Part V
I sat there, or rather knelt there, my knees a bit sore, my legs a bit
uncomfortable as I tried to hold a position that I was unaccustomed to. Quiet
expectation hung heavily in the air, his hand holding my arm behind me, his
breath fanning my face, his eyes, not so aloof now, drifting over me. Here I
was, at long last, on the verge of tasting the submission that was a part of me,
of ditching the oppressive layers of respectability that society had placed upon
me. I felt so incredibly...small, yes that's the word...small.
Small, but also more feminine than I had ever felt before and that surprised me.
It scared me and frightened me and I wondered just how far I would be pushed,
how far he would test the veneer of polite gentility that had been with me, had
cloaked me, had dictated to me my entire life. I shivered at the thought. My
hand flexed within his grasp, brushing over the skin at my back. His grip
tightened ever so slightly, a mere micron and yet, it went straight to my core,
causing my breath to hang, my heart to stop momentarily, before resuming its
rapid thump, thump.
I knew him fairly well and trusted him, but in this moment, he was a complete
mystery to me, a potent, powerful, masculine rebus that played havoc with all of
my inner workings. I knew what he wouldn't do. I had a pretty good idea of some
of what he would do...but only on the surface level. I had no clue what it would
do to my insides. Would I ever be the same again? Somehow I sensed that I would
not be, and the unknowns of the new me, the uncertainties shook me. Would I be
new and improved? Or just a pasty shadow of my former self?
The minutes drew out, and my panic grew, my fears expanded as we sat there, face
to face, the crackling logs the only sound as the CD had long since ended. The
pressure built, the tension mounted. A huge weight bore upon my chest, squeezing
my heart almost unbearably, constricting my lungs so that my breaths were mere
puffs and soft pants. Do something! Anything to break the silence, ease the
rising tide of fear, quell the palpable panic.
He did, thankfully, dropping my wrist and standing to gaze down upon me. I
didn't even hazard a glance up at him. I didn't know how I should act, didn't
know what to do, so I knelt there, uncomfortable, both physically and
emotionally...I just knelt there.
He walked to the fireplace and added another log to the slowly dying fire. He
stirred it to life, fanning the flames carefully back to life. I stared
fascinated, unable to stop myself, watching his strong hands stroke and cajole
the embers with the andiron, hearing the pop and hiss as the new log caught and
smoked and joined in the dance. I wondered if I would respond the same way to
his coaxing...would I roar to life or was I too green to burn brightly? Were my
flames mature enough to bring light and heat or was my core too wet, returning
only acrid and bilious smoke?
He turned, laying the andiron back in the rack and this time, I did return his
gaze, felt compelled to look into his eyes, eyes that were as dark as pitch,
eyes that reflected the darting flames. Oh, my. I was about to find out.
***
I had a scene in mind, I did. I really did. But that deserted me as I felt the
trembling of her frail wrist. She had certain expectations of me, hell, I had
built them up myself, but she'd be surprised to know this was as far as I had
ever gone, too. At least in real life. Online, I was super Dom, sure. But here,
here I felt like a tyro, a rank amateur, and though she could share her
inexperience, revel in her ignorance, I could not. I had to live up to the
images I had created, had to be someone that I hoped to be, but someone who I
wasn't quite yet.
Would she laugh at me if she knew? Could I tell her and have her look at me with
the same awe? The same trepidation? Would she even be here now, quivering
delicately like a newly opening bud if she knew I had never plucked the rose? My
own doubts rose to the surface and threatened to topple this house of cards I
had so painstakingly created. I needed a little bit of space, some breathing
room. I needed to regroup.
I rose and looked at her kneeling form. She knew nothing of my own fear, fear of
failing her, fear of letting her down, disappointing her. I busied myself for a
moment. I could do this. I would do this. I needed to do this. As I added some
wood to the fire, the thought brought me up short. Need? Yes. I prodded the
dying fire bringing it back to life once more. Yes. I needed this, almost, if
not more, than she needed it.
I sighed, putting the andiron away. It was that simple. I needed it...needed it
like the air I breathe. I needed her, as she was, all of her. I needed her
strong and feisty spirit, and I needed to see that same spirit yield and give
way. I needed her as she was now, scared and lost and uncertain of what to do
next, quivering and quaking with it. I needed to show her what to do, show her
all the things that were inside of me, inside of her. And I needed her as she
would be later, lying, kneeling, sitting, whatever, broken, pliable, submissive,
blissful and content in her surrender to my will.
Yes. I needed that. I turned to stare at her. I compelled her gaze, the force of
my will bringing her eyes level to mine. Good. Let her see it. Let her see all
of it. Let her see my own doubts, my own fears, my own desires. Let her taste it
upon her tongue. Let her absorb every bit of me, take it all in, make it a part
of her. I was not going anywhere. I needed this, needed her. I was here to stay.
And so was she. Good, bad, right wrong, so was she.
***
His eyes burned with an unholy light. I felt overwhelmed by the force of
emotions behind them. Where did this come from? What brought this on? I've only
been sitting here quietly. What did I do?
