hids
06-23-2006, 08:40 PM
for d
I'm standing in the middle of a dark room. I can't see anything, but I know he's in the room with me, watching. I'm not sure how long I've been standing in the dark - it could be a few minutes or a few hours. It's this loss of time and place that turns my mind in on itself and I start thinking about those things that only come to mind in the pitch black. In my case, the dark brings with it doubts and questions. You say you want to know specifics?
Just remember, you asked.
I know what's expected of me, and as I take my clothes off and neatly fold and place them on the floor behind me, I ask myself why I'm here. This is always how it begins, with the age-old child's question: why? Each answer results in that same question, endlessly repeating, reverberating in the darkness.
I reach for the nipple clamps; I don't need light to know that they're precisely an arm's length away from me on his left. The ritual continues as I pinch one nipple, then the other. I know better than to think they're tight enough; he always adjusts them regardless, depending on our respective moods, any punishment I may or may not have pending, how far he knows he can push me on any given day.
And again I ask myself why.
The clamps in place, I next pick up the blindfold from its place directly in front of me. It always strikes me as slightly ridiculous to blindfold myself in a room that is already pitch black, though I know the lights will come on shortly. Even more out of place is the order of things at this part of the ritual: blindfold first, then ear plugs, never the reverse. Perhaps it's because I've already been robbed of sight that he thinks it should not matter, perhaps it's simply another step down the staircase to my submission, my utter helplessness.
Why?
I am always grateful at this point that he does not push the issue of the gag. I'm not ready, may never be ready, for that beautiful ball gag. Instead I am held doubly accountable for each sound I make, made all the worse for the fact I can no longer hear anything but the sound of my own thoughts. It's in this truly naked state that I complete my part of the ritual and kneel.
One last time, my mind shouts - why?
In the act of kneeling, I finally give myself the answer. My knees spread wide, arms behind me with my hands clasping my elbows, not sitting on my haunches but balanced just as he trained me, I am truly, completely, myself. Not some public persona, not what is 'expected' - simply myself with someone who expects nothing less of me.
I know I should bow my head, but I always push him to see how far he pushes me in return, and so I hold my head high. I don't know how long I maintain the position before he finally walks over to me and adjusts the position of my head and the tightness of the clamps. He leaves me alone again just long enough to silence the absolute last question in my mind.
I'm standing in the middle of a dark room. I can't see anything, but I know he's in the room with me, watching. I'm not sure how long I've been standing in the dark - it could be a few minutes or a few hours. It's this loss of time and place that turns my mind in on itself and I start thinking about those things that only come to mind in the pitch black. In my case, the dark brings with it doubts and questions. You say you want to know specifics?
Just remember, you asked.
I know what's expected of me, and as I take my clothes off and neatly fold and place them on the floor behind me, I ask myself why I'm here. This is always how it begins, with the age-old child's question: why? Each answer results in that same question, endlessly repeating, reverberating in the darkness.
I reach for the nipple clamps; I don't need light to know that they're precisely an arm's length away from me on his left. The ritual continues as I pinch one nipple, then the other. I know better than to think they're tight enough; he always adjusts them regardless, depending on our respective moods, any punishment I may or may not have pending, how far he knows he can push me on any given day.
And again I ask myself why.
The clamps in place, I next pick up the blindfold from its place directly in front of me. It always strikes me as slightly ridiculous to blindfold myself in a room that is already pitch black, though I know the lights will come on shortly. Even more out of place is the order of things at this part of the ritual: blindfold first, then ear plugs, never the reverse. Perhaps it's because I've already been robbed of sight that he thinks it should not matter, perhaps it's simply another step down the staircase to my submission, my utter helplessness.
Why?
I am always grateful at this point that he does not push the issue of the gag. I'm not ready, may never be ready, for that beautiful ball gag. Instead I am held doubly accountable for each sound I make, made all the worse for the fact I can no longer hear anything but the sound of my own thoughts. It's in this truly naked state that I complete my part of the ritual and kneel.
One last time, my mind shouts - why?
In the act of kneeling, I finally give myself the answer. My knees spread wide, arms behind me with my hands clasping my elbows, not sitting on my haunches but balanced just as he trained me, I am truly, completely, myself. Not some public persona, not what is 'expected' - simply myself with someone who expects nothing less of me.
I know I should bow my head, but I always push him to see how far he pushes me in return, and so I hold my head high. I don't know how long I maintain the position before he finally walks over to me and adjusts the position of my head and the tightness of the clamps. He leaves me alone again just long enough to silence the absolute last question in my mind.