*Writer's note - in this story, the characters from
Crawl
are developed a bit further, during a longer BDSM scene. The first/second person is maintained along with the immediacy of present tense so readers can insert themselves into the story.
For some reason my movements are constricted when I try to roll over. In a blur of sleep to awake awareness, I feel the heaviness of my limbs as I come to. Pitch black surrounds me. I puzzle over this as ordinarily I would be able to see outlines of our bedroom, even in the dark of the night.
Lifting my head, there is the sensation of material brushing over my eyelashes. A blindfold of some sort! Then it hits me. There is rope wound around my ankles, my thighs, my wrists and upper arms. I test this out by trying to move. Nope. It is tight and I can barely move.
I am splayed on the bed in a star shape with my arms flat out to the sides and secured to the bed. My legs are as wide open as they can go, also tied firmly to the bed. I feel my nakedness and vulnerability. That does it. I start thrashing around on the bed as I realize I can't move, and worse, I can't see.
My other senses were devoid of any useful information. I could not hear in the first place, not after a childhood illness solidified my cochlears. I could taste the building anxiety and fear on my tongue, which was thick and dry in my mouth.
The scent of new leather drifts in as I inhale deeply. It must be a new blindfold, as we owned nothing of a blindfold nature in our toy chest. It was one of my limits. Not being able to see also means I can't "hear" with my eyes, hence my reluctance to add blindfolds to our kit. None of this was particularly reassuring.
Nothing comes of my futile thrashing about. Even though my head and body are free of restraint, I am powerless to move my limbs. Breathing rapidly, my chest tightens into the predictable signs of a panic attack. Fuck! Desperately I start calling out your name.
"I can't breathe! Where are you?" I cry out.
In response, the back of your hand gently strokes my face, and brushes my hair away. I gasp at the sudden touch, but relax into the soothing motion.
The knuckles I can feel are rough and scarred, and the hand strong but gentle. These are familiar sensations, and I nuzzle towards you to kiss your knuckles. I know it is you now and your reassurance floods me. Once it appears you are satisfied with my calmness, your hand withdraws.
Surprise washes over me as it occurs to me you managed all this elaborate bondage without awakening me. Giving the ropes a token struggle, I test out the allowed range of motions afforded to me. The restraints on my upper arms and thighs were a masterful move. It is these restraints in particular, which prevent me from moving my limbs more than a couple of centimeters either way.
I give up my struggle and lay there in the dark stillness, waiting for you to make your move. It comes at my upper thigh, a vise-like grip squeezing me tightly signaling your possession of me. As my skin aches with the bruising force of your fingertips, I automatically attempt to draw my leg away only to be reminded of the tight ropes around my thigh.
Again I test the rope with a frenzy of futile struggles. Your fingers tighten relentlessly, insisting I be the one to give in. The pain becomes unbearable and I fall still. Helpless moans interlace my heavy breathing.
Upon my stillness your hand loosens from my thigh. I wait in the darkness for information to reach my senses. I wonder what it is that you want. I feel a bit alarmed that negotiation did not precede this scene, however now that I know it is you, I feel better.
My safety net returns with the knowledge I need only say my safe word for it to all end. Still the element of the unknown and the lack of control presented is enough. Nervous excitement courses my skin, prickling at my neck.
Suddenly the stillness breaks again with your touch. A finger presses in between my splayed legs. I feel the delicious pressure of your finger on my moist clit. There is no further movement only this pressure awaiting my response. I lay there feeling you press me. Heat grows between my clit and your finger.
Behind my eyes I sense a glowing blood colour, almost like light shining behind flesh and membrane. My heart thumps and blood pulses at me. I want more of that slick pressure. No, I want you to rub your finger over my clit. I want gentle strokes to glide over me right there, where it feels so deliciously slick.
My body betrays me and my hips push upwards seeking more of you. I know am giving you the non-verbal consent you would have been working towards. The lack of consent in setting the scene would totally appeal to your tastes. I'd bet good money you were hard already. Laying such claim on me without consent however, meant you would be watching my responses carefully to gauge my limits.
Play laden with emotional risk like this scene was something you rarely pressed me on. You always stopped before I used my safe words. I could have, and should have made you work harder for that consent. Shit. How easy am I? A little pressure applied to my sensitive clit and my body is screaming out to you yes! Take me, I belong to you! For fucks sake.
Frowning, I lay there and wonder if you are smiling. I know you wouldn't dare smile if I could see your face. But here I lay, blind in the darkness. Are you smiling? You are, aren't you? No longer able to resist my curiosity, and despite knowing how cats pay for their curiosity, I ask.
"Are you smiling?" I say to you, knowing I wouldn't be able to hear your response with my eyes covered, but asking anyway.
I am rewarded for my impertinence with an immediate and sharp stinging on my inner thigh, right where my bruised skin aches. I giggle. That was answer enough indeed, and even if you were smiling it wouldn't be there anymore. You are always so serious when your careful guards come down and your raw dominance takes over.
I'm trying to not laugh now but I can't help it. There is a sneaking suspicion that you have recognized my giggle as an intention to play with fire... and to get burnt.
The slap I received was certainly laden with an amused tolerance. I laugh, not sure who came out on top in that particular exchange. I know I will pay for laughing and I do.
You slap my face briskly, and I shut up. It hurts and I am grateful you didn't hit me as hard as you did my thigh. I am supposed to be offended I think, but in reality I am thrilled.
My cheek tingles now and suddenly I want my body to sing with pain. I want to be rebellious, and be taken into hand. I know you mean business, and you will ensure I take this seriously by punishing me for any infractions I incur. And so thus, the rules of the scene are set.