My gaze remains locked on his, feeling his emotions drill into me. They are dark
and intense like the man himself and if I didn't know better, I would swear I
see....could it be fear within them? I shake my head. No, it couldn't be...not
him. Impossible! I peer hard, letting my gaze travel further and further into
his soul.
Damn me if it isn't fear. But what does he have to be afraid of? He's in charge.
Why is he concerned? I am the one with the most to lose, aren't I? I don't
understand what I'm seeing but he doesn't give me much time. He begins walking
towards me and I am overcome with the sudden urge to flee. I feel stalked as he
gets closer, stalked, trapped, and endangered. Something in him has changed or
snapped or something. Gone is the smiling, safe face of the man I have
known...in its place, an implacable stone wall.
The shutter drops back over his eyes concealing the turbulent emotions that I
had glimpsed within them. His eyes darken and narrow, and now, now I can't
watch, can't look. I lower my head, breaking the intense connection between us.
I see his loafer clad feet loom larger and larger, but he doesn't stop in front
of me. No, he continues passed me, turning to stand behind me. I tremble. I
can't help it. I can't see him, can't tell what he's doing. I hear some rustling
and desperately want to look, but I can't, something holds me back.
So lost in my own thoughts, I jump when his voice, low and husky is suddenly at
my ear telling me of his designs for me, asking me to yield, to surrender, to
trust, to submit. My mouth goes dry and I am left gulping at air, my throat
working feverishly. Surrender? Submit? Trust him? I quake uncontrollably.
I hear a metallic clanging; a soft chinking and then a pair of handcuffs is
before my eyes, held in his very competent hands. My eyes darken at the sight. I
feel flushed, hot, itchy. Restraints...my weakness. I shift, uneasily, heat
pooling in my groin, restless tingling taking residence in my nether regions.
The cuffs are waved in front of me, temptingly, enticingly. Damn him.
I look up, turning my head to catch his gaze. His eyes are fathomless pits, twin
orbs full of dark passions, hinting at untold delights, promising so much...
"Yes?"
My jaw clenches and unclenches. I can't hear over the blood rushing in my ears.
I can't speak. I can't say the words. I can't voice my own longings. He shrugs
and steps back. Nooooo! I lay a hand on his forearm and stare at him helplessly.
I chew my bottom lip nervously, staring back, imploring, pleading, begging
silently with my eyes. Please, please, let that be enough. But it is not. He
takes another step back.
I clutch frantically at his forearm again, feeling the muscles ripple and
contract under my hand. I gaze at his raised brow. He's going to make me say it.
I give a frustrated cry and his brow lifts even higher. A moment more of tense
silence draws out and his features harden and he pulls back more forcefully from
me, my hand falling away from his arm.
"Please! Yes! Yes!" I sob and drop my head in my hands. I can't believe he made
me do that. I cry tears of shame, of embarrassment. The silence stretches,
lengthens, broken only by my pathetic whimpers.
I am only vaguely aware of his hand reaching for mine. I barely notice his
touch, his fingers tracing my hand. I am lost in a sea of self recrimination and
it is only the cool, steely sensation sliding along my wrists that gives me
pause, causes my head to lift, my tears to stop, my heart to pound, my blood to
roar, my breath to catch.
Click....Click...Click..Click.Click
I stare in awe as the dulled steel cuff is tightened about my wrist, each
ratchet like click slow and deliberate, each serrated notch making me tremble
exponentially. My wrist, my hand looks so frail, tiny and delicate compared to
the locked band circling it. I feel a delicious shiver go through me as he
double locks it, my tears are long gone, dead and buried by a shovel
manufactured by Smith and Wesson.
He crooks his hand at me, nodding and looking at my other hand.
"Give it here."
I stare at him uncomprehendingly, still caught up in the feel of the cool metal
rapidly becoming warm, absorbing the rising heat of my body.
"Now."
He motions with his hand again. He is not going to wait much longer. I inhale
deeply and in those brief moments, moments when I feel the air acutely, entering
my mouth, traveling along my tongue, down my throat filling my lungs, I see
myself as a child, a young girl, standing on a sea shore, afraid of going in and
drowning, pulled under by a strong tide, afraid of staying there in safety but
never knowing the unfettered joy of the ocean washing over me.
The held breath begins to burn my lungs and I slowly let it go, feeling its
reverse journey, but also feeling the decision, the peace of a decision made,
come up with it. As the last of the breath escapes my parted mouth, my hand
raises, lifts slowly upwards, floating gently towards him caught somewhere
between past and present, somewhere between time and space. There is no sound,
there is no movement of the air, nothing but his hand before me, before my eyes,
reaching out to wrap firmly around my hand, to grip it, to hold it tightly,
protectively, possessively.
A second round of clicking sounds manages to register within some distant part
of my brain. I shake my head lightly and look down...my hands have been cuffed
and were lying there in my lap, bound to each other, perhaps only for an hour,
maybe two, maybe several, but I know, oh I know, that I was bound to him
forever. He hadn't just cuffed my wrists, no...he had cuffed my spirit, had
chained my will to his, had bound my heart and soul to him for all eternity with
that one little click, click, click.
