Thursday, 22 February 2007

An Evening in Autumn

Sorry for taking so long between my posts. The other day someone said something about my writing that threw me off balance a little. I lost my inspiration a little. Then I realised that that is not an excuse. This is not a competition and this is my blog and my fantasies. So here comes another story from my keyboard.


There I was, standing by the pillar, alone in the big room. Outside the autumn storm hurled itself, relentlessly, at the windows. The only light came from the great fireplace. The flickering light made the shadows dance menacingly in the corners of the room. The Persian rug in front of the fire glowed in the darkness. The armchairs, the table and the book shelves lining the walls seemed all dark and terrifying in the constantly moving light from the fire.


The ceiling of the big room was held up by two slender, wooden, pillars, smooth and polished by time. I was standing by one of those pillars, left alone in the semi darkness of the room.


I couldn't move. I was alone and scared but couldn't leave. I was tied to the pillar. I was standing facing the pillar my arms embracing it, my hands tied together at the other side raised above my head by a rope that ran through an iron ring. The rope was drawn tight, forcing me to stand on my toes, almost suspending me by their painful grip around my wrists.


My bonds forced my body against pillar, pressing my small breasts against its hard surface. I felt the wood against my belly and my thighs as I struggled not to think about the pain in my body.


The storm was raging outside but the room was warm and the air was soft. That was something to relish as I was naked. I had been left at the pillar, bound and naked, stripped by the man who had put me there.


He had smiled a vicious smile as he had ordered me to strip and he had seemed pleased as he tied me to the pillar. He almost laughed as he left the room, shutting the door behind him.


There I was, standing at the pillar, naked and bound, helpless and vulnerable. I could do nothing but wait.


My wait seemed endless, my agony never ending. I was waiting for him to return. Still I feared his return. I knew what it would mean. He said he would attend to me when he came back and that could only mean one thing - pain.


Fear grew in me. I feared the storm outside, I feared the shadows in the room. I feared every crackling sound from the fire and the slightest disturbance made my body shiver. I feared being left alone in this room but more than anything I feared his return. The thought of him coming back made me tremble. Still I longed for him. Still I wanted him to return, wanted him to be there with me in the room. I couldn't wait any longer.


My heart stood still as I heard him, at last, open the door. I resisted an urge to turn my head and look at him. My heart started pounding in my chest and I was overcome with fear and joy at the same time. I had longed for him to return but now I was struck with horror.


He didn't speak but I heard him breathing. I imagined a smile on his face, a glimmering in his eyes as he beheld my naked body at the pillar, stretched in agony by his command, at his mercy.


I heard him move over to a cupboard. I saw him in the corner of my eye. I knew that cupboard, I knew what was stored in it. He opened the door, stood still for a while, took something from the cupboard and closed the door.


I was shivering with anticipation as he approached me. He didn't speak. I heard him move and I saw his hand being stretched out. He wanted me to see what he had brought from the cupboard.

'Oh, no, not the whip,' I heard my thin voice say.

'Oh, yes, my dear,' he said, 'it is going to be the whip.'

I closed my eyes and bowed my head. The whip was vicious. It was evil. It was made of braided leather and had three tails. It was a perfect instrument for torture. It meant horrible, iron hot coils dancing over soft skin, my soft skin. I felt smaller than ever, hanging in my bonds, helplessly bound to the pillar.


My heart started beating as I thought about the whip. I didn't want its touch. I didn't want its bite. Still I didn't want him to leave, to leave me alone by the pillar. I wanted him to be there, to touch me.


He was going to touch me with the whip and I feared nothing more than I feared the whip but at the same time I longed for him to do it, I wanted nothing more than for him to do it, now, while he was there.


He was standing there, waiting, looking at me. I didn't dare to turn my head but I knew he was beholding me, looking at every detail of my small body, taking in every tiny movement of distress, relishing the sense of his strength and my helplessness, my vulnerability.


He had come to me fully clothed. That was the way he wanted it, him clothed and me naked. That was the inequality of it. He was clothed and protected, showing nothing but the things he chose to show. I was naked, stripped and bared, showing everything, having no choice. He could see my every movement, every reaction. I was there for him to behold. I was at his mercy and the whip in his hand told me he would not grant me any mercy.


I almost cried out as he touched me with the whip. I felt its leather lightly touching my buttocks. I knew what it meant. He was telling me where its vicious tails would land. At that moment there was nothing more unthinkable than the thought of that whip biting my naked skin.


I was holding my breath as he withdrew the whip. My head swirled and I closed my eyes. Then I heard the hissing sound in the air followed by a sharp report as from a gunshot. I heard the sound of the leather hitting my soft skin before I felt the impact. Then there was pain, white, iron hot, pain, excruciating, searing, unbearable pain.


An eternity later I started to breathe again. I was back again and I was panting and sweating and I felt the burning of the marks of the whip across my buttocks as if someone, still, pressed some hot iron against me.


I cried out as the next lash hit my body, slightly above the first. I felt my feet leaving the floor and how I hung by my wrists. I struggled for air. Then came the next lash.


I lost control. Soon I cried like a baby, letting out my agony, screaming in horrible pain. I moved as the tails coiled around my body, stinging my soft belly, sometimes biting my sex. He relentlessly whipped me, lash after lash landing on my naked body, sending pain surging through me. I was lost in my agony, screaming and crying. I danced helplessly my dance of pain at the pillar.


I heard him laugh. He was laughing at my agony. He truly, truly enjoyed himself seeing his vicious whip biting my body. My ordeal was his pleasure. I suffered for his happiness.


At last it was over. He had stopped whipping me. I was hanging in my bonds, exhausted and dazed. My whole body seemed to be on fire and aching. I was breathing heavily, not, really, believing my ordeal was over for the moment. I was slowly returning to the big room with the great fireplace. I was slowly returning to my bonds, his whip and him.


I heard him move behind me. I couldn't make myself turn my head to look for him. I sensed his presence clearly. I sensed him coming closer to me. He was standing just behind me, close to me.


I knew he wouldn't whip me any more. I knew he wanted to touch me. I held my breath. I feared that touch more than anything. I feared it and longed for it, more than anything.






2 comments:

bolt said...

I hope that wasn't me who threw you off. Keep writing, you are amazing. Everything about you is riveting.

Simon Kade said...

Would love to hear part two of that story...curious as to whether it would match my version. Great story.