Another Expression

"I believe she has been left alone long enough," I whisper to Myself. I finish reading the paragraph, note My place with the bookmark (in the form of a silhouette of a tall woman seen in profile, one of her many small gifts to Me), and set the hardcover novel on the coffee table. I stand, stretch, and finally make My way to the bedroom.

The carpet effectively muffles My footsteps, but I still move slowly, cautiously, wanting to keep her on edge. Granted, this is practically unnecessary, as I had placed a blindfold over her eyes and headphones on her to keep her ears filled with white noise from a small sound generator kept on the dresser. She cannot see Me, nor can she hear Me; I am not wearing any cologne this evening, so she cannot smell Me, and she definitely cannot taste Me or feel Me at this distance.

When I at last step into the bedroom, I pause. The dim blue light casts an eerie glow about the room, but it is enough to allow me to unabashedly admire the beautiful submissive who has served Me so well for nearly a decade. Other submissives have come and gone, but she has been with Me since early in her college career, when I had first feasted My eyes upon her as she and her roommate had visited the club, both cautiously curious if the rumors they had heard about BDSM clubs were indeed true.

I lean against the doorframe, My arms folded across My chest. So many memories flood My mind as I gaze upon her. Particularly, I remember her excited nervousness as I watched her strip for Me for the first time, directly in front of the living room window, the bright rays of sunset bearing directly upon her bare body and displaying her prominently to anyone who might have been passing by the house and looking in her direction at that very moment. In her haste to undress and be permitted to move away from the potential public scrutiny, she had actually tripped over her own thong while trying to lift her left foot, the bruise to her knee punishment enough for her hurriedness.

she tests the restraints securing her arms into position. Once again, padded thick leather cuffs encircle her wrists, and a thick heavy chain connects each cuff to a bolt underneath the sturdy wood-frame bed. she is such a small-framed woman that on the king-size bed, she appears to be even smaller, like a young teenager who is remarkably shorter than other girls her age. her legs are restrained similarly to the bolts underneath the frame at the foot of the bed. I can smell her arousal from the doorway, and am certain that she is even more distinctly aware of her weeping sex, filled with a pair of vibrating eggs continually clattering against each other inside her most intimate passage. Interestingly, she does not appear to be as frustrated as I had anticipated with this scenario, so I figure that I should leave her alone for another twenty minutes or so.

With some reluctance, I turn away from the bedroom, returning down the stairs and heading toward the kitchen. Making and drinking coffee, I reason, will provide enough time for frustration to finally seize My devoted submissive.

As I attempt to decide between Hazelnut and French Vanilla coffee, more images of her history with Me come to mind. I remember the final test to earn My collar. For the occasion, I had decided that the mountainside cabin would be the best place for the test, as I had truly expected her to scream so violently that had the test been conducted here, the neighbors would have called the police suspecting potential domestic abuse or even murder. The test was simple: survive one hundred strokes of the cane – the very same cane she and I had selected T/together during a trip to San Francisco – without any vocalizations (sniffling was permitted). Naked despite the chilly air of the moonlit mountain night, kneeling over the trunk of a fallen tree with her ankles and wrists cuffed and secured to stakes in the ground, she had actually passed the test on the very first attempt, the only submissive I have trained to actually accomplish such a difficult feat. I remember the pride I had felt that she had successfully passed the test "with ease," that she had never even acted as if she would use her safeword during the painful ordeal. In My experience, such a submissive is indeed a rare gift.

...as is her love. she had declared her love for Me on many occasions, in words and in actions. While I had not been looking for love when I had first met her, love had soon blossomed between U/us. And, unlike the other submissives I have trained, whenever she looks into My eyes, I am greeted with a look of both submissiveness and love, which warms My heart tremendously.

As I pour the hot water into the French press, I think of the countless mornings I awaken with her beside me, often with My arms already wrapped protectively around her as she continues to sleep. Especially on the morning following a rough late-night session or a severe punishment, I hold her even tighter, even closer, almost trying to fuse My body with hers, wanting to ensure that she truly, deeply knows that despite the pain I may grant her, I love her desperately and will always protect her and revere her.

In counterpoint, there are also the countless memories of slow, heartfelt lovemaking, lasting deep into the night, culminating in a romantic duet, drifting into slumber with O/our hearts and O/our bodies still joined as one.

I pour the French Vanilla coffee at last and decide to return to the bedroom. I again lean against the door frame, watching admiringly as My beautiful, loving submissive moans and whimpers, pulling tentatively at her bonds and subtly humping the air above her pelvis in an effort to find a means to increase the pleasure slowly building within her.

If she can smell the coffee, the meaning of that scent – that I am now in the bedroom with her – does not appear to consciously register in her mind, for she continues to try to find that release she seeks. I watch her, My eyes drinking in the exercise-toned muscles flexing, the long piano-trained fingers curled into her palms, the soft small breasts with the prominent hardened nipples quivering ever so slightly, the long pointed tongue licking along her dainty lips...

I think of the last time I had kissed those very lips. Not quite an hour ago, I had taken My time in maneuvering around the massive bed, securing each limb as she watched with a still-fresh fascination. Rendered immobile and helpless, she had closed her eyes, sighing contentedly, slipping into her special place thanks to the collar and the cuffs. Then I had placed the blindfold and the headphones upon her, filled her ears with white noise, and bent down to place a soft, romantic kiss upon her small painted lips. Despite the passage of time, I could still faintly feel a hint of the lipstick which had been transferred from her lips to Mine.

I move across the bedroom to place the empty mug upon the dresser. My sweet, loving submissive still does not realize that I am only a few feet away from her, that My eyes are riveted upon her.

I open the closet door and consider the various whips hanging on the wall. Selecting the heavy leather flogger, I close the closet door and approach the bound woman on the bed. If she truly wants her release, she must first earn it, and she will earn it by screaming for Me. And although I will purposefully hurt her in the process, I know that her heart will interpret the pain as yet another expression of My love for her.