Rhuarc Black

November 2009


Description: Watching a BDSM relationship through time.

Content Warning: This story has a BDSM theme and scenes that may be disturbing to some.


Why is it important to me?

I can't but wonder. I am strong. Stronger than you. Truth to tell I could break you in half without much effort.

I don't know. I really don't.

I have been looking for an answer and I can find none. A part of me suspects it's love. But I cannot believe it. I would be happy with your love without all of this. You taught me this.

I stand alone in the darkness of your creation. My bonds are strong, keeping me immobile. But they are not strong enough to hold me, not if I wish to escape.

Time passes slowly without light, without anything but the sound of my own breathing.

You aren't here. You left. It could be minutes or hours. Time has blended in my mind and I have forgotten how to count my breaths.

I stand here, my bonds restraining me, the pain of your punishment running through me with every breath I take. I stand here and I wonder. Why is this important to me?

Is it merely because it is important to you? I never went down that path, not of myself. I never would have even imagined. Before you, I would have laughed if someone suggested it.

But here I stand now, bound, blind, beaten. I stand and wait for you. I know not what I'm so patiently waiting for. Punishment or release. I never know. You never tell. I'm left to discover it with your presence.

Even if I never looked for it, it has become important to me. And I cannot stop but wonder why. What makes me stand here in painful wait for your pleasure?

I could break my bonds. Not with ease surely but with a bit of determination I could be free. I could open the door even if you've locked it. It's a strong door but I am stronger. I have done it enough times, no door can withstand my attack. I could even go up the stairs.

I could even go further and leave this house. Your house...

Is it fear then that keeps me here? Fear that without this I would lose you. Maybe but I don't believe so.

Every day you ask me if this is what I want. You have given me vows, not once nor twice but many times already, that all it would take is a single word from me and it would stop.

I believe you. I can see it in your eyes. You would give it up for me, this part of your life, of your soul.

So, it cannot be fear. Then what keeps me here? What makes me accept the stripes you give me? What makes me want them? What makes me submit at the glint of your eye?

What makes me accept your whip for infractions that I never imagined existed? What makes me repeat the same mistakes?

I wonder, is it something in me? Some weakness left undiscovered until you revealed it? I could have believed that. I honestly could have. But even the thought of another in your place sickens me.

I have seen the others, the drive of their need, their desire. We have little in common. I can understand what they want but it is a thing of the mind, not of the heart. Their desire to submit is something I respect but I cannot share in their excitement.

The treatment of others is something I tolerate for your sake. Not that you allow the touch of others upon me. I have lost the number of times you have stopped another from presuming upon me.

You do it for me as much as you do it for them. You know I will not succumb to their will, their expectations. You know as well as I that I can break them and I will.

So here I stand. Waiting for you. As always I fear that you will not come back. A part of me trusts that you would never break your word in such a way.

Another, darker, part of me trembles and blusters. It's that part of me that continually tests my bonds. That part of me that makes certain I know I could break them.

The softness of your hand as you touch the small of my back is balm and fire both.

I didn't hear you. I didn't feel you.

You know me too well. The longer you leave me in this darkness, the less sounds mean to me. I want to be angry. To stay strong and stand as I have been standing for what seems like hours.

My body, my mind, my heart betray me. I lean into your feathery touch. Your breath against the nape of my neck brings uncontrollable shivers to my body.

Your soft words mean nothing to me but their sound is enough to calm my racing heart. As you relieve me of my bonds I can only sigh and lean back into you.

You hold me tight, keeping me grounded, allaying my fears, nullifying my musings conceived of darkness. There is no soft bed to greet me, only the cold hard flagstones as I kneel in front of you.

You follow me down in my descent, your arms covering my naked shoulders. I feel your body against mine. The soft wool of your clothes against my pebbly naked skin.

Slowly ever so slowly you remove the blindfold from my eyes. I blink tears but finally I can see the shadows of this cellar.

