Monday, 8 October 2007

A Letter

This is an experiment. I don't know if it works.

Dear Sir,

I still feel silly writing that. Sir sounds strange, distanced and pompous. You will always be my love, my dearest and my man. You will never be a Master. Maybe You will have to punish me for that.

I do miss You. There is still a big hole in my soul, something missing, something that makes my heart beat with pain. There is something missing in my bed and there is a touch, a caress that has been taken away from me. Return to me soon, my love, my Sir!

I have done everything you wanted me to do. I blush as I write this. No, that is not true. Yes, I do blush but I haven't done everything you told me to do. How can I punish myself? How can I possibly make myself suffer the way you do it. My will is not strong enough. I am too weak. My body says no.

I do light the candle every evening and I kneel by it. I am naked as instructed. I can almost sense your eyes on my body as I kneel. As if you were somewhere in the shadows regarding me. I do sit back on my heels, spread my knees wide. And I blush. I straighten my back for you, for your eyes that lurk there in the corner of the room, in the darkness. I hold my head up high and I straighten my back. And push my bosom out. Offering my body to you, as if you were there.

I blush as I do that. A free, thinking woman has to blush as she does that, to a dark corner. It is strange and I feel stupid, opening myself to you. I am naked and I am open and I am yours. That is what it means. It is strangely humiliating doing it while you are not there. Had you been watching me, then there would have been a reason. But not now. Now it is only to make me feel vulnerable.

I did the other thing. The naughty thing you wanted me to do. I donned the skirt, the one you like, the short one. And I left my knickers. No, I didn't. I brought them in my purse. Just in case. I was lucky on the bus to work. There were no seats left. I blushed as I came to the office. I felt as if it was very, very obvious. I suppose it wasn't. How often do you see a woman's knickers when she walks by?

It was mean of you to plant that thought in my head. It was worst with the scum bag down the corridor, you know who. When I thought of his disgusting fingers I was angry. I know I am proud but this is not easy for me.

I had to sit on the bus home. That was embarrassing. Had to think about how I was sitting, all the time.

I will stop writing now. I miss you terribly. Come back to me! Come back to me, soon!



Wystan E said...

Oh -- it works... it works just FINE.

Dove said...

Very well written Janice. A sweet love letter.


Janice said...

Thank you, Wystan and Dove. There may be more letters.