Darkness

Quivering, she stood awaiting his arrival
Eyes closed, skin bare, with collar of leather
Straining to hear him move down the hall
Awaiting his foot falls, each soft as a feather
Her fingers ached to close to a fist
To be clenched tight at her side
As she remembered when they first kissed
Oh, that long ago day when their emotions could no longer hide
Before she surrendered to her long suppressed desire
And gave so willing of all she had been
Giving herself freely to their passionate fire
She had been her own, then
No longer;
Just as she had given, he had accepted
And her desire grew only stronger
Just as he had suspected
Her pulse quickened now,
Her knees shook, and her eyes almost opened wide
Expecting to gaze upon his furrowed brow;
Her ears detected a faint whisper outside
The wooden door of her barren room
But she forced herself to remain still
In the candlelit gloom
Repeating to herself “It’s the wind at my window sill.”
No word did she utter,
Knowing she was to remain silent
And even the thought of speaking made her heart flutter
Though her mind said he had come and went
A test, perhaps, just to see
Looking for any sign of disobedience
Pleasure welled in her: “He likes to look at me.”
And was quickly replaced with concentration on her obedience
No movement, eyes to be shut
Standing tall, hands by her side
And she thought “I like this, but…”
Sometimes, she wished she could confide
That often she felt trapped
Her desire for freedom warring with her need to be wanted
But in his love and attention she was warmly wrapped
Though her mind often taunted
“You just feel weak, and you need him to make you strong,
You do not need this, you only want it
You are right, and he is wrong.”
And yet, she could only obey when he said, “Sit.”
Thus she stood here now,
Waiting, though she knew not why
And when finally told to do so, she would bow
And accept her dues, and would not cry
For she knew she deserved all she got
But more than that, she craved it all
To feel his hand, his breath, to be taught
To be at his beck and call
She hated this need, and yet lived for nothing more
To do wrong, and face his displeasure
To feel owned, even to her very core
And yet she was his treasure
His and no-one else’s, for she willed it so
Though she followed his every word
And where he went, so she too would go
For she was His pretty little bird
Another sound somewhere in the house
And her breath caught in her throat
Listen, she did, for he moved quiet as a mouse
And she imagined him as he began to gloat
Over his handiwork, making her shiver
And she felt herself grow damp
At the thought of him, her Pleasuregiver
Studying her in the light of a burning oil lamp
Admiring the way the light slid over her skin
Olive and smooth, glistening with light perspiration
As they both thought about her most recent sin
That had provided inspiration
For yet another adventure for her, his pet
And pleasure and punishment blurred into one
As each specific was set and then met
Until he told her she was done
A light breeze blew across her face
And she felt movement somewhere near
Causing her heart to race
In desire—and in fear
Would she please him? Would she fail?
Had she done well, or had she done poor?
He so often hid his emotions in a veil
Would he lessen her penance, or would he add more?
She felt his eyes upon her body, open to his sight
She choked back a questioning word—nay, more a scream
“Have I done right?”
She wanted to ask, she had to know, what would he deem?
And then his voice in her ear, making her flinch, fighting not to turn
“My dearest pet, whom I love more than my sight,
You have done poorly if you open your eyes to the light.”
And when he told her “Open your eyes, my pet,” the candle had ceased to burn.