A little sketch for the enjoyment of the voyeurs out there...--------------------------
When she enters the playspace, every head turns. People involved in their own scenes pause for a moment to watch the petite form moving through the parting crowd. Barely five feet tall, she carries herself with the unconscious bearing of an ice princess. Head held high, her posture is imperiously straight through the line of a bare back. In the dimly lit playspace sudden snatches of light dance on her pierced nipples as she walks.
The eyes that follow her take in the firm buttocks framed by a black web of a gossamer thin thong and the taut legs encased in silky black thigh-high stockings. Six inch heels click a staccato of control through the hushed space. Silently, she moves through the little groups of watchers and players, clearly one of them but different enough for their gazes to trail after her in curious fascination.
Even more jarring than the sudden jolt of energy created by her entrance, is the leash snaking from the tight black collar encircling her slender throat. The man holding the other end of it is almost an afterthought in her wake. And yet, a single glance at his calm and impassive face makes it clear that this strange and beguiling creature belongs to him. And now the eyes are on both of them, slipping from one to the other, as if attempting to discern the meaning of the unlikely pairing.
She stops under a recently vacated suspension frame and gracefully sinks to her knees, her hands resting palms up on her thighs, her face lifted up to him in rapt attention. The men in the room watch him; envious questions clear in the barely concealed curiosity. Who is he? What has he done to get her, to tame her?
His eyes give nothing away as he drops the lead into her lap and steps back. She shudders, but doesn’t move; continuing to watch him from her position on the floor.
His lips part as he speaks to her but neither his face nor her expression reveals the content of his message. In response, she reaches for his hand and bows her head briefly, kissing his fingers. Still on her knees, she leans back, lifting her arms and stretching until she’s resting on her back on the floor. Her body arches up, in a graceful backward bow, arms crossing at the wrists, continuing the line of her back, palms still facing up. It is a pose of aching vulnerability and surrender.
He moves to stand astride her, his boots framing her waist, engendering a cascade of shivers down the slender frame beneath him. The silent audience watches as his hands deftly work on the wooden beams above him. Soon, various lengths of colorful hemp hang down and once again his lips part, issuing further commands.
The motionless body tenses and changes shape, moving gracefully into the strands of rope, accepting their captivity. His hands skate over her, forming loops and ties and twists until suddenly, with a final tug, she’s flying. A suspended study of shifting form and beauty; a macabre vision of requited love and trust and submission.
The flogger swishes through the air, greeting the waiting flesh and the audience sighs in appreciation. The show has begun.
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