And now that I am wakening from my deep sleep I wonder if I am truly awake, because when I open my eyes it is pitch-dark. I feel the covers with my hands, my naked body, the edge of the bed, but I see nothing other than a deep blackness that surrounds me. I keep my eyes wide open to catch the little light that might be in the room but I see nothing, absolutely nothing. I touch my face and feel the scrapes on my back. When I sit upright I suddenly throw my legs over the edge of the bed just to feel if there is a floor. I touch the wall behind the bed. All this is still very disorientating. I step out of bed and I trace the wall with my finger to where I remember the door was. Little steps as I am scared to fall I seek in memory the interior of the room. Bed, wall a corner in the room and there should be the door. I feel its post and find the door handle. But to my shock the door is locked. I stand in this stygian world and hear my breathing getting shallow of anxiety. My fingers are holding on to the handle as if my last beacon in this world. I feel cold but it isn’t cold.
I try to recuperate in my memory. The last thing I know before falling asleep is my Master gently pulling the covers over me.
‘Sleep well, my thing.’ Were the last words he had said to me.
All I could do is nod and tired as I was in subspace and recovering from the scene we just had done. It was intense and he had treated my back with salve and carefully laid me in this lovely soft bed. After a father like kiss on my cheek I heard him walk away and close the door behind him. The last sounds being his footsteps in the hallway.
Slowly I puff through my lips to calm down and seek my way back to bed. I wrap myself in the covers for comfort and lay still to think. ‘I can trust my Master, can I!?’ A little doubt enters my mind. I bite my lip and pull the covers over my mouth trying to breath calmly. In my head I sing a mantra: ‘I can trust my Master, I can trust my Master.’ It calms me. I will wait until I hear his footsteps again. As I relax my ears seem to take in every sound. Is that my own scent? Is it his? But suddenly I am aware of another sound. I am not sure if I am right but it sounds like the regular breathing of a person. ‘Is it true’ I wonder and I keep myself very, very quiet to be certain of what I hear and to my deep shock I realise there is someone in the room!
Now I breathe soundless trying to make sure where the sound comes from, I have no clue if it is close to me. But than I feel how a hand locks itself around my ankle. I try to retreat my foot, but I am not strong enough and I struggle in shock. Would I dare to bend forward? No. I am spooked and hold on to one of the big posts of the bed. What the hell?
After a few seconds when I feel I am not going to be hysterical I come to terms with the hand around the ankle. It comes to mind that master might have locked me in and I relax my feet. What ever it is, the power and strength is more than I can deal with. All I can do is give in and simply allow without struggling to the attaching of my cuff to one of the posts. I am not even surprised when also the other leg is attached and the duvet is taken away. I submit when both my hands are tied to the other posts at the head of the bed. Why don’t I speak? The silence, the darkness, all feels rather saintly, feeding my imagination.
I feel a sharp thing travelling my body. Is it a knife? It circles my belly, around my breasts and scratches the aureole and softly pats the upright nipple when found. With all my power I do try to see anything but the effort is useless. Now the knife wanders down again. A hand caressing my legs searching and finding as they travel my inner thigh that soft vulnerable part of me and I am shocked how the knife traces the shaven folds.
Suddenly he hits my vulnerable spot with his full hand. He keeps on hitting me in a steady rhythm. I grasp the shackles and moan of pain. It feels hot and swollen after the hitting has stopped and I know it tinges bright red now. It hurts. It hurts so badly it is wonderful.
Lips on mine, a cheek against mine: Yes I am sure now it is my Master and I smile lovingly. I hear a Zippo and suddenly I see in the dim light his face. A loving smile as he lights the candle and glances at me as the drips of the wax make a pattern on my skin. First around me breasts and covering them in wax, tracing down and he doesn’t stop.
The hot drops dripping continuously on my skin. Lighting candle after candle and placing candles and gradually the room is lit with that wonderful soft light only candlelight offers. Occasionally he kisses my lips.
He stops when I am almost fully covered in wax. I see the candles with all kinds of bright colours; I smell that lovely scent of wax and fire. I have become a colourful Jackson Pollock. He kisses me and whispers in my ear: ‘This is my idea of a full wax!’
I am so happy! I feel hot and I am hot and I even manage to smile.
(thank you pyroman)
(thank you pyroman)