Away From The Wall

I was bouncing, I knew it. Puffed up with pleasure at my new-found boldness. I
had stepped away from the wall and the page and actually tried it.


My hair was still damp at the neck from the shower I'd been ushered to
beforehand –thank god, for it had been an hour's drive on a freeway baking in
the heat. Even in the air conditioned chill in the venue, the backs of my knees
had been tickled by lines of sweat as the ridiculousness and nakedness of that
position I held kicked in.


Shuffling my knees slightly apart to get my balance on the soft leather bolster,
my wrists held in three-finger wide cuffs smooth and reassuringly snug as I bent
over the padded frame. She made a soft sound of recognition as I turned my face
from the mirror ahead. I couldn't lose myself if I was mentally pinching inches
and tallying flesh that ought not be.



"Some prefer a blindfold. Would you like to try that?"


Oh thank you! The soft trace of her hand against my hair as she fit it, the
momentary pressure against my cheek. I could have lent my face into her hands
all day and felt at home.


"Is that better?"


How hard, to let go conversation on the weather, on work, on traffic, and just
let myself feel. Until those fingers discovered I was ticklish. I was done for
then, laughing and drawing a ragged breath as clever hands intruded and made me
twist and turn in my limited field.


No room to try keep oneself closed off and nice when you are squirming. And when
she ceased her torment with a single slap to the fleshy swell of my right cheek,
my limbs had betrayed me, my knees now indecently splayed, and all utterly on
view.


"Uh huh", she murmured as I tried to gather myself back together, "None of
that."


And with that she started. Dozens of light crisp spanks to prepare the terrain,
as it were. Not a one hurt exactly, but I was suddenly and acutely aware of the
margins of my body. Of areas one normally only sees in those disastrous changing
room trifold mirrors. Of my bum. Oh good god, she was really touching my bum!


"You're doing very well." Say it again?


The softest tickle of leather strips, traced up and down my cleft and against my
vulva. The uncompromising thud of a heavier piece. The leg twisting sting of
what the hell was that?!


"The more you wriggle, the more I see."


Aaaand that was not a cheek shot! `Oh my god, do that again!' I wanted to beg,
rather surprised at how readily that building pain toppled in the face of
pleasure. Hot and stinging and it was not just sweat I could feel now.