A single candle somewhere behind us creates uneven patches of light. You softly kiss the nape of my neck and I close my eyes once more.

Like the encroaching shadows of the walls seeking to drown the light of the single candle you brought, my soul retreats into the darkness.

I need no feeble light when I can feel you against me. No fear can touch me now.


I can only watch you. What else can I do? I watch you as you slowly and carefully wash and dry the plates from our shared dinner.

There are essays for me to mark if I want to do some work. There is a movie I've wanted to watch for a while if I decide that is what I want to do tonight.

Yet I do nothing of the like. I simply sit here and watch you. I wonder whether you would prefer to go out. To the pub maybe or even some club or other. I do not ask you, not yet.

I don't want to shatter the stillness, the silence. I love this silence. This silence you habitually inhabit.

Finally the last plate is done and you carefully dry your hands before leaving the towel on the rail to dry. Then, only then, do you turn to me. I cannot help but smile as I see the soft smile spreading over your lips. For some reason, you always smile when you look at me.

I pat the chair next to me. You walk slowly towards me but when you reach my side you do not sit. Instead you kneel on one knee on the floor just in front of me. You do not speak, you merely kiss my knee and then gently let your forehead rest against my leg.

I have to look away. I hate seeing you like this. I love seeing you like this. I know you would never do it for another or to another. This you do just for me.

I touch your head, feeling the stubble scratching against my palm. The slight swishing sound as I caress your head sounds loud in the stillness of the room. I can hear your breathing, steady and calm, as you slowly relax under my hand.

For a moment I wonder how it would feel if you were different. Your hair, rough and wild I imagine it, under my hand. My fist clenching, jerking your head back, baring your throat.

I don't need to. Ever so slowly you let your head fall backwards cradled in my palm. Your throat appears bared in front of me. Your eyes are closed, your face serene, your surrender, right here, right now, to me, complete.

From the bottom of my heart I rejoice. My heart quickens to see you like this. My insides clench in savage desire.

From the bottom of my heart I, wretched me, stand appalled. My stomach drops in sudden fear. For how long will you stand this? Accept it? Embrace it?

How many more years, days, hours, do I have left? Before you leave. Before you decide that the life that others live is the life you prefer. Not this life. Not me.

I open my mouth to offer you an out once more. Your gaze arrests me as you open your eyes.

The words are soundless but I can read the movement of your lips. My heart breaks, my soul fractures. In this moment of tender truth I am complete.

You repeat yourself and your hoarse whisper reaches my ears like a wave upon a distant shore. Your meaning reaches my heart, a balm on aching muscle, soothing broken jagged edges. The sincerity of your gaze reaches deep in my soul, molten fire and ice remaking the fragments into one seamless whole.


I close my eyes as I touch your lips with mine. Slowly, hesitantly, gently. I feel you trembling, the emotion that you never put into words. I quake, feeding you all that I am in the fleeting touch of soft lips.

I form words, silently, soundlessly, against your lips. The same again and again until repetition of touch delivers my message without your eyes seeing it, without your ears hearing, only for your heart to feel it.



I watch you. You are angry. With me. I can only hang my head.

A part of me rebels. Such submission is not in my nature. Yet I cannot help myself.

Your anger is like a blade cutting deep into my chest until its sharpness reaches my heart. Your disappointment is a noose tightening around my neck, robbing me of breath, of thought.

Your gesture is curt, arrested. I flinch though your hand never comes near me. I follow the direction of your finger with my eyes. My eyes close of their own accord. I walk as the condemned walk.

A part of me rejoices. Your punishment is like a baptism. It cleanses me of any sins in your eyes. I let no trepidation enter my heart, even if it wreaks havoc in my thoughts.

As always when your punishment is no play, no trick designed to enhance pleasure, mine and yours, there are no bindings around my wrists, no cross to arrest my movements. Only the cold cement of the wall greets my palms as I stand there, head bowed low, eyes closed.

