Darla's Blindfold
February roars violently from out of the west across the flat expanse of white fields surrounding the sprawling ranch home. Window panes rattle in their frames. The rattle reverberates at Darla Weston's ear. Sleet peppers white cold frosted glass. Fear follows the blow that shook the rafters over her head and beyond the wood and the glass the temperature continues to plummet.
"David?" Darla calls out questioning.
Darla's question asked softly is hardly a whimper above the storm brewing beyond the French doors that rattle a warning of the worst yet to come.
In the basement beneath the master bedroom the furnace functions. Darla strains to listen around the machinery humming. The furnace cycles warmth from beneath her sanctuary in the master bedroom where Darla is held captive.
Darla understands your position precarious. She fusses with the blue cord fresh from the cellophane wrapping though she knows not the color of her husband's current perversion. For the umpteen time Darla is unable to free her slender wrists or her ankles.
David was considerate before he departed for points unknown; Darla believes she heard the grumble of the big block eight cylinder before the sound faded away with the wind and the distance.
Or a town snow plow she wonders while she continues to pull at the blue cord knotted at her wrists and her ankles.
Bowlines are the knot of choice; just snug enough to hold Darla captive without bruising her fragile flesh.
"I was supposed to do this to you, David," she reminded David earlier before he took the initiative.
"I know. You took too long to act on the suggestion, Darla," David said his answer to Darla's objection.
With her head on a pillow and a long swallow of Jim Beam mellowing the apprehension, Darla stared up at the ceiling overhead while David practiced his seamanship. He adjusted the knots until Darla flinched; "Just snug enough, Darla. Don't want you slipping away."
"Fuck you, David. This was to be all fun and games. I'm not having that much fun."
David heard the stammer in her voice.
"Just foreplay, Darla," he fibbed wanting to reassure his wife at least until he finished with the task at hand and she had nowhere to go expect flat on her back.
With clumsy fingers David fumbled with the gold chains on her ankles. He added the four anklets to the bracelets on the night stand.
"Those delicate strands were meant to hold me so you might do to me as you please, David. When I wear them I am your slave; I can't refuse your request. You should let me put them back where they belong and use me. David."
"Tonight we're going to need more than these wisps of gold, Darla," David said.
David raised the sole of her right foot to his lips. Then with a second hank of rope he secured her legs apart so wide that she felt the chill on her vulva. The sensation swelled and moistened the silvery-pink fillets once the plump freshly waxed labia parted sufficiently.
"Perfect loops on my first try, Darla," David said.
"I'm so happy for you, David. You're gaining a great deal of experience tonight. Tell me, what's next?"
Sinister thoughts appealed to the dark side of Darla's desire. Those thoughts dampened the flesh between her thighs and a single drop of arousal trickled over her perineum.
"Take me, David," she said when he failed to acknowledge her question.
David ignored his wife's pleas. He threw open the draperies. The light of a nearly full moon sparked off the fresh-fallen snow and the winter bright reflected off of the ceiling.
"Love me?"
"Yes, David. Please. Let me show you..."
"Just do as I ask."
"How can I do anything but?"
David smiled down at Darla and she smiled back at David. He lifted her head away from the pillow and placed the blindfold Darla had fashioned for the proposed New Years Eve get together over her eyes. The holiday affair fell short of the couple's expectations due to the wintery weather but the utility of her creation was finally being put to good use.
"I made the blindfold for you, David," Darla said.
"Yes, Darla, you did," David agreed as he tightened the elastic bands that held the black leather mask to her eyes. "And I'm thankful you did."
Her long blonde hair glimmered on the red satin pillow. The thin beaded gold chain around her narrow waist flashed in the moon-light streaming through the glass. David lifted the comforter from the hardwood and draped the heavy cloth over Darla's flushed flesh.
"I want to know what you have in mind, David. Tell me."
"Be still now. We'll be back shortly. We'll show you, Darla."
An obscene craving mucks up rational thought momentarily. David is gone before she whispers the question, "We?"
I misunderstood, she tells herself. He'd never...
David has been gone for nearly an hour though Darla has no comprehension of the time. With all the strength she can muster Darla pulls at the cords but the cords do not yield. David's forethought guarantees the blood will continue to her fingers and her toes no matter how long she pulls at the restraints.
The cellophane wrapping skitters nosily across the hardwood pushed by the heat flowing from the wall register. She listens, wondering what the source of the sound.
"David?"
Darla's plea echoes down the hall. Once again Darla tightens the muscles in her legs testing the cords holding the soles of her feet to the cold brass rails. Once again she fails to gain her freedom.
"You bastard," she shouts out and no one hears her angry curses.
He's actually left me, she reasons.
The headboard bucks as she vents her distress. The thick comforter, a gift from Mom and Dad on the occasion of their fourth anniversary in December slides away over the side of the bed. Pale skin turns to goose flesh as the winter chill finds Darla exposed.
By eight her arms and legs ache from the exertion. By eight-thirty Darla submits completely to her husband's whim sinking into the featherbed in search of warmth. Tears discolor the black leather covering her eyes.
She rolls her head against the pillow. Pliant bands flex but the blindfold remains fixed to her face. A ghostly glow she does not see takes the winter scene beyond the French doors as the moon light chases shadows across the fields. Clouds bloat out the eerie light sporadically driven by the gusts that pummel the cedar shingles.
"Why have you done this to me, David?" Darla asks but the emptiness provides only silence.
Sinful thoughts hamper her ability to perceive the danger close at hand.
A noise; her ears pique as she strains to hear. She raises her head up off the pillow and listens. She hears only the cold silence.
"David?" she says to the darkness.
A whisper? She wonders. Is that what it was or just the wind?
She believes she recognizes a sound; a voice over the pulse of her heart pounding in her ears.
"Not sure," she says.
"How long have I waited?"
David realizes he may have taken this too far as his guest steps out of her ankle boots and strips away the covering in the foyer. Tan stretch pants are the color of her long legs. Her green silk blouse is not nearly as bright as her eyes when she looks and finds him staring.
"I thought to make this easy for us, David," Diana says apologetically for going without under things. In their recent history Diana's approach in outrageously fashioned bras and thongs have crumbled the walls of the fortress he had constructed to defend him from Diana's assaults. On this cold and stormy night David is defenseless, crippled by the sudden gleam of her flesh strategically bared for his viewing pleasure.
