The fire in your eyes

Her face is lit up by the candle flame, but the glint in her eyes is made of more than that. There are smudges of black around her lashes where the mascara has run from tears. And yet she is smiling. She looks up at me and smiles and the world shifts into sharp focus. Something passes between us in the moment where I hold the candle near her mouth and say she can blow it out if she wants to stop.

She just smiles.

And I go back to pouring the liquid wax along her red, red back. Red from the scratches where I dragged my nails through the threads of solid white wax to reveal fresh, bright skin. Red from the streaks and strokes of the rubber flogger I used to warm the skin and bring the blood to the surface, flood the capillaries and the nerve endings with plenty of sparkling oxygen. All the better to feel me with, my dear. I can feel the heat on her skin without even laying my cool palm on her flesh, hovering in that not-quite-touching place when you almost feel the magnetic pull of one body towards and another. It's in direct contrast to the cool of the metal cross she's tied to. After turns and turns of wax poured on and skin scoured clean, both on her front and on her back I decide she is ready.

There's a small vibrator nestling in her underwear, just a gentle reminder of the balance between pleasure and pain, soft and hard sensation. Eventually, I slip my fingers between her skin and the white fabric, teasing her open, feeling how wet she has become and knowing that this too, belongs to me. I play with her clit, watching her face for those twitches at the corner of the mouth, the tell-tale signs of an oncoming orgasm. She looks at me, whispering a request for permission, and I grant it swiftly enough - this is something I want her to do for me, perhaps more than she might want for herself. She tips her head back and moans as she comes, then thanks me.

I take her down, to a smattering of applause. Slowly we move, leaning a little against the other, collecting our things and towards a nearby sofa, in the gently cooling dark. I lay her down, head on my lap, naked body open up to me like an unfurling precious piece of rich fabric. A tapestry of endless fascination. I stroke her hair, kiss her forehead and with a small knife, carefully pick off the remaining wax as we both return to something approaching normality.

When we play it is so, so easy. I move this way and that, feeling like an artist, an action painter, where every move makes something special happen. Each time I play with Blush I'm reminded of everything that is good about BDSM play, we riff off each other very well with our kinks and our desires. I trust her body to respond to my touch and she trusts mine to guide her through each scene. There's a balance to our bodies, they fit well against each other. I step forward and she leans back into my arms, I cup her cunt in my hand and push her upwards, she flexes against me and her feet lift up from the ground.

And whenever I hurt her, whenever I press, pinch, clip, strike or grind my knuckles against her ribs I can see the exhilaration flash in her eyes like sparks of light. She bites her lip, she grins, and oh help me, she even giggles. Her mouth opens in a perfect "o" as if I've said something deliciously witty whilst presenting her with a surprise box of kittens. I have never seen such a positive response to pain. I want to keep seeing it again, and again. I love her pain, it is enthralling, fulfilling and beautiful. It makes me happy. So I hurt her, again and again and each time she smiles, and each time she says thank you, and means it.

After turns and turns of wax poured on and skin scoured clean, both on her front and on her back I take her down, to a smattering of applause. Slowly we move, leaning a little against the other, collecting our things and towards a nearby sofa, in the gently cooling dark. I lay her down, head on my lap, naked body open up to me like an unfurling precious piece of rich fabric. A tapestry of endless fascination. I stroke her hair, kiss her forehead and with a small knife, carefully pick off the remaining wax as we both return to something approaching normality.

She smiles.