The silence grew, and so did her trembling, until she started to open her mouth to speak.The silence grew, and so did her trembling, until she started to open her mouth to speak. "Don't forget the rules, Amy." "I'm sorry Master." And the trembling had stopped; she seemed to raise her head a little, perhaps ashamed of her weakness. "Are you ready to be bound, slave?" She started. The tip of her tongue slipped out to caress her lower lip, and she moved her head to one side slightly. I knew she was embarrassed to hear these words spoken, but they held a shameful, exciting mystery for her. In her interest in submission she had reminded me of a cat on the street, hovering near, wanting to be stroked but ready to dart away at a quick move. And yet, she returned again and again to the subject, asking why I was interested and why anyone -- meaning me, in her insular way -- would allow themself to be degraded so. Searching for the words that would allow her rational mind to justify indulgence of her passion. I still don't know what it was that tipped the balance; one Saturday over a late breakfast she had mentioned casually that she would like to stay over one night and "try some of those things, you know, the ones we talked about." And then a blush as I nodded. She raised herself slightly and took a slow breath, then answered. "Yes, Master." "Ask me." "What?", forgetting herself for a moment. Silence seeped between us again. "What, Master?" I remained silent. "Master, I'm sorry. I won't do it again." I let the silence grow, as her trembling began again. I spoke softly: "Ask me." She drew in her breath a little and raised herself once more. "Master, please tie me up." Silence. "I'm sorry Master, I'm nervous, I forgot. Master, please bind me." "Bind you how?" Again, embarrassed silence, and then quietly: "Bind my hands, Master, behind my back." "Lie on the floor, Amy." She let herself relax from her proud kneeling position and then bent at the waist, raising her bottom into the air as her chest sank to the floor. We had agreed that despite the possibility of friction burns we would use rope; it was her choice -- I think the texture excited her -- but I too was pleased with her taste. |