The blindfold lets in no light. There is no imperfectly sealed corner through which I might glimpse something familiar or comforting. It’s been on since the moment I walked through the door of the basement apartment in response to the text. Just an address, a time and a two word instruction: “Be there.” How could I, with my fetish for fear and anticipation, have resisted.
With an industrial whirr the hoist pulls my cuffed wrists up and apart until I can feel my heels start to lift off the floor. The cuffs on my ankles have already been tightened. I am half suspended. Stretched. Uncomfortable, though only mildly so. Mostly I am naked, exposed and vulnerable. Completely immobile. I could twist one way or the other a few degrees but only at the price of further strain on my shoulders.
I wait. Still. Both excited and frightened by this new game, where my most important sense has been taken away from the start. I am turned on as always be the proximity of My Mistress; her presence, her touch, the sense of being in her power, the prospect of her violence.
I hear the click of her heels. She clears her throat, a noise that sends my pulse racing, my mind wheeling in instant fear at the implications and consequences of what I have just heard.
THIS IS NOT MY MISTRESS!
I know with absolute cold certainty that this is not MY Mistress. Not the person with whom I have sessioned maybe a dozen times, who knows my likes and dislikes, my hard limits and my no-go areas. Not My mistress who knows how to push me just enough but not too much. Not My Mistress, in whom I have absolute unquestioning trust.
This is someone completely new, totally unknown to me. There has been no cosy pre-session chat about what I like; no negotiation of limits and safe words. I have no picture of her, no point of reference or understanding of this woman at whose mercy I find myself. Is she sensual or sadistic? Will she be vicious or encouraging? Is this session to be all about discipline and punishment or about challenge and reward? Questions queue in my head, tripping over each other in their search for answers that don’t exist.
I feel latex clad fingers force my mouth open. I twist away in fear but they find me again, forcing a hard rubber bar between my teeth. I can feel my pulse rate spike as adrenaline courses through my body, preparing it, as far as it is possible to be prepared, for the new, unseen, unanticipated threat that this woman represents. It’s terrifying.
But it is also exciting. I am 99% immersed in this scene, immersed in its fear and anticipation, exactly as My Mistress no doubt intended. The other 1% is admiring her cleverness and the depths of her understanding of me and of my kinks. Because though this is indeed terrifying, it is also, in its own way, perfect. The 1% of me that has an idea how this came about; the 1% of me that has capacity for anything other than fear, admires its perfection.
And then, gag secured, the woman stands away from me and laughs. It’s the laugh of someone in absolute control; the deep, confident laugh of a strong powerful woman, revelling in her dominance and secure in the knowledge that she has me absolutely at her mercy. I twist towards the sound, desperate to gain some understanding of who this is, desperate to see her, connect with her in any way but there is only blackness. And her laugh.
I sense her in front of me. Close. So close I feel her breath on my face. I jump as her hand touches my chest, runs slowly over it, grasping each nipple in turn, squeezing until I gasp at the sudden surge of pain. She laughs again before the hand moves on, down over my stomach until her finger and thumb circle my testicles. She squeezes slowly, gradually increasing the pressure until I am breathing heavily, partly in pain, partly in fear. A final cold laugh.
I hear the click, click, click of her heals, the hard sound of something being picked up. She positions herself behind me. I hear the swish of a whip moving backwards and forwards, moving air across my back as it comes close.
“You are safe here,” she says, “but I am going to hurt you. I am going to hurt you a lot.”
As a final surge of adrenaline rushes through me, I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for the first blow….
naked, blindfold, bound
all fear, excitement, desire
she draws back the whip
I chose this haiku I wrote a while ago as a prompt for this piece, imagining a scene that would press all my buttons but which I have not played out……………Yet