I lay on my back, naked, of course. My wrists and ankles crossed and cuffed together and to the table. Rather than being stretched, my elbows and knees are bent, opening me up to her ministrations. The room is slightly cool and absolutely silent which adds to the heightening of those senses not cut off by the soft leather blindfold and thick gag.
Every sound is magnified in my ears as if electronically amplified and enhanced. My every breath roars in my ears. Her steps on the soft carpet are as loud as boots on dry leaves. A single drip of hot wax on my flesh sounds like the splash of an enormous rock thrown into a deep pool.
Scents that would have normally passed unnoticed flood through me in a torrent: the light scent she wears, the rich, thick, animal smell of the leather in which she is clad, the dense aroma of the melted wax, my own scent just as my excited skin breaks a sweat.
But it is my sense of touch that overwhelms all others. It is as if not just every nerve but every neuron, every cell in my body is filled with electricity and swollen to twice its normal size. The merest caress of her breath across the smooth skin on the inside of my forearm flashes like a strobe light throughout my entire being. My skull cannot contain the sensation of her fingernails tracing the faintest of lines up my thigh and they burst through my mind like an explosion.
The gag, thankfully, forces my breathing to a reasonable depth and rate as my heart pulsates rapidly in my chest. I work to keep myself just as open, exposed, and without cover mentally as I am physically, to keep my thoughts focused on the perception of every sensation, the moment just before my mind takes them and tries to categorize and define them. In this ultra heightened state, I couldn't create a coherent thought on my own if I had to.
"Are you there, my precious beast? Are you well?" she whispers to me, so close that I feel the brush of a few strands that have escaped from her carefully created hair style and the warmth of her breath on my ear.
