Still (6)

Posted by Skyhook on Sun 6 Sep 09, 12:39 AM to Skyhook's blog.

“Open your mouth”.

A pause of a heartbeat, an unknowable look in the eye, then she obliges me. There is no need to rush, no clock to watch, my voice only low and calm. I take up the ballgag, pull the leather straps apart then gently press the red ball to her lips. She widens her mouth and with gentle firmness I press the gag fully home. I lay the straps against her cheeks as I make them meet behind her head, careful not to catch her hair as I fasten the buckles tight.

“Go over to the wall, there. Kneel”.

She stands, slightly unsteady. She turns with that innate delicacy, a delicacy and elegance she never sees in herself, then walks slowly to the far side of the room, lowers herself then rests her hands palm down on her thighs, back straight and flat to the wall.

Still.

Only her eyes move as I walk towards her, till the blindfold closes her sight. I move back across the room, sit down on the floor arranging myself wide and comfortable. The flare of a flame then I tilt my head back as I inhale, hold, exhale deeply on my cigarette. My eyes never leave her.

Calm, an island of calm. The still eye of the storm. The room is hot, heated by our bodies, the emotion and feeling generated by our play. The connection between us so powerfully intense. As ever I've floated, become more than I am, seen and acted with perfect clarity even as the world faded to leave just us and that room.

I cannot stop looking at her. I slowly smoke the cigarette, senses heightened, all the while my eyes on her. I devour her, I see every inch of her nakedness. I see every beautiful curve of her body, every pore, but most of all I'm drawn to her face, even though I've denied us her eyes. She stays still under my gaze, perfection, my beautiful perfection.

I tell her to open her legs. There is no shame in her body language as her knees slowly part, no scorn in my eyes as I examine her, only desire.

The cigarette is finished, a cigarette that must've taken an hour to smoke, or maybe five seconds. I stand and tell her to do the same. I'm close to her again, I take her hands in mine as she lifts them, guiding her to her feet.

I don't say a word. The trust is unspoken, in me to lead her, in her to believe in me.

I lead her out the room, over steps and into the bedroom. I want her in the centre of the bed, she climbs on blind, hesitantly with me guiding. She assumes the same position as she had against the wall.

Still.

Eventually I sit near her on the edge of the bed. Taking her hands gently from her thighs I place them behind her back. Leather cuffs encircle her ankles and wrists, I take up the metal rings and bind the wrists together.

I place a single kiss on her shoulder.

Still.

Moments like these. From the shared heat and passion of pain, from tears and chemical release, to the blissful calm of shared isolation, together yet apart. I wonder what she is thinking, or if she is just being.

In the tranquillity of the room I can almost hear her heartbeat. Her shoulders rise and fall rhythmically as she breathes, her skin so smooth in the soft light, beautiful, perfect.

I arrange myself behind her. I lay my hands on her shoulders, then gently, slowly run them down her arms, up again, then down the middle of her back, trailing my nails over the 'S' of her spine, down to her linked wrists.

Forwards now, my hands in smooth motion, meeting over her tummy, I lean my head towards her, her hair falling around my face, the warmth and smell of her. My cheek presses against hers, skin against soft skin as I cup her breasts in my hands.

Still.

Skin against skin, breathing together, as one.

I whisper, “I love you”.