He stands in front of me, facing me, slightly taller. Trembling.
I had first seen him earlier that evening, and knew at once that he would be mine; he knew shortly thereafter. He was so sure, so strong, smugly chatting with his friends. A slight pat on the back, a wave across the room, a friendly "goodbye," a warming "hello;" as if it all would hide what was so clear.
It wasn't even much of a challenge -- just one firm look in the eyes, as he stood there with that slight, confident smile playing across his lips. But he immediately knew who I was and what was, inevitably, to come.
And who am I? Does it make any difference? Let's just say that I am Power. That was all he ever saw; it is all that really matters.
No, it could never be a challenge. But that isn't the point.
As I slowly begin to walk around him, he turns to follow. "Stand still." He freezes. I catch just a glimpse of his eyes as I continue along my path; the mixture of fear, desire, and growing shame displayed in them, for all the world to see. My fingers caress the blindfold in my hand.
With a quick motion I bring it over his head and cover those expressive eyes, slightly brushing his startled face with my warm fingers. But only a brush.
He tenses, then a slow relax as I continue my circle around him, enjoying the now more private examination of my catch. He intently tries to follow the slight whisper of my walk with he ears; the few cues he now has from the world around him only serve to magnify the sight I have taken away.
I stop once more in front of him, with us facing each other, he slightly taller. But it no longer matters. And he will know that it never did.
"Kneel."
A stream of emotions run through his face; his soul reflected in his eyes now pours out the rest of his body. Oh, he tries to hide them, of course, but still the reflections he can't contain burn through his useless mask: anger, desire, confusion, hope, desire, shame, submission.
Submission.
He slowly sinks down, his face pointing up to me as if he can use the sight I have taken away, the emotions still playing across his features. But the anger and shame and hope are slowly receding.
Good.
"Face the floor."
Better.
I stand above him, his sightless face looking down. His body naked, tensed in anticipation of whatever is to come.
Just a slight brush of his soft hair; the gentle petting of his soul. The last of his anger and shame recedes into the caress, as his body slowly begins to relax. I lightly stroke his cheek, brush his lips. Ever so lightly.
It is as if his very essence is being made visible to me; a waving rope of insubstantial smoke attached to his body, that twists in response to the jumbled emotions running through his mind. Insubstantial, but more solid than any physical rope could be.
Still lightly brushing his hair, I suddenly grab it in a fist. With a quick jerk, I pull his head back and into my own face. I feel his suddenly rapid breath on my face, just as he feels my slow exhale.
"Tell me you are mine," I whisper into him.
His breathing grows more rapid, his hot breath being drawn out from his body as the conflicting emotions throb anew across his face.
"Tell me," I hiss louder in his face.
"I-" His voice cracks.
"I-" Humilation, desire, longing, fear, anger, desire. Submission.
"I am yours," a whisper, louder than any yell could be.
"Give yourself to me," no room for compromise as I place a collar in his hands.
Trembling, he clutches at it, then nearly drops it as the fear and anger swell again. Once more.
With a final shudder he calms himself, accepting what we both know is to be. Then he slowly raises the collar to his neck; slowly as we both savor this moment after which nothing will be the same. With each inch upwards, his movement grows more sure as the magic of his gift and my acceptance crackle through the air. Slowly the energy builds towards a crescendo; so slowly that it seems the world looks on to us for an eternity until, almost too soon, his hands are reaching around, and he gently, peacefully, places the collar around himself, as I silently lock it into place.
I stand over the lovely man, his entire being focused in on only me. My collar around his neck and his sight taken away. Naked. Vulnerable.
Mine.
| Dianne Kyra Hackborn <hackbod@angryredplanet.com> | Last modified: Wed Aug 14 14:09:06 PDT 1996 |