As always you are quick, brutal, unmerciful. I catch the sobs in my throat, the tears in my eyelids. My pride sustains me. I will not fall, I will not cry, I will not scream.

The pain envelops me, as hot as your anger, as hurting as your disappointment. Your words reach my ears but never arrive to my brain. All I know is the pain. It feels like blood even if I know, in my heart, that you would never do such.

It goes on and on. You go on until there is no strength in me no more. Until my knees fold, my palms scrape on the wall, my fingers twitch for traction.

I tremble on the cold flagstones, my skin heated and sore. I can see you through the blurring of the tears in my eyes.

You stand in front of me, over me, looking down at me. The strap held securely in your hand. I close my eyes, I turn my head till I face the floor, waiting for you to go on. For the pain to go on.

This baptism knows no cooling water, only scorching fire.


I tremble, my hands shake, my breath labours in my lungs. A mirror of you.

You lie there, face turned away from me, waiting in silence. My fist clenches on the strap but my arm remains unmoving.

You do not cry though there are tears hovering on the edges of your eyelids. You do not scream or yell or beg even when the pain engulfs you like fire. You have fallen but you are not down.

My anger rises, it demands satisfaction. The pain you've caused me screams for deliverance. My fist clenches so tight against the leather in my hand that my nails score deeply in the flesh of my palm.

You wait. For more.

I never stop, not before I crash every resistance, not before you become nothing but a quivering mass of repentance and remorse at my feet. I never have before. Tonight is no different.

Yet my arm remains unmoving. Statue-like as my whole body quivers and trembles.

If only you open your eyes, if only you cast upon me your customary gaze of defiance, I know, I know I will go on until I extinguish all defiance from your eyes.

But you stay there, trembling on the cold hard floor. Eyes closed, facing away from me. Waiting without sound, without rebellion, for your punishment to continue.

You know you are in the wrong. You know what you did was wrong. Even worse, I know you knew it would hurt me.

So there you lay, silent, accepting the punishment my arm refuses to deliver.

The moments pass slowly in time with the beating of the rain on the roof neither you nor I can hear. I can't breathe as I watch you, there, at my feet.

I cannot stand it anymore. The warring in my heart, anger and pride battling incessantly against the feelings your visage invokes in me.

I am down on my knees. The flagstones hard against my legs. Just a breath's worth of space between you and me.

My hand opens, jerkily flexes. The sound is tiny as the strap meets cold stone.

Breath escapes from my lungs, fiery, scorching. I breathe in, shuddering. My eyes close for a single moment.

The thoughts in my mind mean nothing. My convictions of right and wrong mean nothing. What I know I should do, the rules I have told you I will never break or bend, mean nothing.

Your body is so hot against me. Your trembling invades me, becomes my own. I hold you tight, as tight as I can. I hold you gently, as gently as I can.

You turn blindly until you face me. You do not open your eyes. Merely you burrow into my arms. The stubble on your head scratches against my chin.

Your tears come like a lava flow, scorching heat from the depths of you. They soak my shirt where you have hidden your face against my heart. Sobs rack through you, ravaging your frame, almost jerking you from my arms.

I hold you fast against me, my arms tight around your shoulders. I cannot stop the tears even if I wanted to. They fall irreverently against the skin of your head, mixing with the sweat beading on the nape of your neck, pooling on the floor between us.

All that you have denied me through your trials of pain, spill from you. You cry. You sob. You have fallen down.

And I have fallen just beside you. I am right there with you. Down.


I kneel at your side. An aide. A plaything. A moving part in this play you and the others like you adore to enact.

Your hand on my head is warm. It assures me of your attention. You scratch my scalp lightly and I shiver. Desire courses through me.

I keep my eyes on the floor and my ears tuned to your conversation. The man you speak to I neither know nor like. The friend of a friend of a friend. Just a guy you met a bare hour before.

There is nothing there. I know it. I can hear it in your barely interested voice. I can see it in the distance you carefully, purposefully, keep between you.

Yet my heart rebels, my shoulders tense, my fists clench.

