The Capture

When you wake, you cannot tell.

You feel your eyelashes flicker against something soft but obtrusive as you
attempt to beat back your disorientation with vision. You jerk your head from
side to side, feeling your head penned in""are your arms beside your head? Are
they tied there? You cry out""only to be greeted with the sopping roughness of
cloth in your mouth and the wet, muffled sound of your own voice. The sound
and sensation shocks you into silence for a moment.

And then you start to scream for real.

I let you.

Your hands bound together above your head, your ankles bound to the antique
bedposts at the foot of the old, mahogany bed, The tatters of your clothes,
cut carefully, lovingly from you with nurse's scissors while you lay
unconscious are smoke""their use in kindling the woodstove fire across the
room is what, along with your waking fear, wrings the beaded sweat from your
skin as you thrash and cry in your all-encompassing bonds. Your eyes, your
voice, your agency""all taken from you.

I sit in the absurdly comfortable leather armchair by the door. And watch. And
listen. I take a sip of my glass and taste the wine. Slowly, languorously. and
I watch.

Your eyes finally, bulging in their fear, scrape against the blindfold
material, and you cry out a hiss of pain and then freeze momentarily. No doubt
the solidity of the bonds at your wrists and ankles has begun to assert itself
as well. Still you cry out, but your protests subside gradually into more and
more distant whimpers. Until you grow silent.

I watch your ribcage rise and fall, taking your toned, muscular chest with it,
as you try to regain control of your breathing. Your body slicks with moisture
in the effort, glistening in the flickering light from the glass front of the
woodstove. I hear one final, choked sob""relishing the strength in your
decision to hold back""such a strong, good boy.

I see tears seep from under your blindfold, but your struggles and your cries
have ceased. I sip my wine and watch as they pool and then fall over your
cheeks to stain the soft blue sheet under you. Soft new sheets. For us.

When I stand and let the sound of my high heels signal my deliberate approach,
I see you stiffen. When you feel my hot breath at your throat, you stop
breathing. I inhale you. Deeply. And then I speak.

"Now our story begins, I waited a long time to have you. But now you are
mine." I see you freeze. I hear the intake of your breath""and don't hear you
exhale. I slowly and teasingly run my lacquered nails over your chest. I look
carefully and see your body respond to my touch. I see your body twitch and
then you exhale.

I enjoy the rush of power as I slowly move my fingernails over your abs,
lightly and teasingly.

Slowly I move lower towards your groin. I move teasingly slow and then
suddenly take the tip of your cock between my thumb and index finger. Almost
instantly I feel your dick throb and slowly grow into an erection.

I smile...darkly at your gagged and blindfolded visage.

"Oh boy..... I barely touched you. Perhaps you secretly enjoy this" I say
mockingly and I instantly see your face blush behind your blindfold. I watch
your lovely body...so pretty. I watch your body shiver as I close my hand
around your erection.

I close my eyes and smile, unseen.

I watch your body tremble. My slave boy""now you've made your choice.

And so I make mine.