My Master’s bed is firm against my back. The rope he chose is soft on my wrists, but binds them securely to the headboard; his are the only hands that will touch my body tonight. My knees are bent and my legs splayed apart, as he instructed, leaving me vulnerable and open for him. He kneels at my side, eyeing me with admiration, his slick finger poised at my entrance. I am naked, exposed, completely at his mercy. It is such a wonderful place to be.
“Are you ready, my darling?” my Master asks, his voice quiet and expectant.
I shiver in anticipation. “Yes, Sir. I’m ready.”
He smiles approvingly and touches his soft, wet, fingertip to my entrance; I shudder at the cold contact. He lingers for a moment, his finger resting against me, neither retreating nor pushing forward.
“You’re tense,” he says. His tone is neutral, neither disapproving nor sympathetic. A simple statement of fact.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes.
“Hush, pet. It’s alright,” he reassures me, his voice softening. “You are doing well. I have faith in you.” He reaches out with his free hand, cupping it around my cheek. “Look into my eyes.”