'Are you afraid?'
The question hangs in the air. It is a loaded question, of course. To be afraid is to not trust and, if she did not trust why then has she allowed herself to be in this position?
'Willingly', judging by her rapid breathing as the ropes circled her, the flush to her cheeks as she was restrained.
The answer to the question, of course, is that she didn't know how this would feel. It's easy to trust when your wrists aren't bound, pulled up, arms extended behind you. It's easy to believe in your judgment when your ankles aren't kept wide apart by a spreader bar. And it all looked like a good call before I ran a rope from the ring on the collar around her neck to the bar between your ankles, tying it off, keeping her bent over.
But it's like playing cards... I see your 'trust' and raise it my 'reality'. Not such a strong hand now, is it? Not quite so sure it shouldn't be folded, are you?
And, to stretch the analogy further, I need her to raise. If she folds, nothing is achieved except a mild exposure to something this girl was born for and that is a waste of both of our time. So, slowly does it. No hard yanks with the rope as it went on, instead slowly pulling it taught. No assumption of permission, but instead telling her what I wanted to do, seeing that it was ok, different things in my mind to replace each step if she said no so as not to lose momentum.
But in the end she just nodded, eyes wide, seeing it before it happened. A nod and a whispered 'I understand' or simple 'yes'. Permission given, minimal hesitation. So far so good.
'Do you want to go on girl? Do you want to go further?'
I hear her inhale, maybe a little shakily, steeling herself and I know her answer before she gives it.
'Yes. I want to go on.'
I have told her to wear what she wished to when she came to me as it was irrelevant. Once she got here, the next time she saw what she came in would be when she left. I had already decided what she would wear and it was laid out for her after I showed her into her room for the weekend.
She arrived that morning, tired from a lack of sleep the night before, her mind no doubt in turmoil. I wonder if she wavered in her decision. Regardless, she is here now, dressed as I wished.
But what was in her mind as she saw her home for the next two nights. I wonder what she thought as she showered in the en-suite, if she looked for a hidden camera or two. I wonder if she looked in the mirror as she put on her make-up and wondered if anything was behind it.
Ah her make-up. I adore a woman in mascara for reasons we may come to later. Ditto lipstick, which should be dark and bloody and red, femme fatale lipstick, glossy and deep to contrast the paleness of her skin.
It's a simple outfit but one that she would not have worn the like of before and one I have no doubt made her cringe and wonder what the hell she had let herself into even as she put it on.
First is the high waist-clincher, steel boned, black and purely functional, and no frills. I told her not to worry about fastening it as tight as she could because I would see to that when she was ready. Hold-up black stockings for her legs but no shoes for her feet. Not yet, anyway. A pair of black silk panties and over it all a simple, loose, long, black chemise to finish and allow her to stand before me with some degree of modesty.
But not that much. Her nipples push the thin fabric even as she first stood before me dressed. She looked tiny in her stocking feet, tiny and achingly vulnerable. Just one more little artifice stripped away and the more the merrier.
And now she is bound, exposed, her vulnerability increasing with every minute.
'Are you sure girl?' as I say this, run my hand over the curve of her rump, resting it at the base of her back. 'Do you understand what awaits you? Where I will take you?'
'Not really... but I trust you.'
I smile. 'Are you sure that's wise?'
There's a pause. 'It's a bit late if it isn't,' she replies softly. Can't argue with that, though, of course, it's never really too late.
I run my hand down her rear, the cleft of her cheeks spreading slightly under the thin material. Palm flat, I run my hand between her legs and over the heat of her. She lets out a low, shaky breath as press a finger down on to her, her head lowering as she does so. I gently move my finger around, pressing hard through the material and she utters a low, partially bitten-back moan.
'You're very wet, girl. Why is this do you think?'
'I don't know...'
I pause, hand lifted away. A beat. 'Mind your manners girl. Remember your place.'
'Yes sir. Sorry sir.'
'Good girl,' and the hand returns to its place, finger to its duty. The moan again, not quite as hidden.
'Thank you sir,' comes the whisper of her voice.
'Why are you here, girl?'
'To learn, sir.'
'What do you want to be taught?'
'Everything you want to teach.'
'That could take some time.'
