The Bench

I sit at my piano and I play. The music disjointed and without melody. Candles flickering, the only softness in a night filled with sharp edges. Random notes of chaos and disillusionment. I am tired tonight. Weary of people and of thoughts and demands. I hear your voice behind me, your request. I know what it is you want. And yet, for some reason, I rebel. Testing you perhaps. Or testing myself. Wondering if indeed I am at a limit, a point where I no longer wish to submit. Or no longer can. Taking my hands from the keyboard, I turn to look into your eyes, denying you. Blatantly, defiantly. Telling you without words that this night you will truly need to be strong. This night you will truly need to be my Master. Hoping, wishing, wanting you to understand that I need to be taken, bested by the love you have for me. Overcome by my own desires forcing all conscious thought out of my mind. Blameless in what you will force me to do.

With no more words uttered aloud, I clearly hear your mind. your silent words telling me I will be yours this night, this moment. Slowly looking down, I see the red silken cords hanging loosely in your left hand. Your right hand gently caressing my shoulder, then grasping my chin and pulling me up to my feet. Rising slowly, never letting my eyes leave yours, I now stand before you. The piano bench behind me, steadying me, my legs already betraying my attempt at defiance.

Slowly, methodically, you undo the tiny buttons of my cotton nightdress. Your left hand rising up to gently stroke my now exposed breasts with the silken cords. The silken threads tickling my now-sensitive skin. The contrast creating tiny ripples of need within me. Your right hand tugging lightly on my nightdress and releasing it to drift down my length to the tops of my bare feet. My senses begin to clamor to my mind. My mental desire to fight you slowly losing it's battle against my physical need for you. Standing there before you, exposed, suddenly realizing I am close to desiring nothing more than the feel of your hands on my skin.

Placing both your hands on my waist, you slowly slide them up my torso. Caressing me as you travel up. Touching my breasts, you circle my nipples but touch them not. My nipples, alert to your approach, needing your attention, pouting at your neglect. And yet, I will not speak. I will not alert you to my need., barely clinging to the vestiges of my stubborn need to defy you.

Suddenly, without warning, your hands dart to my shoulders and with strength inherent in your touch, you bend my body to the empty piano bench. Seating me first. Your eyes never leaving mine. Your power an unspoken force emanating off you and into the very depths of my soul. I feel the pressure of your hands. Pushing me down. Forcing my body to lay back lengthwise on the cold, wooden piano bench.

I can barely fit on this hard bench. The length of my body narrowly finding the room to support it. My head hangs back, my hair tumbling about the floor. A contrast of white and burnished chestnut. I can no longer see your eyes. I feel the hard wood biting into my spine, the cheeks of my ass resting precariously close to the edge of the bench. Clenching my legs together in natural reflex, a tiny moan involuntarily escapes my throat at the discomfort I am feeling.

Still no words leave your mouth and I find myself trapped in the silence of your possession. I want to know what is going to happen. I refuse to ask. Your hands touch my knees. Pulling them apart. Gently at first and then with more force, more intent. I feel you sliding your hand down my calf, your touch light and familiar. I feel the piano bench leg cold against the back of my leg. I feel the whisper touch of the silken cords around my ankle. In only seconds my leg is secured and your touch moves to my other leg securing it in the same fashion. My thighs apart. The essence of me exposed openly to your eyes. The coldness of the air slides across my heat, the contrast sharp and all-encompassing. My eyes close without conscious thought. The submission you seek, the submission you demand becoming a living entity building within me. An all-powerful feeling I am longing to embrace.

So lost in total desire, I do not at first realize that you have taken my hands and using the last of the silken cords, bound them each to the remaining bench legs. Feeling the pressure of the cords on my wrists, I open my eyes in the sudden realization of my complete vulnerability. Lifting my head up, my neck muscles straining in an effort to raise myself, I see you standing there. Your face awash with desire for me. Your eyes reflecting the love you have for me. Watching you slowly lower yourself. Watching you kneel beside me.

As if in slow motion, your head lowers. Your lips brush the taut skin of my belly, my hip, my thigh. The fire of your touch on my skin as real as the flames of the slowly melting candles. As your mouth moves back up the length of me, I feel the sting of your bite. Your teeth tasting me. Causing my body to convulse slightly, autonomous of my mind. I feel the wetness of my desire for you sliding down the crevice of my ass. I strain against the cords that hold me, your nipping teeth pushing me to madness. The exquisite agony filling my soul.

Unable to bear your look, your mute demands, I drop my head back. Closing my eyes. Biting my lip. Dying to scream out your name. Crying inside to announce to you and all that would hear me that you are my Master, the one that owns me and makes me alive.

Feeling your hand brush my cheek, I open my eyes. Attempting to lift my head again, I feel the soft caress of silk against my neck. Your hands slowly rise before me, a long thin piece of scarlet silk laying sensuously across your palms. A tiny gasp slips from my lips as with both hands, you gently cover my eyes with the cool smoothness of the silk. In darkness now, I lay my head back. The will to resist you no longer within me. The need to be taken by you my only reason for breathing. I am yours. I submit. The freedom of sightlessness releasing the last vestiges of my rebellion to your will.