The Delicious Art of Crawling

Part I

My hand stills on the door, palm resting lightly into the smooth grain of the wood beneath. Already my mouth has gone dry and I can feel my pulse beat a tattoo in my neck. A simple push of that door will find me in your territory, under the spell of those unsettling dark eyes, knowing you will unwrap me layer by layer until there is nothing left. You always do. Tonight, however, I sense deeper more dangerous currents.

It is just an instinctive feeling, but our beings resonate so closely together that I am rarely wrong. There will be reason to fear you tonight and before the evening is out this slave will know about it. Whether the dish to be served will be dazzling enthrallment, sensuous torment or sharp frightening frissons of pain remains to be seen. Life under your tutelage is hardly ever predictable.

My fingers form a fist finally. They knock out two firm raps and I wait. I wait with utter silence roaring in my ears, unable to breathe until your voice is heard. Oh how I hate to wait and oh how you know it. The silence is impermeable in its entirety and produces a convulsive swallow in me. I know you heard me, more than that I know you feel me... can taste my fear.

Finally a single word rings out.

'Enter.'

It makes me jump and I have to clutch my fingers into fists to stop the trembling. 'Breathe,' I tell myself. Just breathe. Finally the life force flows again allowing me to continue. My shaking hand pushes the door slowly open.

The smell of burning wax assails me first, before my eyes register that the floor is a lit up like a runway... awash with candles. It gives the room a soft but eerily muted glow. My eyes take several seconds adjusting to the dim light before they find you, lounging on the leather sofa with a thick tome in your hand. From this distance I cannot make out the title, even though my eyes squint hard in the attempt.

You motion with your fingers for me to approach you, but stop me with the palm of your hand when I reach the middle of the room. Your eyes have not yet left the page of your book.

'Strip,' you order, still not acknowledging my presence with a glance.

A soft shudder ripples through my body before I mechanically obey, peeling off the black sheath of a dress that leaves little to the imagination, my frivolous black lace bra to follow and already I am being unwrapped... but this is barely the beginning. The bra falls to the floor at my feet, barely making a whisper of sound.

'That will do for now,' you tell me and finally I am bestowed a gaze.

Your eyes travel from the 5 inch black peeptoe heels and make their way up, over shapely legs clad in black silk stockings before resting briefly on the mere whisp of black lace which is my excuse for panties. Then again your gaze rises, lingering for a moment once more on those soft, twin mounds of naked flesh, noting that my nipples are already proudly erect. Still further your gaze travels to the pulse still beating heavily in my neck and then up to my teeth nervously biting my lower lip, finally your eyes come to rest upon mine. You read me like a book, but I can't complain. You always savour every single page.

'On your knees slave, wrists on the small of your back,' a sharp order. My legs are too weak to stand regardless and I sink to the floor gratefully, placing my arms obediently behind me. The position of my hands arches my back, thrusts my chest forward so I proudly display those breasts of mine before you.

'What a complaisant little thing you have become,' you murmur almost daring me to argue.

We both know I would be stupid to disagree. I tip my head in acknowledgement, concurring. You reward me with one of those rare soft smiles which I cherish, feeling the warmth of it light my skin. Then those eyes, those dark, smouldering eyes capture mine and hold them effortlessly. You raise your voice and look into the very core of my being.

'Tonight my precious, you will be uttering that word I have longed to hear for quite some time now. You will await me at my leisure and contemplate your fate at my hands.'

Such simple words, spoken so softly. A whimper escapes my lips, unable to be held back but your attention is already refocused. Your eyes slowly peruse the pages of your book once more and I am left in lonely centre stage, framed by my nakedness, candles and the contemplation of my submission.

I already know that you don't merely want that one particular word... the word I have been holding on to, by the very skin of my teeth. That one little, tiny safe word... that when uttered changes everything. I also know that the mere whisper of the word will not suffice. You will make sure I scream, yell, shriek and sob the damn thing out again and yet again in all its glory. This slave will remember each and every single detail of this evening.

My eyes settle on your face, watching those lowered lashes as they read... only a hint of those dark chocolate eyes visible. My arms are beginning to strain now, but I revel in the discomfort as it focuses me. I can only hope that my naked presence here in front of you makes it deliciously hard to read. That your thoughts are whirring as mine are, that your heart is also slamming in your chest and that your fingers ache to touch and caress this soft, silky, shimmering flesh displayed so diligently in front of you.

The silence drags out, page after page turns in your hand and your eyes never waver from that rotten book. My obmutescence is held with not a little determination on my part. My arms begin to wobble and shudder under the stress of holding my position and my knees go numb underneath me. Who would believe that keeping still and silent could be so ridiculously hard? Those blue eyes of mine crease into anxious slits as I begin to rock helplessly... feeling somewhat dizzy now. The shuddering increases until the muscles twitch and jerk of their own accord in harsh protest.

Finally your eyes focus on mine once more. You know. I know. But I will fight for my little word, a fight that will be useless as yet another layer is stripped from me. Leaving me vulnerable in yet more ways and you have quite enough of them already.

'Fetch your collar,' you murmur, eyes indicating I may crawl from the room to retrieve it.

My expression is adoringly grateful as my arms are gingerly brought in front of me, trying to get the blood circulating again so I may put my weight on them.

'Off you go slave,' a warning note in your voice. I know you mean to watch me crawl in pain and have a taste of the evening's expressions to come.

I move forward on screaming limbs, awkwardly and shakily... feeling the deadened muscles try to obey. Will perseveres where stamina will not and for that I can be thankful. It is, however, an agonizingly slow process. Finally I make it from the room. If this is the easiest task of the evening... then my night will be a gloriously long one.