A Moment 17

Montgomery's glands. Not something that pops into my mind every day.

It is one of those moments when you feel like you have stopped time. An agent in the Matrix. The world is dynamic and moving fast but this moment freezes long enough to analyze. And right in that split second you see them. In front of you as though they never existed before that moment. Lost in the background and yet so much a part of her. Montgomery's glands. The little bumps on the areola surrounding the nipple perched on the rising breast. It passes through your head for just miniscule portion of a second and you wonder how you even recalled such a trivial piece of information. But there they are, framed in bruises, reddened skin, and draped with a straggling strip of red leather. A flogger has just landed with breathtaking force. A thud reverberates through her trembling and sweat soaked body.

She causes those fantastic breasts to rise. She has sucked in air with a gasp so deep it creates a musical note. Every muscle tenses as adrenaline, endorphins, and a veritable soup of neuropeptides tear through her. She shudders and trembles as she tries to stay on her toes. A rope attached to the ceiling rides up the crack in her ass and she straddles it as it circles back to the ceiling. Standing on her toes is the only thing that keeps her weight from pressing the softest and most tender flesh of her pussy into the rough and now soaking wet strand. She is losing that battle and I feel myself go weak just thinking about the pain it is causing to her cunt. Rope on clit. What a wonderful invention. Her hands are bound by chains above her head and a spreader bar between her legs makes everything available to me.

Available. That's the word. At least one of them. One of the magic terms that define our relationship. Available. Out of her own control and into mine. Nirvana for both of us. Never having understood myself beyond the joy felt in fully owning another human as a personal toy, I can't begin to fathom the complexity she undergoes in giving this gift. Something many women would consider abhorrent is something she craves. Only the very special woman learns to accept and nurture this craving. The roller coaster rush of relinquishing control. The freedom. The primal satisfaction of returning to the natural balance where men are the strength and women are the protected. The pride in showing her protector what she can endure for him. Knowing she is releasing and engulfing, maybe even nurturing, a rage and a passion so strong she can't imagine. A vanilla woman will never feel passion like this. Ever. A vanilla woman will never feel what it is to be Available.

The lash in that split second drapes across her breast. The bruises on her breasts are carefully placed so she can go to work tomorrow in a low cut dress without a sign. Even in rage there is art. The marks of a riding crop on the inside of her thighs will not be seen by anyone else but they will be felt by her all day as a reminder. The exquisite agony she felt from the pinwheel traveling up her labia will be long gone. The fire she feels in her calf muscles as she tries to keep the sisal rope from cutting deeper into that feminine slot will just feel like a workout at the gym. But in this split second she is alive. I am alive. We are one person with two sides both in our own way living to maximize her experience. Her pain. Her frustration. Her humiliation. Her pride. Her love. Her freedom in captivity. In this split second we free ourselves to fly wildly through a storm of emotion and I look for my ultimate goal.

From gleaming eyes she releases them. The holy grail. Tears which trickle in a small stream next to a bubbling nose , past trembling lips, off a defiantly thrust chin. She tries desperately to hold on to her dignity and becomes empowered in her ability to lose it. The tears. The tears are everything. And now they run freely, dripping down the top of her chest and bathing those Montgomery's glands.

The lash lifts off her and rises behind me as my eyes seek out the next target in her soft wonderland. She sobs and whimpers and on the corner of her mouth plays a smile. It's going to be a long evening.