Saturday night

Any other Saturday night at the club, watching the dancers could lure me into a trance. But not tonight. I was too distracted.

At first I tried not to look at him, taking refuge in my friend instead.

When the night slowed down, he finally sat down next to me and sighed. “You haven’t said hello.”

I leaned in closer. “Hello.”

He slid his hand into my hair, grabbed a fistful near the base of my neck, and guided my head until my upper body was stretched out across his lap.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked my friend, another submissive who nervously responded that he was fine.

I gently bit his arm – I couldn’t help it.

Without a word, he yanked me up and went back to running the room.

I felt like I had taken a hit.

When he returned, he was holding a blindfold. In minutes, my wrists were cuffed and secured to the cross.

The dark eased my mind open.

I plunged fast.
 

My head emptied of everything except

 
     the music     always the music
 
the waiting          waiting for the moments when he would come close
     his voice when he did
 
          the pressure of him
 
the absence
 
                    the warm promise of a hand
 
     a press
                              here
                                        there
 
               the sting          and stroke
 

He thwacked the cross around me – once, twice, more – bringing me back. The sound made me gasp.

Or yelp. Or whimper. I don’t know which. All three.

He slapped my face, drizzled water into my mouth, and untied the blindfold.

I didn’t open my eyes for awhile. When I finally blinked, all of these people were looking at me.

He loved an audience.

My hair was in my face. I tried to force half a smile. I wanted to please him.

It will hurt when he tires of me.

It’s just play it’s just play it’s just play is so hard to remember.