An innovative twist…

Often in life you find yourself with a variety of items of uncertain origin.. items that somehow sit in the sidelines of your day to day world slowly losing the relevance of why they were acquired and from where. Sometimes these forgotten relics of decisions long since distant leap into a new reality and become something quite different from their creators intent…

So it came to be that one fairly ordinary Tuesday, a mid week day of normal responsibilities and tasks suddenly took on quite a startling new direction.. my terrible muse, a woman of such innocent appearance but of such a shocking mind had found some time to come over for a lunchtime visit. My delicious treat is of an obliging nature and asked should she bring anything with her? Aside from the obvious choices of scones, fresh cream and lovely jam I suggested that perhaps the spreader bar, cane, whip and blackout blindfold may be more appropriate. With great delight, my naughty minx hurriedly packed an appalling selection of terror as well as some beautifully baked scones.

Upon the arrival of my Blonde lover I quickly whisked her into the little cottage on my property (this cottage has borne witness to some quite inappropriate adventures indeed). After a quick change into effectively nothing at all, my little kitchen squirrel had transformed into a very naughty bondage slut… subtle draping of lace, bound wrists, eyes rendered redundant by way of a latex blindfold, buttplug of disproportionate size, spreader bar attached to ankles and THE most wicked smile.. I have often thought of the need for a defibrillator, now was a moment of need… how is she so alluring???

Without sight her path was dependant on trust, I lead her across tiles, floorboards and carpet.. each step a new sensation, each footstep a journey of trust, each footstep slowly building anticipation, each footstep delicately feeling her balance, each footstep the excitement built, each footstep I held her and guided my object of desire with care and lust. Simple slow movements of intent, regardless of action build such illicit energy.. As I walked her slowly but carefully through the interconnecting rooms I made definite the closure of doors, the sounds of uncertain areas, the sounds of unfamiliar rooms, the confusion of location… her anticipation was overwhelming, I quickly held her body as her legs quivered and her stance wilted… we had only walked briefly, what was to become of her in the imminent arrival to an old and neglected item??

I carefully allowed her body to fall upon this ancient relic of some designers fantasy.. and old children’s metal chair. Rusted and speckled with what remained of lime green paint, a seat too small for even a petite adult, a pipe like frame with uncomfortable angles to encourage upright posture, too short to sit comfortably… the clink of her buttplug against the metal chair shocked her back from sub space. As I secured her spreader bar through the chair’s frame, I attached her bound wrists to a chain that was hanging from a an old bunk bed, the chair was also tied to this bed, there was no chance to wriggle or move. Slowly I traced my fingers down her face, impossibly lightly, the subtle fall of petals against the stillness of calm water… my voice, deep with intent whispered softly that she would be safe.. slowly the pain of metal clamps appeared across what was visible of her beautiful face, her nipples hardened by delight, her chest moving from the same sting that she loves.. with great delicacy I let the tip of the cane drift effortlessly against her back, slowly descending the length of her spine, ever so lightly tapping on her buttplug, her beautiful bottom so compromised from sitting the wrong way on an uncomfortable forgotten chair.. the silence. Silence and being still is where terror derives.. only her breath and heartbeat to comfort her thoughts, her feet on an unfamiliar floor, her body awkward and bound, that silence… where had I gone? How long for? Where is the cane??

Crack! That unmistakable sound of rattan on skin… the wince of pain.. the moan of delight… the silence again… the still calm of the dominant reading the movement of the submissive… watching her breathe, remembering her unbound… is this pleasure or pain? That slow and still watching of her heartbeat… is she ready? Crack! Again… she winces and then slowly turns her head so slightly in a way of pleasure that I have coursed to remember.. how has the Cane, the scourge of my school years become such an object of depraved lust?? This uncomfortable chair has now become a torturous machination of intense love… the collection of items, whips, heated oil, clamps, pinwheels… so many choices… so much to consider… such twists to reveal unto the body of my goddess bound in front of me…

Needless to say, there was considerably more to follow from the simple act of walking 10 steps and receiving 2 cane strikes.. what I can say is that neither my Perfect Lover nor I shall ever look at a rusted metal chair the same way ever again. The amazing world that you can transcend by way of the hidden duality of purpose from such simple, innocent and overlooked items in your house… a metamorphosed reality of forgotten decisions..