Goodbye Ruby Tuesday

[Moonbright]

This will be a closed story for the right person. PM me if you're interested.

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Ruby's forehead had been pressed to the concrete wall in her cellar for almost three and a half hours. She could almost hear the hum from the vibrations her hands caused pressed to the cold concrete by her ears. Her feet fastened to the floor a yard apart by nothing more than her will and her desire to be fastened. Her pelvis the only movement she made as she shifted occasionally, arching back to stretch before pressing her loins hard against the cold expanse that was her root connection to the only solidity she knew; the Edwardian town house that she called home.

The sheer scarlett robe--her only adornment save the blindfold--had slowly worked it's self loose as she shifted exposing her flesh to the cold earth of the wall; she would not or--she mused--could not, remove her hands to re-tie the silk and relished in each pressing of her pelvis against the concrete as random memories meandered through her consciousness.

The cold from her forehead spread to her cranium numbing each torture of thought invading her elevated consciousness, keeping her immersed in the low hum of her own body’s vibrations each reminding her that her flesh was not her. Not hers. His.

An almost imperceptible judder ran through each nerve ending from toe to skull as she heard a door slam. Footsteps above her brought moisture from her forehead and nose, wet pressed against cold, the adrenaline flowed as she heard the cellar door creak open and the unmistakable sound of her Owners’ boots slamming into the stairs, one, by, one...

 

[patrick1]

lose your dreams and you will lose your mind

My boots stop. 'Keep facing the wall.' My voice is low. English. Low. I believe people listen hardest to a quiet voice.

Her body is more rigid. When she first came into view it seemed as if she was - yes, fucking the wall. But now she's stock-still.

I go to her, slowly, aware of the clack-clack of my boots across the floor. 'Here.' I take the crimson silk, lift it from her limbs. 'Turn, press your head, and back, and buttocks against the wall. Spreadeagled, your arms straight.'

She's beautiful. Obedient. Her body glistens with something. A quality of desire. Or just a trick of the light, perhaps, seeping in from a far, high window. 'I was at my club. A woman who knows my tastes approached me. She said a woman at this address wished to be owned by a man she had never met before.'

'Yes,' she begins, 'I...'

I place a forefinger on her lips. There's the click of a lighter, the smell of its fuel. Then of candle-wax. 'Stick out your tongue. Keep it there till I tell you to take it back in.'

Her mouth opens. Aghast? Her jaw works against itself. She sticks out her tongue.

'When I want to hear you speak, it will be plain to you.' Hot wax drips on to her tongue: one, two, three, a cry from her, four, five.

'You are to put your tongue back in your mouth. Taste the wax.'

Only now do my hands touch her, as her tongue retreats. I stroke her face, my fingertips soft on her smooth skin. I caress her shoulders, with both my hands, hands that then softly roam down over her body, lingering nowhere in particular, simply touching, tracing, possessing, a mist floating over the landscape of her skin.

Then, quite suddenly, my fingers decide to penetrate her. Two, into her vagina. My thumb resting lightly on her clitoris. 'This is your one chance to refuse me. I have a name for you. Apostrophe s. Even I don't know how to pronounce it. How would you say it?'

'Say "My name is," followed by the way you would pronounce this name, and there's no going back. Say anything else, and I shall turn, walk away, and remember you with pleasure. What shall it be? Who will hang a name on you?'

 

[Moonbright]

yesterday don't matter cause it's gone...

The clack-clack of his boots causes my heart to quicken mercilessly, the anticipation unbearable as I wonder who he is--who was to be my new Master? I had already decided to give myself without question, regardless, it is my final limit; one I am intent on smashing through, finally exploring the very depths of my submission.

As I turn I see his penetrating gaze assessing me, burning through any vestiges of protection. I cry out as the hot wax on my tongue stings, awakening every peripheral nerve ending in my body which begins to glow with a warm sheen.

His hands barely penetrating my ethereal field ignit my nipples and sending a flood of wetness straight to my cunt. He knowingly penetrates me and rests his thumb making me impossibly heady as I am all too aware that he may remove it at any time.

"This is your one chance to refuse me. I have a name for you. Apostrophe s. Even I don't know how to pronounce it. How would you say it?"..."Who will hang a name on you?"

Staring him straight in the eye I am fully aware that with one word from me he will leave without consequence to him, never to return. I am also aware that with another word I will obey without question and a sudden feeling of obstinance, never felt for many years, pangs straight through to my eyes boring into his.

What kind of man would want to own one he had not chosen? I am thrilled at the prospect of finding out but cannot banish this flush that causes my eyes to burn. Turning my head and lowering it slightly, my eyes leaving his I answer him.

"My name is..."

My head raises as my eyes fly open and and I almost spit out my answer with a sharp 'hisssss...' but none-the-less giving him what he asks in all of it's delightful connotation.

 

[patrick1]

won't you guess my name?

'A snake, eh?'

How her cunt welcomes my fingers. How her self-naming draws me in.

I press her against the wall, and kiss her mouth with my mouth.

A new world swallows me up for the moment, I vanish into it and become someone other.

No. It's for me to remain - well, not aloof, but to be in control. If she ever truly sucks me in, I may kill us both with the force of my desire.

So I draw back from the kiss. I draw back from penetrating her. 'You're more handsome than I was expecting,' I say.

What's that enigmatic expression that plays across her face?

Without words, I press down on her shoulders until she kneels. And harder, until she bends forwards. And then, I take hold of her hair and press down until her face is pressed against the cold stone of the floor. I arrange her, abject, spreadeagled, naked.

I kneel beside her head. I turn her, by my hand in her hair, so she looks into the green of my eyes. 'You begin with nothing. Not even your body is your own. I want to beat you savagely now. There is nothing to restrain me except my own self-restraint. If I wish to, I will. Tonight and tomorrow I'll show you more clearly how you have nothing.

For now, show me how you can make love to a stone floor. Hiss like a snake. If you please me, I shall give you something to wear, and take you out on a brief journey of discovery. If you displease me...I shall mar your flesh.'

I stand, and step back. There's an old stool just outside, that I draw up, and sit on. She doesn't move. Momentarily, I'm puzzled. Then I think to myself, and her head turns to me as I move away.

It only takes me a couple of minutes to find what I'm looking for. I return and the old portable stereo crackles into life. Music plays. 'Begin,' I whisper, just before the lyric to the Rolling Stones begins. Not 'Ruby Tuesday', no. The voice sings: 'Let me please introduce myself...'

I watch....will she dance? Spreadeagled on stone? Dance for the anonymous devil she's pleaded to take possession of her?