I walked into the dark bedroom, closed the door. I flicked the light switch.
“Turn off the light.”
I paused, my back to the room. My pulse rate increased.
“You know how this works.”
I obeyed. A soft grayness tinted my vision. I breathed deep, air caught in my constricting chest. I waited.
Time stood still, its weight pressed in on me. I imagined that I heard his breathing, but it was just my mind yearning for contact. My ears ached. My cheeks burned as my need grew. I wanted. My skin tingled. My breasts tightened. My nipples throbbed. My legs weakened and trembled.
“Unbutton your blouse.”
I looked down at my shaking fingers as I slipped the top button from its hole.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
“I can’t undo my shirt without watching what I’m doing,” I said.
“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” His voice was calm and quiet.
Adrenaline surged through me.
“Take your time and do the best you can. Just keep your eyes up. You may respond.”
“Yes, Sir,” I said.
I pushed the second button loose. I watched the dark corner from where his voice emanated. I glimpsed a large chair, a body positioned as if on a throne, elbows and hands resting on the arms, feet planted on the floor. The only light in the room came from behind the chair, soft, velvety and aimed at me over his head.
My fingers slid over my shirt, searching for the next button. Not looking down was a real challenge, but I knew, from before, that not following directions would lead to punishments. Since he was very creative and thus, unpredictable, no two chastisements were the same. Each pushed me to a new place, unchartered territory. I wanted to step into the unknown. I craved new experiences. I yearned to be free of responsibilities. I dreaded what I had not yet done. I warred within myself over the fear of what he might tell me to do and the desire to release all of myself to what he would require of me.
But it was too soon to give in to my itch to disobey.
I kept my head up, my eyes focused on his invisible eyes, my mouth slightly open, panting.
“Very good,” he said. I thought I could hear a smile in his voice. I revelled in his approval.
The fourth button popped out of its tight prison. I slipped my fingers along my exposed skin, parting my blouse until my hands reached the junction of the fifth and final button. I grasped the material on either side and pulled the two halves of my shirt apart, a small violence in the motion. The button caught, held and I pulled harder. The fabric ripped. The button popped off and pinged on the floor.
I looked down, watching it roll across the hardwood. It came to rest on the edge of the plush area rug.
“I told you not to look away,” he said.