Utter darkness. A sensation of movement, as though I were racing furiously through space. No sound though, no air rushing past my face. In fact, no sensations of my body at all. It’s peculiar, but somehow not frightening.
All at once, I’m still, suspended, immersed in velvet blackness. Alone. I wait there in limbo, trusting you as I always have.
When you arrive, I know immediately. Before the light begins to build, before the brush of your fingertips against my arm, before your whisper of my name, I feel your presence. Joy floods through me. It worked. We’re together, closer perhaps than we’ve ever been.
“Sarah,” you whisper again, and I marvel that I can hear without ears, feel without skin. You are holding me close. I want nothing. All my desires fulfilled in this single moment. Tears prickle under my closed eyelids. “Happy Birthday, baby,” I murmur in your ear. “Happy, happy, happy.”
You chuckle, your voice low and seductive. “Open your eyes, little one.”
What eyes? I wonder, but now I do have some sense of a body. When I obey and look around, there’s a delightful shock of recognition. The polished oak floor and the oriental carpet, washed with moonlight from the bay windows. The ebony four-poster bed, complete with the silken cords. The marble pillars framing the arched doorway. I can clearly see the iron rings embedded in the marble, half a dozen feet above the ground.
“It’s the room! Our room, the one I created for us in my stories.” I turn toward you, sensing rather than seeing your solid bulk. Your body is somehow evanescent, flickering in and out of focus. You’re naked, as I am. The spike of your erection glows like a torch, but your facial expressions are indistinct. Never mind. I know what you’re feeling.
I feel your grin like a dawning sunrise. “We’re nowhere, so we can be anywhere. I went back and reread your little fantasies. To refresh my memory.”
There is no transition. Suddenly I’m bound between the pillars, my wrists roped above my head, my thighs wide. I feel my heart slamming against my ribs, the familiar lust/fear dynamic raging. Wetness trickles from me. You dip into me, gathering my juices, smearing them over my lips. I convulse at your first touch, screaming my release into the void.
“Such power,” you murmur from behind me, as you work your thumb into my ass. I squirm and melt from the intrusion. “I never imagined such power. I can do absolutely anything to you. Anything I want.”
Yes. I don’t need to speak.
“Perhaps I should try some variations that I’ve never dared to attempt on your real body. Needles through your breasts, perhaps? Or nails? Wouldn’t that be interesting?”
You know that these things scare me; we’ve discussed all this so often, in long distance interrogations where you force/invite me to admit to all my twisted desires. I’m terrified you’ll act on your threat, yet I’m already considering how it would feel, to drop yet another barrier, to abandon myself even more fully to you. You tempt me toward greater extremes, as you always have.
There are levels and levels, I suddenly understand. There is always another limit to transcend.
“Or the cane?” you continue. “We never did have the opportunity to try out the cane, did we?”
I shake my head slowly, willing myself to calmness. My face burns with shame. My cunt burns with lust. You know I want the cane, as much as I fear it. We both believe (neither having any experience) that it will be more intensely painful than anything we’ve tried before. We both want to know if I will endure it.
But what is pain, here in the ether where there is no flesh, only mind? What about pleasure? Your lips brush softly against my shoulder, and shudders of delight shake my frame. “Breathe,” you whisper, as always, and then the bamboo whistles and my world explodes.
Lines of fire stitching across my back, my thighs, my buttocks. Incandescent and bloody, I see the stripes behind closed eyelids. I hear my screams, your small sounds of encouragement. I feel myself part, open to your strokes as you lash at me again and again. I am sliced into a million shards, and every one of them is yours.
Your excitement beats like a heart around me. It thunders through my body, while the cane rips me like lightening. You can feel my agony, too, I know, for it reverberates back from you to me. The anguish only sharpens your exhilaration.
Peace then, quiet, the echoes fading slowly like ripples on a pond. We’re lying together on the bed, now, arms and legs entangled, totally still. I feel grief welling up in you, tinged with bitterness. I stroke your hair out of your eyes, kiss you as gently as I can.
“It’s not real,” you say. “It’s all an illusion.”
“Not real? But we’re more connected than we have ever been. More perhaps, than even that first night, when you first practiced your magick on me, and I knew that I was yours.”
“Gimmicks. Tricks. That’s all it was, all it is. There’s no real power. You’re just suggestible. You always have been. You imagined it all. You’re just imagining this. You’re really thousands of miles away from me, doped up and dreaming. I’ll never touch you again.”
What could I say to wash away your anger and despair? “You touch me always. Daily. Why else would I be here? Risking my marriage, maybe even my life, to mark your birthday? After twenty five years, how can you doubt that my love is real? You know that if you ever called me, I would come to you. That’s why, out of compassion, you never have.”
You’re silent, considering whether this is true. We make our choices. You’ve made yours as much as I have mine.
I decide that I can take control of this journey as well as you. We need to lighten up. This is, after all, your special day.
“Hey, birthday boy, how about some candles?” You’re suddenly on your back and I’m straddling you, fishing multicolored candles out of thin air and igniting them with a breath from pursed lips. I hold each one briefly over your body, dripping the wax onto your skin and watching you squirm. You are cheering up already. I use the wax to stick each candle onto your skin, until your chest and belly are a glittering array of flickering flames.
I raise myself up and graze my pubic hair across your swollen cock-head. You struggle unsuccessfully to remain still. Droplets of searing paraffin rain down on your flesh. “Make a wish,” I whisper. Then I sink down onto your hardness, burying you deep inside me.
I feel the flames licking at my thighs. Your cock is a candle, lighting me from within. We are melting into one, connected at last, finally fucking, finally making love. Our bodies flow, merging, mingling. We become indistinct, clouds of light, arrows of fire, flesh evaporating in the brilliance of our joining.
I feel a pull, a heaviness. My body is calling me back. There’s time for one kiss, one whisper. “I’m yours. Always.”
I open my eyes to a raging headache. The glare of the processing chamber is agony, though it’s no brighter than our incandescent coupling. Side effects. I don’t mind. It was worth it. I am secretly thrilled, full of wonder at the success of our encounter.
When I try to sit up, I discover that my whole body aches. I can’t help smiling to myself, remembering other assignations with you. The technician rummages in the closet for my clothing. I surreptitiously check my buttocks. No stripes. Ah well, what did I expect?
The mistress of the place bows to me as I leave. Her eyes glitter. She senses that I will be back.
I’ll email this narrative to you tomorrow, as you requested. You will want to compare notes. You’ll probably tell me that I imagined it all. Or perhaps not. In any case, I know what’s real. I’ve just tasted reality. On your lips. Again.
I limp down the alley and back to the main road, considering where I’m going to get the money for another session. The traffic crawls past me. The city noises swirl around me. It’s all a blur, indistinct, without substance.
I wonder how long I’ll have to spend in limbo, before we can meet again.
“Just a Spanking” first appeared in Spank!, edited by D.L. King. Logical Lust Publishing, 2010.
“Wired” first appeared in Best
Bondage Erotica 2011, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussell. Cleis Press, 2010.
“Ruler” first appeared in Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z, Volume 2, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Pretty Things Press, 2006.
“Quiet Evening at Home” first appeared in Naughty Spanking Stories from A to Z, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. Pretty Things Press, 2004.
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Just A Spanking: Tales of Dominance and Submission Page 9
