Arafin © 2009
I have been instructed by my Mistress to shower and don the clothes she will have placed on the bedroom dresser for me when I finish. As I exit the shower and towel off I think I hear soft whispered laughter coming from behind the door, but when I walk out I see no one. There on top of the dresser is a single garment. It is a butler’s apron made of black silk with red lining. Leaning against the antique piece of walnut furniture is a low wheeled platform, something akin to a skateboard in length yet twice it’s width. A sticky note attached to it says simply, “Find something to bind yourself to this and do so”. I first put on the apron and then open one of the top drawers. Silk stockings of many colors. I remove a pair and kneel upon the wheeled platform, binding my lower legs to it as instructed.
No sooner do I finish this task than the outer door opens and in walks a French maid with a collar, long leather leash, and a pair of handcuffs. “Put your hands behind your back”, she says, and I obey. Now cuffed I am told to raise my head but lower my eyes. I comply. The leather of the collar feels stiff yet well worn as she attaches the leash and lets out a tiny chortle. “There! Now you look like you are ready to please!” The maid pulls gently upon the leash and I begin to roll forward, following her defenselessly as her ebony heels click down hard on the marble tile in the hallway. Once I am fully out of the bedroom she picks up speed.
Down many twists and turns of the old mansion we thus proceed until at last we reach the stairs. Please don’t let her push me down while I am bound this way! I shudder briefly at the thought as she lets out a wicked giggle, seeming to have read my mind. Four rather large and muscular female servants appear, modern day amazons, clad head to foot in impossibly tight black latex. Only their eyes, mouths, and noses are visible. They pick me up, wheeled platform and all, and begin to descend the long curved staircase. It feels embarrassing to be bound, helpless, and carried downstairs this way, but I am sure that is the whole point. It is slightly arousing.
There to greet us at the bottom is my Mistress wearing a long flowing gown of red chiffon and over her eyes a delicate golden mask. She is flanked by two more French maids, one of whom holds a white butler’s collar with black bow tie and the other a pair of white cuffs. With a nod of her head the four giantesses place me softly upon the floor at Mistress’ feet as the two maids put the white collar over the leather collar and the cuffs upon my bound wrists. Mistress now takes the leash from the first maid and begins to pull me out into the center of the ballroom. It is a huge space with high arched ceiling, many tall windows on either side, and gilded mirrors as numerous as the multitude of guests which stand chit-chatting in small groups. All are dressed for a masquerade, their faces covered by ornate masks, their costumes reflecting the theme of the 17th Century French Court. The odd person turns to look at me as I am rolled by, but most pay no attention whatsoever. It all feels very similar to having a dream in which I am naked in public.
Reaching the center of the room Mistress brings me to a halt and stands for a moment looking down at me. Heaven on Earth, but she is beautiful! Her long gloved fingers give the top of my head a sweet caress as I instinctively bow my gaze downwards, feeling so wonderful to relish this little demonstration of submission even though it feels a bit awkward in front of so many others. She responds to my diverted gaze with a whisper, just loud enough for me to hear and the maid standing close by, “Now you shall bring delight to all my guests!” At first I tremble with images flooding my hurried mind of being made to perform sexual favors for all these folk, but then, as the maid bends down to fasten a most unusual device to the top of my head, my thoughts turn from such panic to utter dumbfounded curiosity.
It is a large flat topped hat of black and white felt with a stiff tray built into it. The closest thing I have ever seen to which it might be compared is Guinan’s hat from Star Trek . After this very odd garment is secured to my head another maid arrives with a cart filled with little snacks and glasses of champagne. “Keep your head upright and still, but your eyes down”, commands Mistress, and with that the refreshments are loaded onto the large flat surface above my noggin. The weight is tricky to balance and I am immediately thankful that the maid used a good deal of force when fastening the straps that hold it in place. My Mistress lets out a little laugh like a bubble cresting a glass of the golden liquid which I now support. “Come!”, she says and begins once more to pull on he leash around my neck. Although she takes great care to pull gently and steadily, and although I take great care to keep the hat level and my eyes down, it is exceedingly difficult to maintain enough stability to prevent the champagne from spilling.
