satiny material against your hips is a powerful reminder to you of your exposure, sensuality and vulnerability. I am well aware that by leaving them there, you feel more naked than if I had removed them entirely. They are a marker, a sign of the power I have over you through the submission you grant me.
Bending over, I glide my smooth hands up and down your soft creamy thighs. Up and down from knee to the wisp of the satin draped beneath your sex. Without thought you arch and press, leaning into me.
"Be still my Muse," I chide, the single stinging slap to your inner thigh racing like a lightening bolt to your already throbbing clit. "Your instructions are not to move."
"Yes Sir, I am sorry Sir," you respond gasping at the shock of the unexpected slap.
Slowly I drag my fingernails across the quivering skin of your legs from the crease of your knee higher and higher across the rounded mounds of your ass and back down the sides of your legs. Repeat. Over and over again. Expanding my reach. Covering your legs, inner thighs, ass and hips with red trail marks from my nails. Subtly marking you. Taking my ownership.
Reaching for your the back of your neck I plant my nails in your skin and slowly drag them down your back, through the valley of your arch, and across the mountains of your ass. Eight red parallel trails blazed by my fingers. Marking my territory. They will be there for hours on your tender skin…an oddly painful pleasant reminder of your ownership and use.
Reaching behind the white satin, I cup your hot sex gently in my curved hand, middle fingertip resting on your swollen hard clit. You start at the unexpected direct contact to your moist lips and struggle to be still as I rest my hand motionlessly there, cupping and cradling you. But after so much anticipation, the motionless touch is more torture than pleasure. Through halting breath, clenched eyes, bitten lip, you roll your head back and forth instinctively rocking your hips seeking some form of stimulation. But there is no relief. My hand simply rests there moving with you, no relative motion between us.
Your breathing becomes more insistent, more desperate. “Please…” you murmur through clenched teeth.
"Be still my Muse," I urge softly.
For a moment you try. You become perfectly still. But it cannot last, you are holding your breath to do so. With a gasp of exhaled effort, you renew your rocking and pressing but to no avail. My hand, cupped against you simply goes along for the ride providing no satisfaction for your urgent desire.
"Please…Sir….please…" but you receive no verbal reply.
Instead you feel a stinging slap to your ass delivered by my free hand. The sudden and unexpected sensation ignites a fire across your ass and straight to your throbbingly cradled clit. You buck and press anew.
"I said be still!" I command. You freeze for a moment, perhaps in hopes that by doing so you might be rewarded. Or perhaps it is just your desire to please. The reason is of no importance to me though because I know full well it cannot last.
Still cupping your overheated sex in one hand I begin a steady slow rhythm of stinging slaps to your exposed ass. Not so hard as to make you cry out but firm enough to make an impression. Back and forth, left and right, the blows land on your reddening and quivering cheeks. While my other hand stays perfectly motionless over your now soaked lips and throbbing clit, the reaction to each stinging slap is all manner of motion carrying through from your ass to your thighs to your desperately craving sex, in its own way providing the stimulant you have so craved.
One after another the rhythmic spanking continues and as it does you rock your hips back and forth, forward and back in an ever increasing tempo of excitement, arousal, and desperation. You are rolling and undulating beneath me, all sound and motion, ass and head swaying this way and that. And all the while my hand rests against you, cradling you, as you drench my fingers in your dew. Your breath comes in shallower gasps and a sheen of perspiration breaks out across your skin.
"Oh God! Sir please don’t stop…" you moan through halting breath.
But I do. As suddenly as it began, the spanking stops. You remain there, swaying and bucking, panting with desire and need. Desperate for relief and release. Then you suddenly catch yourself, straighten and do your best to remain still knowing that this is the only path through this obstacle course.
My now soaked hand still rests against your sex, lovingly and tenderly holding you. Yet that is not at all what you want. You crave motion. Sensation. More. Much more. Endlessly more in this moment. Anything but stillness.
Resolutely and with a deep breath you straighten your head, stare ahead at the wall, stiffen your back and replant your knees. A reset. Trying anew. For it is only by following direction that you receive reward. You know this. I know this. It is the game we play.
My hand cradles you. It is our only contact. As your breathing begins to settle into a more regular pattern you begin to drift. Mesmerized. Meditative almost. A calm drifts over you and the desperation begins to leave, replaced by a glow like the warm sun on a cool Spring day. You bathe in the sensations that wash over and through you. The heat in your ass, the stinging fingernail trails down your back and up your inner thighs. You become hyper sensitive and aware of every part of your body. Your mind is empty of thought and there is nothing but sensation. Wetness. Heat. Stinging. Throbbing. You remain still and statuesque in the mutual silence and stillness. Hand to sex. Our sole connection. Still. Connected. Together yet apart. You close your eyes and bathe in the sensation.
Almost imperceptibly, my soaked finger tips begin to move…
Caption © For The Love of a Submissive, 2013
Image © CA Co., Ltd.