Author's Note: This is the first in a two part series of "light" domination - a bit of bondage, lots of control and no pain or humiliation. If that's your taste, read on and enjoy.
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In my dream, I was naked except for a diaphanous veil of delicate gold which concealed nothing. The veil, light and ethereal as air, accentuated my nakedness and threw into relief the golden curls of my pubes, which framed the wet engorged lips of my cunt. I was spread eagled against a stone wall, my wrists and ankles trapped in iron manacles let into the stone. They looked unbearably fragile in the metal circles that held them. My body was impossibly stretched, the muscles in my limbs twisting and writhing like snakes under my skin. My nipples were elongated, engorged as if they had been pulled and teased by eager fingers or hot hungry mouths. My pussy was gushing, my juices glistening on the trembling muscles of my inner thighs. My face was twisted in ecstasy, my eyes glazed, my swollen lips parted in a shuddering moan.
But that was all there was – that frozen moment of other worldly passion. My dream revealed nothing else – of what had led to that sublime moment or where it would lead. The naked trembling body in my dream was too lost in passion to speak. Had my bound helpless body been used? Would it be used again? Was I in my dream a gift, an offering? To a God, a man, ... a beast? What had wrenched that moan from my shuddering lips? What had teased my nipples into hard, quivering nubs? What had made my pussy leak so with longing? I didn't know. What I did know was that I was unaccountably aroused by that vision, by my helplessness, by the fact that I was not in control of my fate and that I was at the mercy of someone or ... something that held the key to my manacles.
I had kicked off the sheets in the throes of my passion as that dream slowly consumed my mind. I ventured a tentative questing finger between my thighs. My pussy was awash. My juices had dripped between the cheeks of my ass and onto the sheet staining a wet clammy circle beneath my thighs. I had to do something about this, I thought for the umpteenth time.
The problem was I didn't know what. The images in my head, the visions in my dreams had now become so terrifying in their erotic intensity that I desperately wanted to live them out. But I was still screwing up my courage for what in my lucid moments I knew to be a mad and reckless adventure.
Trawling the internet for answers had not helped. I had not dared to respond to the many personals that I had stumbled across. Most were disconcertingly brutal – psychopaths seeking willing victims rather than lovers reaching out for solace. Anyway, I didn't know what to write in response to these personals. Anything that I wrote would probably scream inexperience. That also stopped me from posting a personal of my own.
I settled finally on what I thought was a less risky venture which wouldn't immediately place my body and soul in mortal danger. I would go to one of those clubs that dotted the city that appealed to more extreme tastes and "check out the scene," as it were. I had never been to one of them and had always scurried past the dark nondescript doors, flanked by enormous bouncers who looked like they belonged to another species, with my head buried in my shoulders, a delicious little shudder running down my spine. I was convinced that if I so much as glanced at the hooded eyes of those guardians of the gate, I would be grabbed by the scruff of my neck and dragged inside, kicking and screaming, to be subject to God knows what delicious depravities. Now, here I was planning to volunteer for the mission. I felt like one of those kamikaze pilots that I had seen pictures of, solemnly receiving a samurai sword as they prepared to abandon the company of the living and embrace death. ... All right ... so I have always been a bit of a drama queen.
Since I was wary of confessing what I had now started calling my "dark passion" to any of my friends, I had to go alone. That did make me nervous. But what is the worst that can happen to me? I thought. I could see myself sitting at a long burnished bar, its surface gleaming as I coolly appraised my company. If something piqued my interest, we would see. Otherwise, I would have a drink and slip back into the night, none the worse for wear. At least, that was the plan. Frankly, it didn't inspire too much confidence, especially in my frequent moments of craven weakness when I sat in my office, my heart racing, my palms sweating, as I contemplated bleakly the many horrible fates that could befall me. Those were the moments when I seriously considered therapy. Maybe my mind just required some minor tweaking. Only the $200 an hour I would have to pay to unburden my soul gave me pause.
