Scene: Into Temptation

I ring your doorbell.

You open the door, we say hello. You're all in black, sleeves rolled partway up your forearms, clothes crisp and neat. I walk in, lingering just inside the doorway, a little hesitant. The house is dimly lit, so I can't make out much. You look at me, ask me if I'm ready. I nod, not trusting myself to speak, a bundle of nervous words sure to bubble forth if I tried. You invite me to sit, ask me to take off my shoes and coat, set my bag down, and then close my eyes and wait. You move away, busy with something as I do as you say. First the bag, then the coat, then my heels are discarded. I choose a seat, and with a deep breath, shut my eyes.

Losing my sight makes me that much more aware of my other senses. The slight chill in the air makes goosebumps run down my arms and under my dress - a woven, low-cut, wide-necked dark grey affair which I've chosen with your instructions (and tendencies) in mind. As I brush the pinpricks away, I strain to distinguish the sounds of what you're doing without much success. You make me wait a while. I'm terribly aware of how my body looks, so I shift often, trying to find a posture that I think might look okay. I'm so caught up in figuring out where to put my hands that I don't notice that you're back.

"Can you please stop fidgeting?"

I go very still at that, my hands sinking into my lap and staying there.

"That's better. Now, I want you to do something for me."

My head is turned towards your voice. I'm listening intently.

"Keep your eyes closed, please. I want you to take off your bra and underwear. Leave the dress on. I'm going to watch. You can stand up if you need to. Please don't waste any time."

This last line, I know, is because of my tendency to freeze as I consider the implications of your words. This time, I don't pause. I get to my feet, hand on the wall for support. My panties come off first, black hipsters drawn down and shimmied out of in no time. I carefully step out of them, bend over to pick them up and place them on the seat behind me, orienting myself by feel. The bra, in matching black, is a slightly more difficult proposition, since my dress has long sleeves. I start with the clasp, reaching under the back of my dress to undo it. I know the kind of view this gives you, and ordinarily would pause at this point to let the import of that hit me, but I'm trying, really trying to follow instructions properly this time. So once it's unhooked, I reach around to carefully work the straps down my shoulders and out from under my elbows. It's tricky, but I pull each sleeve up and reach for the bra strap, eventually getting both done. It's a simple matter to then reach into my cleavage to pull the bra out, but as I move to do so, I find your hand has already made its way between my breasts, my bra caught between your fingers, the operation soon complete, even as you take the chance to tug my dress a little lower and heft my left breast in your hand. Perhaps I've wasted time despite trying not to. Or maybe you just felt like sampling the goods. I hold still, hands at my sides, eyes shut as you fondle me, only breathing out when you pinch my nipple and withdraw, leaving me exposed.

"Mmm, that was very nice. Turn around and put your hands behind your back, please."

I comply, biting my lip as you take my wrists and bind them together with what feels like a leather belt. It's a comfortable bind, enough to keep me restrained but not enough to cause pain. It feels....right, like it belongs. And I know I can't undo it myself, no matter how hard I try. This is the beginning, where the feeling of letting go can start. I let it wash over me. You know what's going through my mind at this point, so you don't bother with words to interrupt, simply placing a blindfold around my head to obscure my vision completely and once again, taking choice away from me. Now, even if I choose to open my eyes, I'll be blind until you decide otherwise. I fall a little further into my surrender.

Once the blindfold is in place, you turn me around for a kiss, gentle but warm, before steering me further into the house, your hand at the small of my back. You don't know it, but I take great comfort from having your hand resting there - the warmth caresses my sensitive skin, and your touch calms the beginnings of nerves. I'm a little unsteady on my feet, but your guidance is firm and sure, and we get there without incident.

"Take a step forward, please. Then get down on your knees - I want your legs spread, though - and wait."

Instead of cold floor, I find something soft beneath my feet and then my knees as I comply. Kneeling there, I wait patiently for you.