Imagine this my slave…

You have waited for me at the front door, on your knees on the hard surface of the rug. 'Welcome' it says. You are silent.

I have been away for 3 hours. You have faithfully waited.

You are naked, your buttocks resting on your heels and your hands on your thighs, palms open. A blindfold makes you sightless and a ballgag speechless. You can hear me, though, and you raise your head towards me. I bang the door shut and stride by you. In passing I see that your cock is still on the rise. It is helpless. I ignore you.

I shed my coat and go to the lounge. You remain where you are, the way you are, as I mix a drink and sit down on the sofa. I have left the door open.

I then talk to you aloud.

'If I were to tie your hands to the hook in the ceiling, so that your body is stretched out high, would you be thankful? Would I then restore your sight and offer you the gift of speech? I would stand before you fully dressed and hold a small cane in my hand.

'What if I'd start gently caning you, very gently? I would touch, hit your buttocks, hit your chest, your thighs and calves. And every so often your cock. For amusement I would push your cock off centre, just below the head, and see it spring back. A stiff spring. Your cock would have been hard, remain hard and start pre-cumming.

'Assume that I then would intensify the caning. Your buttocks, your back and chest, your thighs and your calves would now start to bear the signs of my labour. I would start heating up and sweat would be visible on my brow. You, on your part, would writhe in vain attempts to escape the blows, yet would be tough and hold on, teeth clenched. The moment would come that you finally do scream. With this scream you would express all that you have held back. The scream would be worthy of a lion pierced through the heart by his hunter.

'What if I would then be impressed by your reaction, and conclude the exercise by dealing you one final blow on your buttocks and a peck on your cock? Your cock, would it have remained hard throughout? That would still amaze me, though I have known you a while.

'Consider that I would then stop and take my distance from you, a dozen feet or so. I would be breathing heavily and be red in the face. We would look at each other; I, the Mistress, cane in hand, fully dressed in conservative attire, you, cold and naked, save your collar and bracelets. Red marks would be seen across your body, fear and admiration in your gaze. You would then observe my sliding towards introspection, as I would relax and lower the cane. My eyes would lose focus and turn away. We would both be alone.

'Would you be sure that I'd actually lose focus? Is it impossible to imagine that I'd actually spy on you from the corners of my eyes, that I'd secretly monitor the status of your erection, to see if it would fade? Would it be possible that you'd actually entertain the thought of me spying on you? Would this then be the very reason the erection would become firmer yet?

'Were I to take off my clothes - one by one - as if I were alone, without looking at you, would you writhe once again in your constraints? Would you die for the opportunity to touch your cock and relieve yourself? Would you relish all these moments when another one of my layers would be peeled off? The shoes kicked away, would your eyes follow them until they would have halted? Would you anticipate the particular chemise I'd wear underneath the delightful blue silk blouse? Would you guess whether I'd wear a pantyhose or stockings and suspenders underneath my narrow dark grey skirt? Would your breathing intensify when I'd pull the chemise over my head and thus reveal one of my beautifully embroidered bras? Would you know whether the bra would be next or in fact the girdle and stockings, the latter causing the revelation of my silky smooth legs, the former of my juicy breasts? Would you know which of the two you would prefer? When my panties, naturally matching the brassiere, would go, would you be embarrassed by my nudity and avert your eyes? Would you dare to be critical of the imperfections that age has bestowed upon me, a small belly, a line here and there, or would they add to your appreciation?

'Imagine I would absentmindedly linger on my spot, my clothes spread around me, would you dare breathing or even call out to me and request my attention? And regardless if you would or not, would I then slowly turn my back on you and reveal my statuesque back, resting on my hips and luscious buttocks, which crown my slender pair of legs? Would I make my way to the sofa behind me and slump into it? Would I continue to ignore you then, or simply not be aware of you, when I hence recline and spread my legs before your very eyes? Would I close my eyes and present you with the peaceful view of my sleeping self, the posture of which would be constant except for the observant viewer that you are, who could not remove his gaze from my body for the several hours that I would be asleep, a gaze which would wander across all of me, but with my cunt as a focus?'

'If I were to tie your hands...'

I then invite you in.

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