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.