The band begins to play a rousing waltz. Guests pair off and begin to whirl around one another, giving me great concern that a stray sleeve or hem of a gown may strike the hat and send everything flying, but no such mishap occurs. As the guests dance, one occasionally reaches down and deftly plucks an olive or glass or canapé from the “tray” and swirls away again like so much wind upon a sea of grain. The guests eventually thus lighten my load to the point where I think that my task is now over, but no. Soon another maid appears, pushing another cart, and my cranium is re-loaded. This happens several times before the music stops and everyone claps to show appreciation to the band, gratitude to their hostess, and amusement at my dedicated predicament. It feels at once unreal and frighteningly poignant, both dreamlike and startlingly fresh. Mistress gives a tiny sigh of joy and I feel my whole body and mind reverberate with the sound. So good to hear her feel pleasure of any kind. So exhilarating to know that she enjoys what I am doing for her. Then the clapping gradually subsides and gives way to an eery silence. I had expected the music to resume and more food and drink to be placed atop my head, actually longing for it now, but no such thing happens. Only the sound of water gurgling from a fountain at the far end of the ballroom can be heard as I wait, eyes still downcast, for whatever mystery looms.
A maid removes the flat topped hat and handcuffs from me and Mistress slowly lifts her great hooped gown. Much as I try, I cannot restrain myself from peeking. Where one might expect to see layers upon layers of taffeta there is none, the wire hoops creating a hollow tent-like space around her lovely legs. Oh, those legs! So perfectly sheen and silky, clad now in shiny black stockings with seams at the back, her feet encased in pointy red six inch heels of the finest Italian leather. Moving as might a bird to cover it’s nest with outstretched wings, she glides forward over me and lowers the hoops again so that I am surrounded by the red fabric, muted crimson light turning everything in my view the color of love. I know all the guests have seen this and I am thankful that now I at least have this privacy from their prying eyes. It feels so safe in here, so quiet and hushed, and as a more tender waltz now begins to drift in and out of the great chamber outside of my new confines, it seems to seep into my ears like muted echoes of some distant stupor. I feel drunk with elation at being so close to my Mistress and strangely protected by her power over me.
“Look upwards”, she commands, her words reaching me through the layers of scarlet cloth like kind dove messengers sent on an errand of secret passion. And I gaze upwards, there to behold the very rose of my deepest desires, flush and moist and slightly parted, begging for my attention. “You know what to do”, she coos, and I extend my torso slightly and then arch my neck to obey. My tongue darts about the edges and my breath invites her warmth in return, tenderest of heat saturating most inflamed of minds. In madness I dive deeper and reach again and again for honey that will drive me beyond all reason. My Mistress moans softly as she begins to push down lightly at first against my face, then more robustly as our mutual desire builds and builds. “You must not release this evening, do you hear?”, and I reply meekly that I do.
And then Mistress bids me take hold of her thighs with my arms in such a way that she may move about the ballroom. With the grace of a cat she begins to float amongst the other guests, they dancing with partners above and she dancing with a partner below. I see now the real intended design of this little cart upon which I kneel. Sexual energy radiates from person to person as ornate costumes are partially and then completely removed. The throng dances naked and boiling with unbound passion as Mistress seems to conduct them the way a maestro would conduct a symphony, only this symphony seems to build constantly towards a crescendo which lies forever just out of reach. Groans of pleasure compete with the music, growing louder and louder as the band tries to keep up, the tempo rising from waltz to frenzied battaglia. Couples clutch at one another with desperate longing as they remain on their feet, seemingly unable to fall to the floor, there to consummate their fiery lust. Mistress leads them into a wide spiral, like a galaxy of hot stars all besotted with each other, the overall energy rising and building towards some unimaginable ultimate end. The spiral tightens and spins faster as I feel now the collective strength of this great furnace and press into her loins with relentless abandon, my mind a bright flare of my lust craving nothing but more of her lust. Anything for her! Anything for her! Like the universe imploding we all give in to Mistress’ vision of brilliant cosmic liberation, till at last all becomes a blinding white blur, music mixing perfectly with moans mixing perfectly with touch with taste with smell with ………………….
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“Wake up, my rolling wave. Wake up and be free!”
And with those tenderest of words drifting into my surfacing mind, I find myself moving upwards from deepest sleep and into the bright morning sun of my Mistress’ bedroom, back where all of this started. And as my thoughts begin to coalesce I notice desire building within me once again, only this time I sense at the end of the crescendo will be a climax of gleaming release instead of the dulcet darkness of longing diving ever deeper and deeper into an unquenchable abyss.
Just as I am about to give in completely to my feelings, knowing that in another moment I will lose control and release, I manage a question, still somewhat concerned as to who might be observing. The memories of last night’s orgy still fresh in my mind. “Where are all the guests?”, I ask.
“Guests? What guests? I assure you, my rolling wave, we have been quite alone here in this little seaside cottage for weeks.”
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This is a good one. I wish I would have thought of it myself! Bravo!
J
You are an amazing writer. I wish I had your talent!
I would love to experience something like this in the way that he thinks it is so real. I do ok with hypnosis MP3s but I still am aware it is not real.
You write really great. I am a big fan.