La Plume

August 16, 1788
 
 
Mon Cher Donatien
 
 
Tethered to our bed, I looked up at the ceiling. Imaging the world above. The busy Parisian streets of Montmartre. Elegant women and men making their way. Doing their duty, playing their roles. While I was here, spreadeagled. My arms and legs tied to the four corners of the world. Splayed wide for all to see. Yet nestled safe within our chamber. Behind the thick grey door.  
 
I raised my head, surveyed what I can see of my body. I saw my toes sticking up, then the length of my spread legs. Tufts of my fur peek out. Beads of dew glistened in the candlelight. I started to smile, but stopped when I recalled the wooden block in my mouth. Smooth and heavy, it reminded me of my place.
 
During our time together you brought out of my world, into yours. Taking the most ordinary things, like a child’s toy block, and making it sensual, making it sexual. My eyes drifted over to the wall with all of your implements. Various devices from all over the world, collected during your travels. The burgundy leather camel whip from Morocco. The full bull whip from Mayorca. A solid wooden paddle from the Marquis himself. So many toys, so many sensations. I had felt them all. Could identifying them by their swat or sting while blindfolded.  
 
The door opened with all of its fanfare. Swinging wide, I heard the hinges creak. You came in as you always did. Face full of focus. Eyes scanning about, taking stock, taking inventory. But stopping on me, the sight I made. There I was… helpless. Amply damp from anticipation, lips parted. Mouth drooling from the wooden block. Feminine desire on display, helpless, utterly seduced. I would give everything you asked, even more.  
 
I noticed right away the black silk blindfold. Unable to help myself, I giggled a muffled giggle. Almost girlish, a girl ready to play. Red Riding Hood ready to play with her Big Bad Wolf. Let him devour her, whole. I raised my head so you could tie tight the silk. Sealing me again in your darkness.
 
Then you walked away. Over towards your dresser. I heard the top drawer open, it had a lighter sound than the others. Your more “delicate” playthings were kept there. Some most pleasurable, others sharp and painful. Which would you choose? I would have to lie here waiting to find out.
 
“I saw your husband,” you said nonchalantly. “In fact, he is just one boulevard over.  Visiting Madame Dupont, I suspect.” Hers was a place where gentlemen went for a little exotic entertainment… for a price. I started to flush with anger, then remembered where I was, what I was doing. “I wonder how many Francs he will spend?” You chuckled. “While you are getting your desert for free…” You joined me, sitting on the bed beside by left hip. “Maybe I should start charging a fee… for my services.” I swallowed some drool.  
 
A warm tingle began on my left cheek. It crossed slowly across my skin, until it reached my upper lip. This tingling became a subtle itch at first. I started to try to scratch it, until I remembered my rope around my wrist. I felt its coarseness tighten with my pull.  
 
“Do you like my plumage,” you asked. I shook my head slightly.  
 
Encased in darkness, my other senses were heightened. I could feel your every move sitting next to me on the canopy bed. I heard the rhythm of your breathing, the pounding of my heart. Even the flickering of the candle was clear to me. I smelled my scent, rising up from secret places. My skin was alive with sensation, what I felt, what I anticipated feeling. All the while trapped in this darkness, your darkness.
 
“You do not appear so… ladylike,” you mused out loud. “More like a whore, like the one your husband is probably enjoying. Ready to do whatever I want.” You were right. I was yours. Had been from the very start. I could not admit that outside of this room. But here, now… bound to this bed, there was no escaping it. All I wanted was to hold you, enfold myself around you. Feel you penetrate me, me sheathing you as you thrust deeper and deeper.  
 
The feather began its descending, dragging me down with it. I jostled between and itch and tickle. Partly squirm, partly rising up to the plume. The world went away, the room went away… even you went away. There was only sensation and reaction. I was addicted to this, all of this. Being overpowered by all that was you. Your mastery of pleasure and pain, my submission to everything. Wanting to please you, please myself.  
 
After an eternity you reached between my thighs. I felt a tingling connecting my pouting lips to my budded nipples. My moans spilled out along with my drooling. I felt the warm saliva on my chin. This was submission. This was me. As I was meant to be. Free from everything in my total helplessness. The wooden block kept me begging you to…  
 
Then you stopped. You just stopped.
 
My head was spinning, my hips raised up. I searched for the feather, for you, for anything to push me over the edge. Nothing.
 
You sat quiet, motionless for what seemed like hours. My racing heartbeat slowed down. My breathing calmed. My fists unclenched.  
 
Then I heard you adjust yourself, the telltale unsnapping of your trousers. Then the sound of flesh being self-pleasured. Long slow strokes along with you quicken breath. I could not see you. I could not touch you. All I could do was lie here and listen. A front row seat, I was denied from enjoying.  
 
Until I felt you spill… all over me.