I am not sure if this is long enough



Hanging around


I arrived late, unavoidable, and opened the door to our room.
In the dim light, by the corner window, Ellen, nude, hanging from her wrists from the overhead beams. A black blindfold covering her eyes and forehead; her back towards me, she was facing the window.
I approached her, silent, amazed, despite the cool temperature, a thin sheen of sweat covered her body. Around her neck, a black ribbon, and a note:
“No safe words
No limits
No mercy
Happy Anniversary”
Today was our one year anniversary.
I removed the ribbon from around her neck and touched her, a tremor. I nuzzled the nape of her neck, taking in her smell. Ellen never used perfume prior to our scenes. I inhaled her body’s fragrance, sweet, her shaven armpit, stretched out, musky deep, but today it was different. There always is a subtle, acid, touch of fear to the musk, when we are going to have a play session, but today this smell of fear was much stronger. I felt her groin, her pussy lips, wet, she trembled. I brought my exploring finger to my nose, musk, arousal, and throughout it all, fear.
I backed off, silent. On the desk, instruments of discipline and two boxes.
To my surprise, the cat, the floggers, paddles and straps that were her favorites were missing. Only three instruments were present: A bullwhip, which we seldom used, A springy bamboo whip which she made 6 months ago, for my birthday, and which we had only used once (ten stripes on her ass, how did she scream!, she made me promise that day not to use it again on her) and a thin leather wrapped crop, which I only used to punish her, when she really deserved it. She only laid out the whips and canes that she hated the most; “They hurt too much, and I cannot get excited or come with them” she had said.
I looked at her hanging, suspended. Near her, a footstool lay on the side, that was how she did it. I glanced at the watch. She was expecting me at 6, and it was 7 now. She had been hanging for an hour already. Her body, tall and firm, athletic, with her wide hips and narrow waist was shaken by intermittent tremors; her breath in short gasps belied her excitement.
The first box contained assorted chains, some of our collection of clamps, but only the ones with teeth, the most vicious ones that we seldom used, some we had never used, so fierce they seemed. Her largest dildoes and anal plugs. Needles. We had used hypodermic needles in our plays before, but these were vicious. 16 and 18 gage monsters, none less than 6 inches long, some 10 and 12 inches long. At least 12 skewers, sharpened, and two feet in length, wrapped in plastic autoclave wrap. She must have had one of her medical assistant friends sterilize them for her.
The second box I recognized immediately, it was our “Deadly” box. On occasion we would find instruments of torture, studded dildoes, which we acquired, not for use, but for just for inspiration and out of a penchant for collecting erotica. Some, she actually made herself, based on descriptions from our readings. We had never intended to use them. On top of the box, a post it note with just one word:

“Yes”
No wonder the smell of fear in her sweat.
I could feel my excitement burning right under my chest; it almost felt like a punch in my gut. My breath, sounded, to my ears like the bellows of a forge.
The sight of her, her shoulder length, curly red hair, her blue eyes, that I couldn’t see, under her silk blindfold. Her tiny nose, peeking out under the blindfold, over her well formed lips, slightly open, I could see the tips of her white teeth. Her head was thrust back, trying to listen, that being the only one of her senses that would connect her with the room.
Her breasts, very white, with pink areolas and small nipples (had she rouged them for me today?) were flattened by the suspension, but still were prominent to see on her chest. Firm, soft, irresistible.
Her flat tummy, with her wide navel, flatter today, as she hanged there, ended in a fiery orange red bush. I knew she trimmed it on the sides and behind her pussy, but let its exuberance grow in the top.
Her thighs, firm from dance class and biking, alabaster, long and tapering to her calves where, the cream of her skin was slightly marred by scattered freckles.
Her feet, small and pedicured, hanged, a mere two inches from the hardwood floor; a tribute to the care she took in setting this up.
Women should be seen naked, and from the rear. There are too many distractions when seen from the front: eyes, lips, nose, breasts, bush and so on. From the rear, the hair, points the way down to the vulnerable dorsum, which tapers, like a cello, to then widen at the hips, where a symmetrical diamond adorns the twin globes of a firm, pert ass. The thighs, seen from behind, without the interruption of the knees, flow seamlessly into the calves, which in turn, if the feet are properly extended, as in this case, represent the upright of an exclamation mark. Between the thighs, just a soupcon of her nether lips can be glimpsed, if the light is quite right.
I shed my clothes, except for my silk boxers, and grasp the bullwhip.

Kaleun