Pulling into the driveway, I glanced up. The dark curtains were drawn. He was here. And earlier than expected.
No sooner had I parked the car, I was bounding up the front steps to the heavy mahogany door. There was a small note taped there. “Quiet,” it read. I had already made too much noise. Shameful, I thought, though the promise of what was to come only increased the now pulsing between my thighs.
I paused to catch my breath, to focus. Anticipation in the form of glistening beads of sweat gathered on my temples. My nipples stimulated instantly by the movement of my satin camisole.
I slid my key into the lock, quietly slipping inside, easing the door shut again and locking us both in for the evening. I felt every rise and fall of my blouse. The house was cold but I already knew the warmth of the whips lashings would soon feel like noonday sunlight upon my skin; burning hotter as my flesh methodically reddened, lulling me into a dreamy state of heavenly submission.
The last golden light from a setting sun, slipped in from slits and edges of the draperies, softly illuminating the otherwise darkly staged room. He must have had the floors polished, the faint smell of wax reaching up to touch my nose.
In front of me, on the old oak table there was a small wooden box dark etchings covered the lid. It was my wooden box, kept away from me until moments such as these. Focusing on it, I smiled widely for a brief moment before scanning over the evening’s chosen attire.
Next to the box, lay a crucifix of tarnished gold; an aged bible whose pages frayed at the end and undoubtedly will waft musty when opened. Next to it, there were blood red rosary beads and a hairpin made of pearl. A dull gray woolen jacket and skirt were draped over a chair to my right. The fabric promised fitted, uncomfortable resignation. On the seat, there were black stockings I knew to be as soft as lambskin, soon to be shredded as the others before, and my corset of blue constraining movement further. His impeccable taste delivered no finer vision of bodily worship.
My heart now steady, I took to slipping off my shoes, placing them softly on the table. A door shut in the back of the house, startling me. The smell incense began to make its way out of the hallway; a soft mist indicating he was aware of my arrival, my presence required in a timely manner. We indeed had a lot of catching up to do.
Careful not to make a sound, I took off my business suit and placed it on the chair with my purse and keys. I eased into the imported silk stockings, my hair pulled back into a bun, carefully securing each clasp of the restrictive corset. I took my time getting dressed; smoothing out the rough fabric of the suit with my hands as the moments ticked slowly by. Every tiny detail attended to, as it would be minutely scrutinized.
One little peak before my affirmation began. Carefully, I lifted the boxes lid. A diamond studded collar twinkled against black velvet lining. My heart picked up it’s pace again. He had taken it with him on the business trip. I raised the lid and released, letting it slam shut.
I wrapped the beads loosely around my right hand and slipped back into my heels.
I grabbed the box and tucked it under my arm. I picked up the book, the cross on top.
“Hail Mary, full of grace. Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women,” I whispered.
With long purposeful steps, I strode to the location of the closed door. My feet heavy, my heels thumping hard on the wooden floors echoing throughout the house, sure to reach his ears. I would suffer at his hands for having broken the rules. I would suffer at his hands for the redemption of my soul. My long awaited confession would be first; for whilst he was away, I committed the most lecherous of sins; the lascivious hallmark of an unrestrained predator, hunting in the night her targeted prey.
Welcome home, my love.