I press hard, pushing my finger up and down against her clit and pressing my palm hard against. She inhales sharply, a gasp almost and I feel her press back towards me. So eager.
'Do you like my touch, girl?'
'Very much sir. Very much.'
I take my hand away and move to stand in front of her. I drop to my haunches, leaning to put my mouth to her ear.
'And what will you do for my touch girl?' I whisper, my hand reaching up to cup a hanging, unrestrained breast. 'What will you do for my pleasure in return for yours?' I take her nipple between thumb and forefinger, gently squeezing, rolling.
'What do you want me to do sir?' Her cheeks are flushed again, her eyes almost closed. She doesn't want to look at me, her own need betraying her sense of self-restraint. With my other hand I turn her face to mine. I smile as she meets my gaze.
It's all about timing. I twist. Hard. She cries out.
'I want you to give yourself to me girl, mind body and soul.' I release the pressure on her nipple and she almost sobs. Her eyes glisten. 'Do you want that too?'
She looks at me, her eyes brimming again. Her first time really, helpless, vulnerable and in emotional turmoil because she has chosen to be. She feels it, the depth of emotion welling inside her, like a geyser, pressure building and she doesn't really know why.
Why is she here? Why does she want this so much? Why does she need it so undeniably? Why?
'Accept it girl,' I whisper to her. I reach my hand back down her body and, shifting to the side, I can comfortably put my fingers to her cunt again. She moans without thought as I once more resume the pressure.
'Look at me girl.'
She does, eyes wide, tinged with red as she struggles with the turmoil inside her, struggles with the confusion of need and fear. I press harder against her clit, two fingers rubbing slow and purposefully over her. Her eyes almost roll back in her head, her mouth slightly open as she feels the pleasure of her moment. So close now, so very close.
'What are you girl?'
'Your good girl...'
'Do you want to stop?'
'No... Please sir. Don't stop.'
She's shaking now, her pleasure building and building. She can have the first one for free. She'll be earning it. Well, almost free. I rub faster, fingers pulling the night back then slipping under the waistband of her panties to her smooth, shaven sex. The fabric of her panties is sopping wet as I resume my pressure on her clit.
'Oh God...' she whispers.
'Are you going to cum for me, girl?'
'Y-yes sir.' She is pressing back against my fingers, needy and greedy and I begin to very slowly lose the pressure, forcing her to contort and try to crouch to retain the impetus of sensation.
'You want to learn from me, do you?' I reach up with my other hand and take her other breast, feeling the weight as my fingers begin to squeeze gently on her hard nipple.
'What do you want to learn from me girl?'
Faster fingers, harder, pressing back up against her, more pressure than ever. She gasps, eyes open, staring but not seeing as her pleasure bubbles inside.
'What do you want to learn, angel? Answer me...'
'Oh God... oh God... Everything sir... Everything...'
'Pleasure and pain, girl?'
She nods, frantic, so close and a million miles away. 'Yes, sir. All of it. Good and bad. I don't care but don't stop. Please sir... may I cum sir? Please sir...'
I squeeze her nipple and hook two fingers inside her.
'We will countdown... from 5... When I reach zero, I will tell you to cum. If you cum before that I will be very unhappy with you. Do you understand?'
'Yes... yes sir... I und-'
'Five... What are you?' Long, slow rubs, firm pressure.
'Your good girl.'
'Four... Where do you belong?' Faster... firmer.
'Here sir... Here with you.'
'Three... What do you want to learn?' Two fingers again, pushing forward far enough to almost penetrate her... but not quite.
'How to please you sir... oh God... oh God... I want to be perfect for you!'
'Two... What will you deny me?' Nipple between thumb and forefinger, squeezing harder as I press against her harder.
Her face contorts almost in a grimace as I begin to twist her flesh again. 'Nothing sir. Please...' she cries out and keep her there, balanced between pain and pleasure.
'One... Who do you belong to now, girl?' I push my fingers past her clit and shove them deep inside her, fingering her hard and fast. I twist and squeeze her nipple to match.
She cries out so loud it's like scream. Eyes wide, body taught, mouth agape, a look of astonishment on her face as the bubble finally bursts.
It's all about timing.
'Cum for me, babygirl...' I whisper.