Over the next week, I planned my campaign. I scouted several promising locations, whetting them from a discreet distance, trying hard not to be noticed, cowering behind a newspaper or pretending to be fascinated by some dreary window display. I finally picked out one that seemed likely. It was at the corner of Amber and West; and was called the Blindfold. The 'O' in Blindfold was a woman's face, perfectly oval, her eyes wrapped in scarlet silk, her lips parted in a shuddering sigh that signaled ecstasy ... or agony ... or perhaps both?
That Friday, I was a nervous wreck at work. My head was filled with chatter, my staid boring predictable church-going half squabbling noisily with my darker self which had now come into its own. I was like those cartoon characters, with an angel, complete with halo, perched on one shoulder and an impetuous little devil, horns glistening in the light, on the other. Only this was no contest. The devil in me was winning without breaking a sweat, every so often gleefully poking the angelic bottom with the business end of his trident making him squeal at the indignity of it all. I obviously wanted this little adventure very badly.
At some point during the day, the debate appears to have spilled out of my head and I must have been muttering aloud. There were strange looks thrown in my direction and my best friend, Amanda, asked me if I was all right, her eyes soft with concern. That was a tricky question, but I mumbled "Yes," not daring to meet her eyes. I was tempted for a moment to confess all and scream for help. I needed protection from myself and Amanda would know what to do. But my lips were sealed. I feared that our friendship would be changed forever if I confessed my dark secret longings. I could see it. Her eyes would first dilate with shock and horror and then become cool and distant. I have known friends become strangers for less. I kept my counsel.
When the day was over, I was anxious to avoid conversation, especially with Amanda who was still eyeing me warily. At home, I ran myself a bath and wallowed in the warm water for a long time, the tension that had pooled in my limbs melting. Afterwards, I scrubbed myself in the shower until I was pink and glowing. I appraised myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. I had my moments of crushing insecurity in this zero size world, but on the whole I was happy with my body. It had curves in all the right places. My breasts were soft and firm and fit nicely in a man's palms. My hips swelled gently from my waist and framed a bottom that I was especially proud of. I like to have my back turned to my lover when I take off my clothes. I like the gasp, the quick in drawn breath, the unconscious hardening of his flesh as his eyes drink in my globes.
I pulled on a short slinky dress of black silk, its hem barely half way down my thighs. The dress, which was held up by a knot behind my neck, left my back almost completely bare. I wasn't wearing a bra. I was feeling particularly racy and pondered for a mad moment whipping off the black lacy panties that I had on and going commando. Better sense prevailed. I was tempting fate enough as it is. I didn't want to make it an offer it couldn't refuse.
When I arrived at the Blindfold in my black dress clutching my little black purse in a grip like death, the muscle at the door looked at me like I was from another planet.
"I would like to go in, please," I said in my sweetest voice.
He looked me over silently for a long moment and then asked, "Are you of legal age, ma'am?"
I didn't think he had any doubt that I was. I suspect he was giving me a last chance to back down from whatever dimwitted plan he thought I had hatched.
"Yes, quite," I responded in as firm a voice as I could muster.
He hesitated for another long moment and then stepped aside to let me in, his shoulders lifted in an eloquent shrug that hoped that I knew what I was doing. I hoped so too.
The door opened into a short corridor with a coat check which led in its turn into a large hall, dimly lit, smoke filled and buzzing with conversation. I paused just inside the entrance to the hall, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My heart was booming like a bass drum and I could feel my limbs become heavy and languid as if to say that this was as far as they would go. I sensed my courage begin to fail and panic pool in the pit of my stomach. I was torn. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. But having come so far, I quite simply refused to admit the possibility that I may not have the guts to take that final step and see this through. At some point in that debate, my body sort of uncoiled and I tripped and stumbled after a fashion into the hall.
A hush descended over the room as I teetered on my heels trying to regain my balance. The silence was so profound that I could hear a vein throb in my temple. Every pair of eyes in the room had swiveled around towards me and I wilted under the heat of that collective gaze. I could feel my face coloring as I smoothed my dress down over my thighs and desperately sought some sanctuary, some cozy hidden nook where I could tuck myself away from this avid scrutiny.
