You order me to strip, and my mind explodes. My railroad brain side-lines instantly along a million different tracks. I must strip and obey, yet my instinctual resistance to command demands that I do not comply. If I comply I become subservient, a decision-void husk who exists only to please you. It sounds so wonderful. To become a channel for your creativity, to become your canvas, your amplifier, to become a part of you. To lose myself to you. To become nothing but yours. My heart cracks a rib. But - if I comply, I become subservient, a decision void husk - incapable of expressing myself, losing a part of myself and becoming less than I am, incomplete, inhuman and disconnected from my life. Each contradicts and swirls through my brain, the urge to obey resisted by my stubborn aversion to authority.
At the same time, images of the faceted future explode across my brain screen, the thousands of possibilities of what you may make me do -- or what you will do to me. From exquisite torturous pleasure, prolonged tormented screams of ecstasy right through the inconceivable spectrum of emotions to the sheer unwanted terror of an irreparably fucked mind, a loss of will, consent and finally bodily integrity. My greatest dreams and my worst nightmares condensed to a single infinite point; a singularity of hesitation. The simple command of strip, the potency of such a simple word destroys me. I die, and am reborn in the same instant. You say it again.
But I know you, and I trust you, and my doubts and fears shrivel in that fire to become nothing but ash. I don't care for ash.
I regain control, and begin to strip. I want to do it quickly. The act of taking off clothes on command is humiliating, and you know it, and want it to burn deep in my stomach and blossom to my cheeks. Defiant, I throw off my shirt and attempt to control the rippling of my flesh against the cool air. I cannot suppress a shudder, and you see it, and I know you saw. I am defeated. Slowly then, I undo my belt. You reach forward and grip the loose buckle, and pull it free in one deft movement. I squeal quietly as I feel the length of it slide around my hips, and my hand goes to mouth in a vain attempt to contain it. You smile quickly as you notice the bloom across my cheeks. I let my shorts drop to the floor, and then step out. I look at you, biting both upper and lower lip from within. My breath rushes in and out of my lungs with increasing rapidity. You gesture to my underwear, and I squirm under your gaze. I close my eyes briefly before removing them, conscious only of how silly I must look standing in nothing but socks. I lift a leg to take off the first sock but you tell me not to. My mind disintegrates again. Why must they remain? To humiliate me more? My brain is often in my feet, and so a thousand reasons suddenly rain into my consciousness, and I freeze, stupidly, on one leg, startled, before stumbling back to the floor. You can see me shaking, my knees buckling in my confusion, and you take my hand and lead me to the table. You whisper in my ear and my flesh cringes up from my shoulder blades and fizzes my neck. You lay me down gently, stroking my hair, soothing my jittering skin.
You tell me that tonight I will be losing the privilege of sight, and produce a thick black blindfold from the depths of your box of tricks. You place it over my eyes and drench me in darkness. I focus on my breathing, forcing myself to draw in long, slow breaths, fighting the shallow panic of anticipation. You tell me I will be losing the privilege of sound, and into my ears you insert plugs, and that is the last I hear from you. I feel your fingers lead my hands above my head to the manacles at the top of the table. They are padded, and I am grateful, but immovable. There is no room to manoeuvre, and my arms are stretched and locked firmly in place. My skin stretches taut around my ribs, exposing my bones. You grab my ankles suddenly, and I yelp and kick reflexively. I feel you freeze, to allow me to regain control of my movements, before pulling my legs into their respective shackles. I am immobilised entirely, and I am no longer an entity with will; I am no longer capable of worded thought; I am yours wholly and truly, to do with what you please; I am a sacrifice to the hedonistic gods; I await your influence on my flesh with baited breath...
The anticipation lingers on. Every second that passes I expect to feel the white scratch of nail on flesh, but it doesn't come. I do not know how long I have been lying in the darkness, immobile, melted brain electrifying every nerve in my skin, intensifying with each moment. I squeeze my eyes shut in spite of the blindfold, feeling the soft warmth of tears in my eyes through sheer desperate isolation until finally you drag a single digit from behind my ear, down my neck, through the crook under my chin, and down my ribs with slowness of flowing molasses. My voice rips through several pitches as my skin ignites under your touch. I try to move but I cannot and I wriggle with helpless discomfort as your finger traces across my stomach and down my thigh towards my knee. I begin to whimper, knowing the sonic pulse of intensity that will come when you arrive. Sure enough, I cannot control my voice any longer, and I scream and laugh, diaphragm undulating spasmodically. But, you do not relent, your single finger tracing rivers along my helpless flesh, down towards my ankles and slowly worming your way into the top of my socks. I shout no several times in quick succession, my mind shouting yes at the same time, but you remove your finger and retrace your steps back up towards my head. You know the places that cause me to scream, and you skirt around them expertly, never quite touching them, avoiding my inner thighs, my soft upper arm flesh, my armpits, my feet, my scrotum, driving me ever more wild with just your finger.
