Sunday, 24 April 2011

Come to the Edge...

I am afraid. Excited, intoxicated, adrenalin pumping through my body, but nevertheless... I am afraid. We have not known each other long. Distance and circumstance keep our meetings limited, His playroom all too often lying fallow as we snatch an evening at a motel that cuts our journey time. But today we have engineered an open ended block of time. Today He has collected me from the station and brought me to His lair. Today He has already tormented me with pleasures that have made me gasp: tied and twisted the body I have given to Him: yet still He leads me closer to the edge.

Blindfold He leads me forwards. I falter, stumbling a little, uncertainty combining with the rush of blood returning to feet that have been kneeling. The cuffs are already on my ankles and my wrists, the collar firmly round my neck from moments after we entered His house. He halts me, raises my arm and deftly locks the clip in place. His hand guides my fingers to the wooden bar, gratefully I grasp it as I feel Him pull my other arm upwards. Upwards and out. He spreads my body, arms stretched wide, I know the same fate awaits my legs.

He positions my body for best advantage. Legs further back so that my back arches and my posterior thrusts towards Him. I final humiliating twist, He places the pony bit gag in my mouth and fastens it tightly. I am new to this device. I still fight against the saliva that fills my mouth, I have not yet learnt how much He loves to see His toy drool, I have not yet accepted totally that I am His, not yet learnt to love whatever gives Him pleasure. For now I fight the moisture in my mouth, tipping my head back to swallow it as best I can.

He strokes my body and I tingle at His touch. My nerves are tightly coiled: senses heightened by my loss of sight, I strain to add pictures to the scene that I can only feel and hear. The softest touch of leather brushes my skin, as velvet soft as my name it caresses my open body. Goosebumps flush across my body both with delight and with fearful anticipation; this is not my first introduction to the deerskin flogger, and a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing. Master's floggers are not lone implements, they live on His shelf in families...

I hear the swish, I feel the deerskin, the first falls are on my provocative cheeks. They are light, repetitive, a rhythm that warms my flesh to a delicate blush. I smile softly as I feel the dampness grow between my legs, my body unable to lie about the affect this has on me. He switches attention to my shoulders. At first I tense. My back and shoulders are unused to discipline, they were virgin territory for Master's tools and in these early days are still sensitive. I swallow down the mild panic I feel, breathing deeply to calm my knotting stomach.

Steadily it grows. It is not the force but the repetition that slowly builds. Each kiss of the falls adding its rosy glow to the blush of those beneath. The minutes grow. Pink turns to red. I press my face against the polished wood of the door, my mind fighting my body to remain in position. He pauses. I breathe and shift position, hoping against hope that we are finished. 

What foolish thoughts. I hear the swish almost at the same time as I feel the bite. A senior member of the flogger family has come out to make me dance. The heavy thud sends my shoulders flat against the door. Steadily the licks find the raw flesh of my body. The tails curl around my lithe body as, despite my bonds, I twist: no longer listening to my mind's warnings to stay still. My breasts pay the price for my movement. His voice by my ear commands me calmly to be still. He pauses, repositions my feet, my hips, makes sure I am suitably presented once more before He proceeds.

The warm up is over. The speed and severity increase. I grasp the bar tightly with my hands. My body presses hard against the door, fighting to get away from the leather that rains down on me. He pauses again. As I return automatically to a position of presentation I feel His hand on me, in me. His fingers test and probe me, then He brings them to my mouth, smearing my flowing juices on the the lips of my gagged mouth. 

He begins again. The intensity notches up once more. This time He does not stop. My moans turn into groans. My knees buckle and tears leak from beneath the blindfold. My breaking voice falters past the gag pleading for Him to stop. His voice, controlled and measured informs me that He will take me just a little further. His belief strengthens me: I trust Him totally, I will not fail Him.
The speed quickens and finally I let go of everything. The endorphins rush through me and release me from my bonds. Sensation is everything: there is no world, no pain, no limit, there are only soaring heights and ecstasy. He has invited me to the edge, gently pushed me over, and together we have flown.

I sob, exhausted against the door. He holds me close as He releases the clips. Gently He guides me to His bed. He enfolds me in His arms, softly caressing me He whispers beautiful soothing words into my hair. Consumed by love, I melt into His body. There is no Him, the is no me, there is only US.

'Come to the edge', He said.
        She said, 'I am afraid'.
'Come to the edge', He said.
        She came.
He pushed her...
       And she flew. 
                               - Guillaume Apollinaire
Velvet <3

Monday, 18 April 2011

An Old Fashioned Lesson in Obedience

I knew it was coming. I had been on such a high that I had become reckless and cheeky. The imp was certainly to the fore, and I let her get up to her usual mischief unchecked. My texts were peppered with provocations, my claims of being 'good' stretched the meaning of the word to breaking point. I was steering along a perilous path and revelling in the sensual thrill the danger evoked. I had no thoughts of others, I thought only of myself and the giddy heights of my emotions that were so intoxicating.

