Waiting games

The Photographer and I had a fantastic, and very action-packed evening with Smart Set on Saturday. There's a lot to discuss, and I want to go over it carefully, as there were a number of new experiences for both of us, so I'm going to take my time.

Everything was in a context of care - we felt looked after from start to finish and are eagerly anticipating the next date. Upon arrival, there were three white envelopes pinned to the door, one for me, two for him. It was all I could do to not clap my hands with glee (we were alone, so I did it anyway). I stripped, leaving my clothes in a pile, then waited, hands-on-head, for whatever was to come next.

Waiting is always an interesting experience for me, as I am not generally speaking particularly patient. Being made to wait is an obvious removal of control and also a giving-up of my usual self-authority: I do not do or think for myself, instead I wait for instruction. I wasn't nervous, just slightly excited. Anticipating. The sensation of being naked in someone else's home was curious, I wasn't entire comfortable either psychologically or physically - I had the prickle of the cork mat under my knees to keep me distracted from idle thoughts. Kneeling next to the door I felt like an unattended parcel, gently breathing, eyes closed, waiting for someone to come and collect. The Photographer returned, putting a soft, tight fitting leather hood over my face, complete with a delightful gag which had an inch or so of comforting rubber insert that I held between my lips, feeling sealed in and safe. He fastened cuffs on my wrists and ankles then finally a collar. Carefully, he led me somewhere else. Having been shown around the space on a previous occasion I had an inkling of where I might be going, however, by this point the combination of the bondage and the moments to collect myself had already got me reasonably floaty, which was nice.

One of the things I enjoy about sensory deprivation is the impact of the feelings that you do get to experience. Bare feet on cold, slightly slippy tile brings up instant associations of shower blocks, imprisonment, asylum wards. I'm taken somewhere warm, the heat hits my cooling skin and I'm glad of it. My feet are on stone now, I'm thinking of dungeons, caves lost, abandoned places. He kneels me down on soft fur, which compounds the associations of caves. I'm clipped in place - collar tied to the centre, arms spread to each side, ankles together, thighs pulled apart. Spread. He plays with me briefly and I move a little towards him. Then he leaves. There is a terrible spike of panic as I hear a door shut, a latch going into place. I'm alone. I can't really move. This is very real. Then the panic goes away and I'm in a warm cocoon of calm. Just me and my body. Waiting.

The first thing I do is concentrate on my breathing, slow. Feeling my chest rise and expand and hearing the delicate chink of chain as I move ever so slightly. Bondage makes me still. Very still. I relax into it, as time goes on I start to feel the low aches in my shoulders, neck and back from waiting, but despite that, I like the wait. In the warmth, I start to feel slightly drowsy, dreamy, which pushes me further under, together with my growing arousal. There is just sensation, little thought: I am a animal in captivity, a slave bought and sold and ready to be used.

Beneath the hood, I'm grinning.