This piece was written with intentional errors in capitalization--to highlight the Dominant partner in the story in all ways--and sentence fragments--so as to appear stream-of-consciousness and spontaneous.
...
stretched. bound. waiting.
cuffed and collared, blindfolded and gagged...His girl, bound for His pleasure.
enveloped in darkness, all sounds, sensations magnified: the faint, insect-like buzz of cars passing on the road; the heat of the light shining on my exposed skin; the rhythmic tick of the clock, it's second hand going round and round as i wait for Him, as He instructed.
hips and shoulders aching, stiff from strictly maintaining position. hands tingling. fingertips numb. how long had it been since He left? since He whispered, moist breath flowing over my face, ruffling my hair as i strained to hear over the pounding of my heart: "I'll be back, my little slut." ten minutes? an hour? more? don't know. don't care. His desire is all that matters. He desires His girl to wait, so i wait, my discomfort becoming comforting in it's consistency.
flesh slightly chilled by the window's faint draft, but remaining warm, heated from the inside by the fire, the glow within me that is His love, holding me steady, helping me follow orders.
finally, at a distance, a door closes. front? bedroom? can't tell. heavy footsteps, moving nearer, sounding so loud in the silence. kitchen door swinging open, then closed, as He walks through it. the squeak of the hinges loud, growing soft, softer, disappearing into the charged silence as the door's movement stops.
straining. hearing nothing. wondering, where is He? waiting.
i feel Him first, His warmth along my back where He has stopped behind me. I find myself fighting the urge to shift now that He is so near, to move nearer His warmth, muscles tensing, jumping.
then His smell: musky, male warmth. no aftershave. no cologne. just the smell of Him, filling my nostrils, making my breasts lift, press against the corset as i fight to take Him deeper into my lungs. memorizing anew His scent like an animal too long deprived of it's mate. knowing that I could pick Him out of any crowd by His scent alone.
finally His touch, strong, calloused hands on my shoulders, rubbing the taut muscles, pressing down as He leans in, lips nuzzling through my hair to the tender shell of my ear. deep voice vibrating through my body.
"has my girl been good?" nodding frantically and speaking, "yes, Sir," the mumble sounding unintelligible from behind the gag.
"is my girl wet for her Master?" blush staining my cheeks, the familiar warmth traveling the distance to my breasts and suffusing the mounds. gently flexing, squeezing my thighs together to verify the truth i already know: beneath the latex I am soaked, covered in my own wetness.
