I was exhausted. My body was beginning to ache from lying in this position. My wrists and ankles were screaming to be released from their restraints.
“Water, please Sir.” It felt like I carried the entire Sahara on my tongue. I heard the sloshing of water in the plastic container come close and I lifted my head and opened my mouth to receive the cool liquid. He didn’t stop until I was sure to have my fill, which happened when I emptied out the bottle, having drank more the half of its content.
“Thank you, Sir.” I said, relief settling into my throat.
“No problem, baby-girl.” The soft, deep, steady voice filled my ears, and my heart beat picked up speed, the water not only hydrating me, but also reinvigorating my insides. As a wetted flower would, I seemed stronger now, my senses heightened and with my ears sensitive to his voice, my noise smelled the essence of his skin, though he stood feet away from my constrained body; I could feel the retroactive sting of his flogger on my breasts and cunt; and despite the water, the taste of his cock still swirled on my tongue. The one thing I could not do was see him.
My eyes were covered with a special handkerchief today. Usually, Sir would place the one that he carried in his bag of tricks, a simple, soft, black cotton kerchief that always smelled like him. This one also smelled like him, but was meant especially for me. He presented it to me in a box, similar to a square eye-glass case, expect larger in dimension. It had thrown me for a second, since I hadn’t expected to receive anything at this meeting.
“Open sub Scarlett; it’s for you,” and in his eye was the devilish twinkle, his voice sounding what honey tastes like.
I clicked open the velveteen box to gleefully discover that it most definitely was not a pair of glasses. Folded and lain across neatly, on what felt like sateen plush, was a silk scarf. I held onto it, tears welling in my eyes because I knew this meant something really special. His first gift to me, an acknowledgement of us, and our relationship as Master and submissive. I looked at him, and said “Thank you Sir,” but the words were lost to the oxygen in the air, falling out in whispered whimpers and beaten by two tears.
“You’re welcome, baby-girl. Unfold it,” his voice was soft and gentle, but under it I could hear His dominance. I always do.
I began to spread the scarf out on the bed, and when fully unraveled, lay before me an image vivid in color. Sown into the folds of this kerchief was a mixed bloom of flora in different shades of my beloved color. It was beautiful.
Now, though I could not see him, I also do not have a black darkness in front of me. From now until this all ends, from the moment it is placed in my field of vision, until He chooses to remove it, I will know that with this scarf on, I find with him safety, passion, lust, and love submerged in these soft layers of purple.