Stone End Table

The gray-green slate and black iron complimented my skin beautifully. I'd never seen another of its likeness since I made the purchase fifteen years ago. Styles are dynamic, it's true, but I hadn't ever found anything I liked better. Across apartments, cities, counties, countries, it followed me. And now my favorite coffee and end table set resided in his study, as did I.

My king's private study is an environment of wonder and imagination and possibility. Simultaneously being practical in its use while also existing as a treasure ship of memories. There are few places on Earth that I like more. When I spend my evenings here, they are truly some of the most joyous times of my life. The room is his canvas and at times I feel like his paintbrush, his instrument of pleasure, joy, and playfulness. As one enters, you cast your gaze over the whole, then look again at the fine details. Certain things catch your eye and the ideas come unbidden, transparencies over the floorplan, hints of what is to come.

Everything fit like a dovetail joint, like he did to me, even the quirky bits. The muted lighting was perfect for skimming lines on a page or combating screen glare. The sturdy bookshelves held classics alongside modern penned gems. An antique rolltop desk, my god, his desk, and the fire it's seen between us. I'm fairly certain the walls are still saturated with my frantic cries of pleasure. His chair... You cannot tell me it's not a throne. The power he exudes by silently sitting there, giving me a glance of those hazel eyes and one of his smiles, steals my breath and it's evident why I kneel for him--he's my king. There's also the cushy ottoman and the sofa with its clever design excellent for railing into me in numerous positions.

Then there's my coffee table, a low thing of beauty. Fashioned in thick black iron curves, it's topped with a lace grid that holds eighteen individual slate stones in sophisticated shades of blue, green, and gray. There's nothing sophisticated about what I've done on that table. My favorite feature is this: In the right light, the minute crystals within the rock seem to glow and sparkle. And to the sides of that clever sofa sits one each of my end tables, slighter versions of the coffee variety, and me.

I love greeting him in this study. Our laughter and breathy sighs linger here. It's an oasis like none other simply because it's between us. The room is but a ceiling, four walls, a door, and a floor, yes. However, when occupied, it's a portal to explore together. It's where we learn about each other. It's a place where we love each other.

So, here I am. Kneeling atop the end table closest to his chair, my legs folded under me, knees positioned to two of the corner stones, exposed, arms boxed behind me, head bowed, eyes closed, with only his thin leather strap adorning my neck and another leather tie fixed in my braid. Primped and plush for my sovereign, my body greedily aching already. Smooth skin on top of rough rock, the juxtaposition only heightening the senses. The edges can bite, but I never mind. The fleeting sting is worth it and holding position afterwards serves as an exercise in self-discipline. I only want to please him therefore I stay put and obediently wait on the matte blue stones.

I know he'll see my naked form as soon as he enters. That's why I chose this tonight. This table is the exact right height for him to have me, not as high as the desk, not as low as the ottoman. And the dim lamps behind will illuminate my silhouette just as I planned. He'll see the detail of my eyelashes, my lips, my nipples, and the dip of my navel in sharp contrast. I stay bowed, focused on centering myself and my breathing. Submission is always better when starting with a clear mind. The fact that my mind gets warm and fuzzy and lost to lust later, well, that's subspace for you. There is the tradeoff and the balance to consider while eagerly awaiting my Sir. He drives me wild as part of his own affectionate entertainment that we both enjoy, then he's the miracle that calms me. He is everything and I want to give him the same in turn.

I count my breaths to one hundred, then I count them again. Once more, I'm deepening my focus. Then I hear familiar footsteps, my heart races, stuttering over itself and I smile as the door opens...