Right here, right now, I can do nothing. The conventions that bind you are chains, thick and heavy, around me.

A plaything is the role assigned to me. And a plaything has no need, no desire, no pride, no jealousy.

Anywhere else, on the street, in a bar, on a bus, anywhere, I would stand tall. Look this man that dares to desire your attention in the eye. Stake my claim, disdain his hesitant effort to entice you.

But here, here among your peers, your friends, those you call ones like you. Here I can do nothing. I merely sit here, kneeling on the plush carpet next to you, silent, unchallenging, unimportant.

I swallow bile at every breath. Pride allies with jealousy as they rise strong and defiant in my heart.

I keep my eyes on the floor. This is your game, your world, your fascination. I refuse to ruin it for you.

Anywhere else, there would be a claim for me to stake. But not here.

I am yours. Body, mind and soul. As I kneel at your feet, everyone knows. I am yours.

The growl that rumbles in my chest I keep contained, chained, enslaved.

Your claim upon me is there for all to see in my kneeling stance, my downcast eyes.

My claim upon you rests only in my heart. For you are mine, as I am yours. And let conventions be damned.

The hand that caresses my scalp is my lone balm. Your claim upon me, not for others to see but for me to remember. Your promise to me, unheard by others, but known to me.

Each lazy movement of your hand is an affirmation. You claim me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.

Each moment under your caress is an affirmation also. I claim you from the skin of your fingers to the flesh of your heart.

For I am yours, as you are mine.


Your laughter is so hard you are bending in two. The rest of the group are laughing too. The patrons around us look curiously our way before returning to their own conversations.

I merely smile. I cannot find it in me to laugh. But I smile.

The joke was funny, I grant that, but not humorous enough to break my habitual seriousness. But still I smile. How can I help that? Seeing you happy and laughing. How can I stop from smiling?

You turn towards me, breath still heaving from laughing so hard. Your smile is wide and there is a twinkle in your eyes as you cock your head to the side and arch your eyebrows questioningly.

I shrug back at you. You snort another laugh and without a word you stand up. I watch you as you walk towards me. The jolt of desire seeing you nearing, your eyes twinkling, happiness written all over your face, shoots straight to my core.

You kneel on one knee but never touch the pub's sticky floor. I know my desire shows in my eyes because your breath catches before a cocky smile spreads on your lips.

You lick your lips, your eyes boring into mine and I can see my desire answered tenfold. Your skin is softer than silk when I touch your cheek, a long slow caress that makes your eyes half close.

You turn your head just a fraction, velvety lips whisper against my palm. I inhale quickly as the touch of your lips seems to spread over my skin from the fleshy part of my palm to cover all of me.

You lean against my palm and I... I support you. I hold you there. Your eyes close completely and you just breathe. I can feel each breath you take against the inside of my wrist.

I lean forward slowly, carefully, until my lips touch your forehead. I kiss you. What else can I do? The feeling inside of me floods my senses.

We sit there for a moment, a minute, an hour maybe. There is no time in this present of ours. I am content just to feel you. Your skin against my lips, your breath against my skin.

The world becomes no more than sensation. Even sensation pales to feeling.

I feel you. My heart. My world.


All eyes are upon me. They look at me like sentinels in the darkness. The spotlight brings heat and light unto me.

I am unbound. Naked. Kneeling.

My head is bowed. My eyes trained on the floor.

Your hand is cool against my heated skin. I tremble inside.

Your touch is gentle as you slowly, ever so slowly, tug my chin up until I look into your eyes.

You speak slowly, clearly, your intonation has no play in it, no mirth, no merriment. The words escape me. All I can do is look into your eyes.

Your lips stop moving. Silence.

Moments pass and all I can do is look into your eyes. A question enters them, unvoiced.

Your eyes narrow. The hurt that transforms your face rends my heart. I breathe in, quickly, painfully.

I have forgotten the words I spent so long composing. I seek blindly in the corridors of my mind for anything that makes sense.

