“What are you up to, sweetheart?”
Pretty ordinary words, yet so exceptional in the situation we are in. He is on his knees, legs spread a bit for improved poise, wrists shifting gracefully in ropes behind his back. I am sitting on a chair in front of him, all bare except for my thoughts, silently sitting from such a long time, reflecting over issues bothering me of late. They are all coming at me from all the sides at once.
On his face, there’s that little knowing smile, obviously he senses that I am staring at him yet vacantly. He can’t in fact see that through that make-shift blindfold I have created using my wide hair band. I really gaze at him then, realizing how beautiful he looks in bondage, in MY bondage. How much seeing him, right there, calms me down, gets me into that happy, peaceful place.
And he asks again. Subtly Smilingly. Almost Provoking.
I see no need to reply. I’m just stroking his tresses which ever so softly falls over his forehead. This is the kind of touch I know that maddens him with desire… To touch me back; to be touched by me further more. Even deeper.
I take a hold of his hairs, pull him close, stealing soft kisses. The kind of kiss where he wants to respond yet I move before he can actually do so.
I kiss him tenderly on his forehead, on his chin, on his left shoulder, moving a bit closer, pulling his head back, exposing his throat, gently biting him there and then turning that into a soft kiss as well.
His lips parts slightly, heavy with want. Even though he is excited by now, he looks so relaxed, content where he is. Bondage is not a burden to him. He knows that I want him there – just like that. He also knows that further I would lead him where I fancy him to be, doing what I wish him to do.
Right here in this moment, this world of mine is perfect, unlike the other one outside. And its because of him, it’s because of us.
Guiding him by the grip on his hairs, I position his head down, between my spread legs. His warm breath tickling me slightly, turning me on even more.
Tonight, I am going to let him worship me, truly. For what I am to him. And he is going to bring me serenity in my otherwise flawed world.
Me and Him. Ying and yang. Perfect harmony. Bound so intimately as one. In love and lust. In pain and pleasure.
Gulam Jamun?
- something indian male slaves have! :P
Wounder Pastry
- dominants should make the subs eat those each a day!
Clown in bondage
- childrens area in a park has so many hidden meanings!
“How much do you love me?” she asked, taking a sip from her wine glass and closing her eyes. He stared at her silently, a bit taken aback.
“Enough,” he said finally. But no, that’s not right.
“What I mean, of course, is I love you very much.” He scowled, quickly smiled, putting a last spoonful of cake in his mouth, savoring the taste.
She leaned forward, still looking at the glass intently. She lowered her voice.
“Just HOW much do you love me? And how would you prove it? What would you do for me?”
The waiter came to clear the table. She waved him away.
“I’d do anything,” he said with a smile. “Climb the highest mountain. Swim the widest sea.”
“That’s a very cheesy dialogue” she said. Her focus shifted from the wine glass to him.
He was looking at her, still smiling.
He held her gaze, unblinking.
* * *
In those few minutes, she dreamt that he walked to her and whispered, “Do you really want to know just how much I love you?”
He dropped down before her on his knees. He closed his eyes, and offered his throat.
She laughed, knelt down with him, and caressed his cheek. Cold lips touched his forehead. Cold hands brushed his chest.
She pinched, reached inside, and held him up on her fingers.
He breathed out, the pain washing over him.
And he hugged her. Enveloping her like a warm blanket, to keep her safe.
* * *
He broke her dream, as he touched and held her hand across the table.
She stared at him, still in daze.
He whispered sincerely, “I love you very much, my darling. I love you more than the tallest tree, more than the biggest mountain, and more than the brightest star. In fact, I love you more than the tastiest cheese cake in the world!”
She laughed out, and he kept smiling.
It was as satisfying as her dream. May be even more.
An emotional distance is always the safest bet. Also the knowledge that the one who reigns is also bound by the most ruthless pledge. When both work together, in tandem, one gets to those totally sublime peaks, rather plateaus, of detachment and nonchalance, and life is just one droning monotone. Ah! Sweet bliss.
I will not have him because I choose not to have him. Yet, I shall always have him. Contradictory? No, sir. The truth and nothing but the truth.
Cynicism is passé. Now it’s all about detachment, not even stoicism, but real aloofness, impassiveness, call it what you will – and that itself remains a jagged peak that tosses its unscaleable heights right into my face, but guess what, it’s not so unscaleable after all. When one is already halfway there one knows that it’s not the Promised Land. The disappointment that tints the jagged shards with some dirty shade shall again be dismissed as a cleverly concealed trap with a hungrily open mouth, patiently waiting for weary travellers to fall headlong into it.
He can’t help but stare fixedly at me, while I, I don’t even have to fill my eyes with him, because his splendour fills this soul that already brims over with joy. Contradictory? If truth contradicts, so be it.
For once, step out of the ugly, corroding carapaces that hide your shining, beautiful self. There is muck all around, poison tipped arrows, flat-chested eunuchs hiding behind the safety of their blindness and casting those stones, again, those ancient stones, cast again, over and over again, and they are not even regarded, not because they need to be ignored, but because they are helpless in their blindness, and one does not duel with the hapless.
My dark tresses bind him, his eternal wait is for my darkness as mine is for his radiance.
Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom. The monarch could have killed him but was moved by Arthur’s youth and ideals. So, the monarch offered him his freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer and, If after a year, he still had no answer, he would be put to death.
The question was: What do women really want?
Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, And to young Arthur, it seemed an impossible query. But, since it was better than death, he accepted the monarch’s proposition to have an answer by year’s end.
He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everyone: The princess, the priests, the wise men, and even the court jester. He spoke with everyone, but no one could give him a satisfactory answer. Many people advised him to consult the old witch, for only she would have the answer. But the price would be high as the witch was famous through out the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged.
The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no choice but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer the question, but he would have to agree to her price first. The old witch wanted to marry Sir Lancelot, The most noble of the Knights of the Round Table, And Arthur’s closest friend! Young Arthur was horrified.
She was hunch-backed and hideous, had only one tooth, Smelled like sewage, made obscene noises, etc. He had never encountered such a repugnant creature in all his life.He refused to force his friend to marry her and endure such a terrible burden, But Lancelot, having learnt of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He said nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur’s life. And the reservation of the Round Table.
Hence, a wedding was proclaimed and the witch answered Arthur’s question thus: “What a woman really wants?” she said, “Is to be in charge of her own life.”
Everyone in the kingdom instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth. And that Arthur’s life would be spared.
And so it was.
The neighboring monarch granted Arthur his freedom. And Lancelot and the witch had a wonderful wedding. The honeymoon hour approached and, Lancelot, steeling himself for a horrific experience, entered the bedroom.But, what a sight awaited him!
The most beautiful woman he had ever seen lay before him on the bed.The astounded Lancelot asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her when she appeared as a witch, she would henceforth be her horrible and deformed self only half the time. And the beautiful maiden the other half.
“Which would you prefer? She asked him. “Beautiful during the day….or at night?”
Lancelot pondered the predicament. During the day he could have a beautiful woman to show off to his friends, but at night, in the privacy of his castle, an old witch! Or, would he prefer having a hideous witch during the day? But by night a beautiful woman for him to enjoy wondrous, intimate moments with?
Noble Lancelot, knowing the answer the witch gave Arthur to his question, He said that he would allow HER to make the choice herself.
Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time. Because, he had respected her enough to let her be in charge of her own life.
———————————————————————————————————
The moral of the story is…
1) There is a witch in every woman no matter how beautiful she is!
2) If you don’t let a woman have her own way, things are going to get ugly.
