I'm jealous of the light, the sounds, the laughter.
It's muffled and dim and I only get snippets. For all I know, it could be a simply miserable party. But all the same, I am filled with envy.
She's out there, with them.
What was it she said? A night away from herself? A night to wear lace instead of leather, to be held down instead of.... No! Try not to think about it. But, what else is there TO think about? I lay there, strapped to a bed, nearly suffocating under the weight of coats of every sort and size.
Most parties have one, a bed where trench-coats and leather coats and over-coats and ponchos and furs are lumped upon. Only, most of those beds don't have a man bound on top of it, nude, laying underneath the discarded garments. I wonder, does everyone at the party know? Are they all laughing at me?
The door opens for just a moment. The blessed beautiful light, sounds and smells all explode into my awareness. But suddenly, none of that is important anymore. Because now your in here, with me, in a dark room, while outside a party goes on.
It couldn't possibly matter. Their lives, loves, needs; nothing of consequence because we are back together, Mistress and toy. You look at me and smile, sitting on the bed, resetting those tan nylons you know I have a personal fetish for.
You tell me there's a wonderful man out there. Tall, dark and handsome; like every fortune cookie promises, but few deliver. His name is Stan and my but is he forward. Already he's touched you, tasted your lips. You mustn't keep him waiting.