I can feel your hand tense. Withdraw.

I forget my place and all the conventions you've taught me. I grasp your hand, strongly, roughly.


A single word leaves my lips, a hoarse rasp through the tightness of my throat.

Your eyes change. A tiny smile appears on your lips. Your hand returns, gentling me with its touch.

I swallow painfully.

“Yes. Yours. Anything.”

Sentences are beyond me. Words fail me. I can only hope you can read my intent in my eyes.

Others cannot read me but you can. You can read my pain, my sorrow, my fear. You can see my pride, my stubbornness, my defiance. You can feel my adoration, my devotion, my love.

I can only hope you can.

Your lips are gentle against mine. A single rough sob escapes my throat. You saw. You know.

You turn away from me, just slightly, but I tense, fear making my heart stop. It's only for a moment.

When you turn back to me, your hands are full. Relief floods me.

I throw my head back, baring my throat. You shake your head, a tiny smile on your lips.

Your words sound so far away as if they are only an echo of a distant shout. I know what you are saying. Your intent is clear even if the words can barely reach me.

My hands tremble and I cannot stop them. I cannot even care that others see me this way.

The chain clinks as I take it from you, shaking fingers tensing to hold it.

The steel is cold against my fevered skin but the fit is perfect. The lock defeats me for a moment. Finally my shaking fingers succeed.

The sound of the lock closing booms in my ears. My breath catches. It's real. I've made it real. Real.

I look up at you seeking...something. Anything. You.

And you are there. Your eyes take hold of me, even as your hands hold me. You are there.

Your touch is a whisper of movement on my cheeks, down my throat, over the collar. You linger there for a moment, caressing it, caressing me.

The heavy chain lightens under your touch until it feels no more than the weight of a gossamer thread on my skin.

I am bound from my own hand. Bound to you.

I am freer than I have ever been.


The pen scratches on the heavy paper. A tiny sound loud in the silent room.

I watch your hand, talented, capable, strong, as you sign in broad even strokes.

You stand there for a moment. The pen suspended over the paper. Your fingers tense and then you turn.

I stand there, immobile, the dress shirt's high collar scratching my neck with every breath. I watch you as you turn to me.

Your hand extends, sinuously, gracefully, offering the heavy pen to me.

My hands are at my sides, fists clenched. My eyes seem stuck to the pen in your hand. My throat closes all of a sudden, robbing me of breath.

My head jerks, almost uncontrollably, upwards from your hand to your shoulder and then on to your neck. A tiny glint from the collar's heavy chain catches my eyes as they travel the column of your throat.

Pride bursts inside of me but my throat still remains stubbornly closed, my hands immobile flush with the crease of my trousers.

My eyes travel upwards, always upwards till they meet yours. I can see the panic in them, the pallor of your face.

I disregard the fear in your eyes. I look further until I can see the fire inside of you, consuming me.

The block in my throat disappears, burnt away in the depths I can see in you, the depths you reserve just for me.

My hand is steady as it touches yours. The pen feels heavy.

I only glance at the page as the sharp tip of the pen reaches my appointed line. My eyes return to you.

I never leave your gaze as I sign. I watch the tears gathering in your eyes, drop by drop, with every scratching sound of sharp tip and blank ink on heavy paper.

I am finished. I am done. I let the pen drop into the registrar's waiting hand. His congratulations never reach my ears. All I can hear is the sound of your breathing, heavy.

The congratulations of the witnesses and guests never reach me. All I can see is you, the tears in your eyes, the smile on your face.

I put my hand against your chest. Feeling your heart beat wildly.

Your eyes ask me and I incline my head, a fraction only, in silent invitation.

Your arms are around me, urgent, gentle, loving, engulfing me. Your lips are soft, almost tentative, against mine.

I kiss you back hungrily, gently, lovingly, vowing myself to you.

To you, my lover, my friend, my partner.


The End

Thanks for reading. Any comments, good or bad, are welcome at ~RB.


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