I knew that there would be consequences. Somehow I had managed to convince myself that these would be way off in the future. Somehow I convinced myself that in some small way I would be able to control the delivery of the punishment, and certainly I had convinced myself that the chastisement would be purely physical and easily accommodated by my bottom.

That was before the announcement of the safe arrival by post of His latest consignment. A set of canes. A SET of canes, A SET of CANES !! Why would anyone need a set? Were the three He already possessed not already sufficient? What qualities could possibly be lacking in the ones He already had to require the acquisition of a further set of four? The only glimmer of hope I could see was that He might want to keep these new arrivals for a special play session...a distant session way off in the future...

Any thoughts of a delay in getting acquainted with these implements was dispersed by His text mid afternoon which stated clearly a desire to see my bottom 'framed by the bloomers'. I know full well there is a direct correlation between bloomers and cane. Somehow the old fashioned garments are only truly done justice to if the punishment is a good old fashioned rod applied to the proffered derriere. There was to be no delay then in breaking in these novice implements.

Two further texts:
The collar to be in place when He arrived.
I was to give serious contemplation to my behaviour.

My knees a little weak, I prepared for His arrival. He generally states only an impression in His text of how His sub is required to dress. The rest is left up to my interpretation, and I am always a little anxious as to whether I have read His mood correctly, or whether my attire will be a disappointment. Bloomers and collar: but did He have in mind over garments that He could peel away, or just underwear? It's a dilemma. I will be expected to make up my own mind, I just hope that the result is pleasing to Him...

He is just a few minutes late, the traffic our foe once more. I open the door for Him and know at once by the way He looks at me that I have made the right choice. Black lace up boots, thick black stockings, white calf length bloomers. white shift, black corset pulling my waist in tight: pressing my breasts up and swelling my sex down below, neck encircled by the black leather of His ownership. He drinks His sub in with His eyes. I know I have done well and I swell with pride that I have pleased Him. Slowly He makes me turn. I have tucked up the ludicrously indecent rear of the bloomers for now. For now they cover the round globes of my bottom. Separating the white cotton halves to reveal the flesh beneath will be part of His pleasure later.

There is little preamble tonight. He asks what I have to tell Him. My insides squirm, the words which flow so easily in my mind falter at my lips. The more He speaks, the more I cringe at the stupidity of my actions, the more He questions, the more it dawns on me that I have let Him down. I love Him and yet I have been deceitful in my actions. He has shown nothing but patience with me and yet my childish mood and actions have abused His belief in me. Trust- so central to my submission to Him, and yet I have not delivered the same to Him. I am ashamed.

He is right to take me over His knee and deliver a severe warming to my rear. He separates the cotton of my drawers and exposes the flesh of my behind. We do not keep a tally, this is just the warm up, the serious punishment will come in due course. I am mindful to keep as still as possible: no stray hands: no lifted feet, I listen carefully for instructions and obey instantly. Legs further apart! I am quick to respond and bite my lip as His fingers test His property for wetness.

I release the breathe that I did not know I was holding. He is satisfied. He allows me to kneel before Him and thank Him properly for His attention. I take Him into my mouth, eager to please, eager to make amends. He rests back in His chair, He will keep me on my knees for sometime as He relaxes into the pleasures that I stimulate for Him. It may be minutes, maybe an hour, He will decide when my punishment will continue. The punishment will come: He will not be hurried, He will make me wait: make me serve: make me think: make me feel: make me give everything. When I am fully His again, that is when the punishment will come.

I am focused only on Him, my eyes cast downwards. He rummages in the bag to His side, still seated, one hand resting on my head to ensure I maintain focus on the depth of my task. I can guess what He has in His hands. He has brought three, not the full set tonight. He plays a little, flicking them across my rump, sending me nuzzling deeper into His groin. At last He releases me from my task, pressing me to sit back on my heels He proudly introduces me to His new toys letting me feel the weight and flexibility of each. Finally He offers the choice to me. Of the three, which do I choose for my punishment tonight?

My mind is calm. I am dressed in white and black, it seems fitting to choose the one attired in the same colours. I tell Him of my choice. I cannot tell if He is pleased or not, but He accepts my choice. His next instruction is merely to proceed upstairs and present myself for punishment appropriately.

