The object of my amusement

My latest pair of high heels arrived beautifully packaged in a black silk bag. As I removed the shoes to wear for my upcoming play session with M, I was struck by the scent of new leather that clung to the bag.

M entered, as always, quietly. Stripping, obediently encircling his wrists and ankles with cuffs, and a soft leather collar around his neck. Lips to the floor, back arched, ass in the air – he waited.
Hearing my footsteps behind him, his ass wriggled in eager greeting. He was expecting a spanking, the little rascal.

Grabbing a fistful of hair, I brought him swiftly to kneeling position. Before he knew what was coming, I slipped the bag over his head. Heard the catch in his breath as he realised: today, he would be no-one.

Simply a body: warm and open and defenceless.

A faceless object for my amusement.

There is something magical about the illusory invisibility of a hood (or in this case, a simple shoe bag scented by my high heels). Adrift somewhere far away from time and space, the captive feels at once the freedom of anonymity and a sudden acute awareness of his physicality – and moreover, his vulnerability.

He’s now unable to move through the room without my guidance, and must place his trust in me. Feeling the caress of my fingers all over as I arrange each of his parts into the desired position; the intensity of even the lightest touch both thrilling and terrifying as he realises that he might now be toyed with in quite the same way a curious child experiments on her voodoo doll.

A single drop of candle wax can feel like the sharp graze of a knife, when you’re not expecting it. A gasp. Goosebumps shiver across the skin and the breath quickens as you wait for the next drop to fall, not knowing where it’s going to hit. Perhaps this next one will be less friendly, dripping ever so slowly across your abdomen, your muscles tensing as the hot wax trails perilously close to your most tender parts. Maybe it won’t stop there…

Sudden silence.
Is she gone?
Where is she?

An icy current runs through you. Body stiffening, fearful at once that you’ll be left alone like this forever – or worse: that the next stinging blow will come out of nowhere. But when?

…After hot wax, feverish skin reacts remarkably to even the softest graze of the flogger. Twitching and floundering at each strike, until it slowly sinks in that there’s no escape and no reason to even try… A body can draw such poetic shapes when it’s forgotten where, who –and what– it is, and knows only how it feels.

Much later, legs bound up at his chest, this nobody creature moaned softly as I entered him with exploring fingers, now surprisingly open for someone usually quite shy. Thrusting himself toward me, he murmured his gratitude through the bag over his face.

But I wasn’t interested in his thanks or in hearing any words at all. Today, he’d become an amorphous, open, delightfully responsive thing – and I was revelling in the hot beauty of this. I loosened the bag just below the nose, plugged the mouth with my underwear, and closed it again.