She laid on the table…

She laid on the table.  It was lightly padded covered in black vinyl.  The legs were a cold metal, silver in color.  It reminded her of the tables in her college sick room where she could lay down when her period was too strong or her stomach was upset.  The table in this room was like that.  She moved slightly to try to find comfort.  The metal legs of the table scrapped slightly across the tile making a squeaking noise.  The noise seemed louder than expected in this large room with nothing but the table she was laying on.

As she laid on the table, waiting, she felt a chill run through her.  The source of the chill was from the coldness in the room but not the temperature of it.  The walls were grey, all four painted the same shade.  They were barren of pictures or windows.  All four the same except for the one that had the door that leads to the hallway she entered an hour ago.  The door was metal, again reminding her of the health room from college.  At some point its original color was grey.  The streaks of grey struggled to show through and be seen.  This side of the door was painted black without concern of consistent strokes.  She could see where the paint had bubbled and run down to the floor.   There was a  small window, too high to provide any insight into what was happening on the other side, covered with wrinkled black construction paper.  The paper was spotted with watermarks and stains.  The corners tattered and ripped.  Remnants of tape where the paper had fallen and been replaced sloppily.  Her eyes followed one of the bubbled runs of black paint to the floor.  Square tiles, larger than most she had seen, like the pavers in her grandmothers garden that she used to play hopscotch on.  They were dirty.  She could barely tell the true color.  Like everything else in the room, it just looked grey.

She turned her focus to her body.  The chill in the room was obvious, but she realized she was sweating.  Her naked back was sticking to the thin vinyl pad on the table.  She shut her eyes as she moved slowly as to not make the squeaky noise from the table legs again.  She tried to arch her back to allow air to pass through and chill her skin.  She couldn’t arch her back high enough to pull her skin from the table.  She tried a second time but the only result was another squeak from the table legs.

She opened her eyes and looked up at the light.  The only thing in the room that didn’t appear grey.  The light was dim but in contrast to the room and its placement above her head the small narrow beam struck her eyes and forced them shut.

She laid there with her eyes shut and became aware of how her body was feeling.  There was an aching and a stingy feeling that was alternating its annoyance.  It wasn’t painful, that would come later she told herself.  This was just an awareness of something that wasn’t her normal bodily reaction.  She focused on the sting.  The source was obvious but the sting was unexpected.  But then, she didn’t know what to expect.  She knew it was from the ropes.  She carefully opened her eyes to just a slit to protect them from the dim stream of light that had assaulted them before.  The ropes were light in color.  Not white, cream or beige, she couldn’t tell.  Through her barely opened eyes and the dim light beam she could see the rope was frayed.  Little tiny splinters of string.  Millions of them.  So perfecting aligned and sticking straight out about 1/4 of an inch all the way around each strand of rope that wrapped her arms and legs.  The ropes were woven through her legs and arms and looped around her wrist and ankles.  They weren’t as tight as she thought they might be.  Tight enough to make her aware but there was still circulation.  Her hands and feet could move freely.  They weren’t changing colors from the blood flow being constricted.  She wondered if they would get tighter later.  Her hands and feet oddly linked together.  She couldn’t raise her head to get a good look at the tangled strands of ropes and how the knots were tied.  Her knees were pulled toward her chest.  She couldn’t lower them.  She attempted to move them so she could see the knots but there wasn’t enough give in the loops that attached her arms and feet.  her legs were spread apart.  She expected that.  She was surprised at her curiosity about the rope.  The knots and how they were tied.  The loops and how they were woven between her hands and feet.  She wanted to see them.  To study them.  She had asked when they tied her to watch.  She was told no.  They had even placed a towel over her face.  They weren’t rough with her.  They asked her with every tug and pull if she was ok.  Had she expected kindness?  Everything she had imagined so far didn’t match the actual process and experience.

She stopped trying to investigate the knots and loops and settled on the table again.  She laid her head back.  She mentally went through the process that leads to her laying on the cold steel table.  She was excited.  She had dreamed of this for years.  All through college since meeting James.  They talked for hours about all the possibilities of intimate pleasures she had never dreamed of.  She was shocked by what he told her.  She hung on every word.  She never imagined anything he spoke of, but as he told her of his interests and experiences she realized how hot it made her.  She felt flushed when he would talk about his dominance.  She felt the wetness between her legs as he looked into her eyes to catch her reaction.  James left to attend college in Boston, but the desires and curiosities he had planted in her stayed with her.  She researched and read everything she could about these new experiences.  She wanted more.  She wanted her own experiences.

Two years later she finds herself here.  Waiting.  She signed the paperwork and consent form.  She had her safe word and she instructed them of her limits.  She wanted to start slow, with bondage.  The sting of the ropes was more obvious now as her memory rolled through the stories that James had told her.

She laid on the table.  Bound and naked.  Legs spread wide.  She was already turned on from the thought of what was about to happen.  Her first time.  Steven, who she called Master would be in shortly.   They had met several times over the past few months.  They had numerous discussions about what she was interested in.  He explained everything that would happen.  She felt safe. She felt excited.  She laughed a soft quiet laugh aloud but barely audible.  She wasn’t scared she was anxious.  She had waited so long that she was beginning to think it would never happen.  She almost tired of the meetings and discussions and was getting frustrated.  She understood the why, but the longing for something new and different was strong.

Today was the day.  She heard the door open.  She didn’t turn her head toward the door to look at him.  She kept her face toward the dim light with her eyes closed.  Her senses were alert and every nerve ending was alive.

The wait was finally over.

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