A Glass of Homemade Wine

There she was standing in the middle of the room wondering what the F*@K?

She was blindfolded in a room that had a slight draft of cool air flowing through with the hum of life and the cold existence of uncertainty. She wondered what the f*@k is this? How did I get here?

There was no sound except for the purring of life itself. She could hear the swish of blood flowing through her veins. Arteries dilating with the expansion of vessels as blood made its way on a route through arteries and organs to begin a repetitive journey through the engine of life.

Sqush swush blood moves through the channel, she feels the cool damp air touching her skin with its purpose; to make a connection between flesh and life. Why am I here, she ponders, "I did not ask for this, did I?

Her hands were bound to the ropes which made connection between the ceiling and her wrists. "This is strange," the subconscious thought persists with curiosity and dread; I cannot move my hands, "what did I do to deserve this? Spread apart her hands formed a "V" between her shoulders and the ceiling. "Move! I cannot, what sin have I committed rendering me unable to touch my very own being with my very own hands," subconsciously she mused.

She was trapped...Trapped in a situation a...a situation of uncertainty. A circumstance that screamed you're not in control...your demise is the subject of cruel fetishes and the sadistic whims of another. An unscrupulous soul filled with ambitions of pleasure through torture and pain.

Who is this? Who are you?

I'm enjoying this although I should not, just another contradiction of life's subtle nuances. I'm terrified, yet turned on. I've never been this wet, hearing unidentifiable voices surrounding me in the near distance as I stand skin to skin with the touch of air vulnerable before an unknown audience.

I am the subject of conversation, yet my name is not heard among the voices. My circumstance is the topic of conversation. My person is known to the room, the room being the world. I am free to bear my nakedness to the audience; not of my choosing. I am a slave of choice, but not of persuasion. They exist to know me to know my plight; my circumstance is all that defines me in this moment. It pleases them to be there to see my shame, a shame they themselves would not imagine to be in even in times of necessity. It could not be them, not for love...not for money. But here I am bearing my intimacy; bearing my truth they can see it all. EVERY BLEMISH, Every oddity, every personal intimate detail of my nakedness, they can see me. They can see every beautiful detail, every pronounced curve, every alluring detail of my very form, an image of life's beauty its edge - its subtlety, its perfected flaws.

I am ashamed, not of my beauty but of my circumstance, a plight that has rendered me powerless yet excited to see where I can possibly go from here. I consented to this? Yet my consent did not take into account the extent of my humiliation. Legs tied at the ankles, tethered to the boards that will... will refuse me the option to move at will. They, my legs, are unable to move...spreading the exposed center...the intersection of my legs - my sex, an inverted "V". Vulnerable she speaks not, nor does she whisper. Yet her shame is known, her beauty is pronounced and her vulnerability brings her alive...she weeps. Wet with arousal her sex shows signs of interest. Interest in what could be; it is uncertain. Is this moment one of fulfilled desire or despised iniquity? Where am I? Where do I stand? Is this a moment for pleasure or is it for pain. Is it a moment for both pleasure and pain? How could I be pleasantly aroused in a moment of uncertain displeasure?

Yet, I am humiliated and aroused. What betrayal the female form brings? Terrified yet open to pleasure. She is awakened and alive; yet, curiously hesitant. Fear speaks alluringly to pleasure and torture, looking eagerly to both. How can this be a moment of expectation? Expecting both pleasure and pain? Anticipating the torture and the pain, yet eagerly curious of both possibilities, the pleasure and the pain. The ironic paradox, screams its insanity, seeking opposites, craving one, but asking for the other, both pain and pleasure in one sitting. Is it even possible to seek both the pleasure and the pain in one sitting? Could one meal bring both satisfying satiation and empty hunger at the same time? Will you prove this insanity?

They can see it all, my audience. My bear unclothed being is bearing it all for all to see. Yet I see nothing. My blindfold fulfills its purpose rendering me in total darkness. My eyes focus on nothingness, I see nothing. Yet images of them lace my imagination, seeing, beholding my shame. I am not ashamed of my being, it is who I am and I am proud, yet she brings me shame before those who look upon my purity, I am pure...I am the purest form of me before them. Yet; they see my shame. They only see my shame! And some see my beauty. Yet none discovers my complete and utter pleasure - my arousal is deep, it is high. It eludes my capacity to understand me. I want this, bit by bit; but, I did not ask for this. My need is in conflict with my want.

I am ready to fulfill my obligation, to yield my arousal to full orgasms. But who will meet this objective? Who indeed? My audience is unknown to me. I am a slave to their will, a prisoner of my own curiosity. And to think; a glass of homemade wine, a provocative liquid courage, brought my demise. My imagination tortures me, what will happen next? Where will it end? Will it ever end?