With my back straight, I wait. The leather gradually warms against my stocking-clad thighs, my skin notes where the lace tops end and my bare skin begins.
Only a little light manages to get past the blindfold, at the sides and the bottom, and I can't help but turn my head a little to see if I can still observe anything in the room, through the very slight crack of light.
Without sight, I feel my senses heightened. I feel every little clench below, feel the rising and falling of my naked chest, note the crispness of the air on my exposed nipples. I swallow, wondering how long it will be that I wait here and whether this, in itself, is a test? How long would it take, tigger, before you decide to rise and leave the room? Can you control the thoughts passing through your mind on a loop: "Has something happened?"; "Am I being watched?"; "Have I been forgotten?"; "Am I worthy?"; "Can I truly yield?"
The thought of being watched starts to obsess me. Was the antique mirror really a two-way one, are there hidden cameras? Who, oh who, plans to enter this room?
Then back to reflecting on the photograph, that refined and seductive face that was so alluring that it stopped all else for me and I could not stop watching her. And yet, in the photo, she is naked, marked with the brand of a slave...boldly staring, with an intensity yet calmness, no distress showing. An expression that can only be described as a sense of self, of pride.
As my mind is wandering, I hear the sound of a door knob turning. The door to my room is being opened and I feel the air change around me, curtains swishing and candles crackling in the draught.
I am taken aback, feeling vulnerable, but remember my training and lengthen my spine, shoulders back, displayed to whomever may have entered the room.
Footsteps now, I listen hard, tilting my head just a little to one side...more than two steps, one set of steps softer than the other. The sound of stiletto heels and another set slightly heavier. Are there two people here or more?
The anticipation is immense. I feel, more than hear the presence of one person nearby, a slight noise, then the sudden pop of the champagne, which shocks me so that I jump, momentarily losing composure - the sound so unexpected. With heightened senses, the sound of bubbles being poured into the crystal glass, I can almost see them in my mind.
Suddenly, my chin is taken firmly, between thumb and first finger and tipped back...small drops of champagne poured carefully between my parted lips. The drops taste like no liquid ever before, tingle and bounce on my tongue and down my throat. I long to empty glass after glass, then suddenly feel a gush of liquid, deliberately poured to run beyond my lips, down my naked torso, between my breasts, and it pools between my legs on the leather seat. I blush, ashamed, concerned that my greediness has resulted in this decision to teach me better.
Then a warm, firm, commanding voice says "How you please me, little one. Time to rise."
I stand, feeling the liquid run and place I both hands behind my back, one crossed over the other.
Again, silence. My breathing is heavier now. I decide to peek just a little in the crack of the blindfold, seeing only male leather shoes to my right. Where is the woman in the stiletto heels and who is she?
Both of my hands are grasped firmly and I am pushed towards the centre of the room, not roughly, but forcefully enough to have no doubt in my mind that the cuffs encircling my wrists are not there merely for show.
I hear a click, and my right arm is extended from my body, the chain attached to the D ring. Now the second is clicked to my left wrist, someone is winching these chains taut, is it the woman?
"Spread your legs now, wider, wider" commands the male voice that I know and trust so. I recognise the shift in tone, an edge of arousal, the rush of dominance taking hold. My belly flutters once more, for there is risk here and I am choosing to continue.
The cuffs around my legs are now secured to the other chains. I am displayed, unable to unattach myself, yet there is a little yield to the chains I can feel: enough to not be harmed, enough to still arouse.
Unexpectedly, my body feels a new sensation, another body being wrapped around my own, soft, tender, skin on skin, entwined - playful and teasing. A slight delicate scent is detectable.
Who is delighting my senses so, and will these sensations last?
Will such pleasure be followed by something much more searing?
