Friday, 21 March 2008

Not a Story

Dear Reader, I hope you will have a happy Easter. And I hope you will have a nice time with friends and family. It may seem a little odd that I would choose this very day to show you that I can be a little cruel in my fantasies too...or at least hint at it.


It had almost been like an embrace as I encircled her wrists with the rope, drawn it tight, encircled it again and tied the rope to her. She looked on, silently, her eyes glimmering in the faint light from the candles, the light flickering across her naked skin. I saw her eyes and that strange expression on her face, content and waiting, excited and calm, determined and grave, all at the same time. Her delicate soft lips slightly parted, glistening in the light, her white teeth and her little tongue peeking out.


She was naked. She had stripped when I told her to strip and she had done it with the confidence of someone who knows her nudity is longed for. She was shy but not meek, silent but still full of life. She had approached the pole on bare feet, her movements silent. She had obediently stretched out her arms to let them be bound.


She had sighed a little as I had pulled the rope forcing her arms upwards, pressing her naked body against the smooth surface of the pillar. She had sighed, nothing more. She had not complained or said anything. I stood back, beheld her body, naked in the flickering light of the many candles.


She was beautiful. She was delicate. Her round breasts pressing against the wood, bulging a little, her belly and her bare legs against the pillar. She was bound and helpless and very naked and very vulnerable. She was slim and very, very soft. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders and moved over her naked skin as she turned her face to look at me. Her gaze met mine and I knew she knew.


The whip was already in my hand. It was a strange contradiction. The room was proud and elegant, delicate and beautiful. The woman by the pillar was naked and soft, a strange contrast against the elegance of the room, the serenity of the candle light. The whip in my hand was a contradiction. It was the wild beast that had entered the sanctuary, this solemn place. Everything was silent and soft and dark, but the whip in my hand promised of loudness and agony and wild abandon.


The whip was brutal, unforgiving leather, a sleeping beast, a snake that would sting and burn. Something that was too brutal, too horrible for the softness of the naked woman at the pillar.


I was beyond that, beyond contradictions and reflections, beyond reasoning and compassion. I could see only the beauty of the soft woman by the pillar, her body bound in helplessness, given over to my mercy. I was beyond mercy.


She looked over her shoulder. She saw the whip. She saw the agony, the horror of it. She saw it and drew her breath, she saw it, turned her head and commended herself to it.


I was beyond the need for approval, beyond the desire for acceptance. Still her turned face reassured me. There was no stopping me now.



6 comments:

Paul said...

Janice,
lots of possibilities here.
Many scenarios play across my mind.
Is this the intent of your, "Not a Story".
Is the whipper a man or a woman, a sadist or a sexual turn on???
I like your imagination Janice.
Warm hugs,
Paul.

wilhelmina said...

This quiet surrender is fascinating. I see them in a beautifully furnished room, perhaps a bedroom so he can lay her down gently on her stomach when done. There is a serene beauty in all that you paint here and yet we know just beyond the edge of the page, where we can't see, that something awful is about to happen.

Thanks Janice
Easter Hugs
Mina

Recidavist said...

Very evocative.

There is no doubt about it, there is nothing quite like the terrifying, but thrilling, rush...."well there is nothing I can do now, I'm just going to have to take it, whtever IT is.."....except maybe the equally terrifying, but also thrilling, rush..."well nobody can stop me now, I can do whatever I like and she/he will just have to take it, whatever I do"......both are captured nicely, and of course good baroque decor and candles always help!

R

Janice said...

Dear Paul, oh, I always think of them as rather nice people, but who knows? Anything is possible. Thank you for your kind words. What scenarios play across your mind?

Dear Mina, mmm, that is how I see it too...although, I am not sure it was the bedroom...but who am I to say?...giggles. I agree it is awful but it is also...quite...well...arousing...at least in my twisted mind.

Dear Recidavist, my mind was wandering along those paths too...the inevitable, the not being able to stop...or don't wanting to stop.

Hugs

Janice

Anonymous said...

This is my archetypal fantasy -- so naturally I was intrigued, to say the least, at your take on this evocative theme.

Janice, you have convincingly entered (or adopted/ evoked/ simulated?) the mind, or the mindset, of the dominant. And yet -- the girl at the pillar is you, is she not? Uncomplaining, obedient, and... somehow curious. Not about the pain -- but about him -- how far will he take this? How much must she endure? She is both resigned and ready. My compliments to you, and to her.

Wystan Ephraim

Janice said...

Dear Wystan, thank you for your kind words. If you think I have entered the mindset of the dominant, that only shows that we all have both sides in us, to a different degree. If the woman was me? That is really not easy to answer. I didn't think she was but, then again, isn't it always so that we model the characters, and especially in fantasies, on ourselves or things we know well. Maybe she was, who knows? It was an interesting point. Thanks.

Hugs

Janice