Song: Lisa Hall - "Is This Real?" Video by lanlailaala
I arrive at the appointed hour, using the code left on my desk to unlock the heavy door. The foyer holds only a small table with a flickering black candle the only light. It’s as if nothing exists outside the wavering circle of light. I turned and locked the outer door, heart pounding as I commit to the evening. No stopping now. My body shivers. Not quite fear, but a delicious hint of it.
I slowly unbutton my black trench coat, marveling at my hands' steadiness. My sure movements belie the turmoil in my head. Anticipation. Apprehension. Longing. Shame. Skin flushing, I am pulled toward the items on the table. Thick white parchment with red writing demands my attention. Gliding my fingertips over the bold script, I can hear his dark voice commanding me.
Legs trembling, I slide my silk clad feet out of the red heels and leave them neatly under the table.
Coat on the table.
Take up the mask.
I shrug the coat off, shivering again. Focus on making the movement graceful. Pleasing to his eyes, even in his absence. Folding the coat, exchanging it for the satin mask on table. The motions set the candle flame dancing. Tendrils of smoke writhe, like a shadowy promise of what is to come. The warmth flickers against my skin through the lace lingerie, a caress from an invisible hand. My body tightens, longing driven by nervous anticipation. I lift the delicately embroidered mask to my eyes. My pulse races.
His phantom voice whispers instructions once more.
In your place.
Unthinking, my feet bring me in front of the next door. My body remembers well where it belongs. Sinking gracefully, gratefully to my knees, sitting back on my heels, I follow the last of his commands.
Always the most difficult to obey. The anticipation was delicious, but patience is a virtue I will never claim. My hands twitch as they rest on my knees. I want to touch and be touched. I still the mutinous thumb stroking the inside of my leg. The dark, the silence, they don’t bother me – I can hear him in my thoughts. Picture his presence. The lack of physical stimulus torments me. In time, my legs numb to the hardwood beneath me. I am floating in the stillness of the room.
I focus on the aching desire, letting it fill my mind and skin. An internal flame licking through my body. Let it distract me, consume me. The intensity swelling until I whisper, “Unreal.”
Strong fingers bury themselves in my upswept hair, pulling my face and breasts against a powerful, leather clad thigh.
From above, a deep growl, “Oh yes, pet, this is real.”