I stand before the brass bedstead. I bend at the waist, my arms resting on the metal bars, my legs apart. He keeps me waiting just long enough to set my legs trembling as the anticipation builds. I feel His presence in the room. He crosses to the bed, tugs the bloomers back further to reveal more of my thighs. He strokes the blushing flesh before deciding that further warming is required. The thinnest cane is called into action. He admires the 'whippiness' of it, only the slightest wrist action is needed to send it swishing round my curves. He flicks it against my inner thighs commanding my legs wider apart. Next on the tenderness of His property, involuntary I flinch and twist. He decides it is time. He switches canes.

To move is forbidden. It will earn me extra strokes. He lines up His aim carefully. The first cut sears across the top of my thigh just under my buttock. I draw in my breath, I bite my lip, I silently pray that my involuntary movements of self preservation were slight enough not to earn an extra stroke this early on. It has begun. I need it, I crave it, desire it, and yet at this moment I wonder if I can take it. My mind is in turmoil, yet my body obediently returns to the required position. My proffered bottom meekly requests the next stoke. At His pace, by His hand, the lesson in obedience will be deeply inscribed.

Velvet <3

Friday, 8 April 2011

The Closeness of His Collar

Usually He takes it with Him. As He kneels beside the bed, roles reversed for once, He will lean over, kiss me and gently remove it from around my neck. Usually it is the last thing that He does in the last lingering moments before He leaves. Already late as we know the traffic will be bad and He has too many miles to cover in too short a time. My neck strangely bare, I roll into the dip left by His body and breathe in His lingering scent from the pillows, trying to hold on to some part of Him. Not yet ready to return to who I am when He is not here.

But this time was different. He ran His fingers along the curve of my neck; He smiled at me and kissed me. I thought at first that He had forgotten, but no, He said He wanted to retain that beautiful image. To picture His sub as He drove, lying naked in her bed wearing nothing but His collar. He pressed His lips onto mine, inhaled the provocative aroma of the leather one last time, and then He was gone. His other life claiming Him once more.

It was hard, so hard, to be the one to take the collar off. I left it for as long as I possibly could. I lay sleepily dreaming in my bed, reliving the events of the previous evening and night, caressing this part of Him that He had left, with my fingertips. When at last I arose, His collar stayed in place as I carried out my ablutions and carefully dressed for the day ahead. At last I could delay the task no longer and slowly unbuckled the strap and unfurled the leather from around my neck. As He had done earlier, now it was my turn to lift the strap to my nose and inhale deeply. Carefully I coiled the leather into my hand, and more than a little wistfully, I placed it in the drawer of my bedside cabinet.

The day passed. Evening came, and we spoke, as we always do, on the phone. As the call ended I replaced the receiver on the cabinet and immediately was drawn to open the drawer and lift out the precious collar. At first I meant only to hold it in my hands, but the natural fit was snuggly around my neck and it was only minutes before that was where it rested. At once I was with Him once more. At once I was at peace, and calm and happy. I sent a text to tell Him what I had done. He was so very pleased. Although apart, we were together; although separated, we were close; although alone, we were at once US.

There is such comfort in the closeness that His collar brings. We both feel it. 

It has now become a nightly ritual for me. Going upstairs and wrapping that closeness around my neck. Lying on my bed and closing my eyes. I am transported to a different realm, a land where we are always together, where I am always His. I am wrapped in His blissful care; I surrender to Him, and in return He melts the trials and tribulations of my day away. I think of nothing... only Him. There is nothing... only Him. His leather warms my bare neck. I close my eyes ... He whispers in my ear and caresses my skin. He is so close.

Wednesday was such a dreadful day at work. I came home and ranted and raved to the empty walls, venting my frustration and stamping around the house. I went on all evening, until at last I climbed the stairs. I went straight to the drawer and took out the collar. At once I was calm. At once I could let go. At once I was just His sub with nothing else to think about. It is such a powerful symbol of our closeness. It shuts the world out as effectively as a blindfold. Instead of looking out, I look deep inside. There I find peace. Peace and happiness. He is close and I am His.

Usually I miss Him dreadfully when He is not here, especially weeks when I am all alone. This week has been so different. This week I have felt Him with me every day. This week I have had the closeness of His collar.

Velvet <3

Saturday, 2 April 2011

Hide and Seek,

They see a woman: well groomed, smartly dressed, businesslike.
        I am hiding.
They hear the confidence in her voice: knowledge and experience evident in her words.
        I am hiding.
They see her leave early each morning briefcase in hand, returning late in the evening: a hard working professional woman.
        I am hiding.
They know they can rely on her, she does not let them down.
        I am hiding.
This is the face that the world sees.
        I am hiding.

He covers her eyes with a blindfold.
        I am seeking.
He binds her hands together.
        I am seeking.
He places the gag into her mouth.
        I am seeking.
He displays her body with his ropes.
        I am seeking.
His whip finds her flesh and makes her dance.
        I am seeking.

She kneels subservient before Him.
        I am found.

Velvet <3
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