Saturday 16 May 2009


I wait. Bent over, hands on the chair, legs "properly" spread as instructed.

"Properly" meaning that you can see, well, everything.

I can feel you behind me, your gaze upon me, drinking in every detail.

I'm embarrassed by how turned on I am. The anticipation, the position, your stare, they all combine to heighten my arousal, which must be obvious to you, standing there.

I don't dare move my feet, but I try and clench my legs, my cheeks, in such a way that I can maybe hide my modesty a little.

"Don't even think about it."

You are quick to spot my aim.

I desist. I stay here, unmoving, bent over. Waiting.

You swish the cane a couple of times. The noise alone makes me flinch, sending shivers of fear and arousal through my body.


And I wait for the first stroke, fear and longing coursing through me.

Waiting for the cane to bite.

My enemy.

My friend.


Unknown said...

That image really turns me on. I'd prefer to use my hand on you.

Chromia said...

I like.

Julie said...

That is a stunning piece of writing. Congrats.

Eliane said...

Thank you guys :-)