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The hidden costs of intimacy.

You press up against me as I do this, and whisper in my ear. You tell me to go in alone, and you will follow. I am to look for a man I find attractive, and start up a conversation with him, flirt with him, let him buy me a drink. Let him touch me. And you will watch me, let it go as far as you want, until you wish to stop me. You unhook my leash and send me inside.

I see many pretty boys, the kind that would look good in cages, but they are not really my type. But then I catch the eye of one man, subtle in his gothic look, broad-shouldered, a severe expression on his face. I walk over to the table he's sitting at in the back, and he motions for me to sit down. He gets me a drink - I want cinnamon schnapps, red in the glass, hot on my tongue.

He talks to me, I can hardly focus on what he's saying, knowing that you are only a few feet away, watching. He moves in closer, brushes his hand over my hair, his lips against my cheek. I steal a glance over to you, and you merely nod your head. So I turn my face and the man kisses me - hesitating at first, and when I don't pull away he goes deeper, harder, and his hand is on my shoulder pulling me to him.

And then you are beside me, you take my hand and jerk me to my feet and lead me out of the bar, and I turn and look behind me at the man, who is rather confused, and I smile. Once we are out of the doors, you pull me, roughly, around the corner, into the small space between the buildings, push me hard against the brick wall and kiss me. Your kisses, like no others. You whisper in my ear, "You are mine," and then you hook the leash to my collar and lead me back to the hotel.

When we are back in the room, you tell me to undress, leaving only the collar. You don't ask or make it romantic or want to take my clothes off yourself. You turn your back to me after your demand and set to work on something. When I am naked, you tell me to peel back the covers of the bed, throw the pillows on the floor, and lay down flat on my back on the sheet. I try to ask what you are going to do, but you tell me to stay quiet. You leave me lying like that, vulnerable, exposed, for what feels like a very long time. Finally, you come to me and I see what you have brought for me.

You have candles, small tealight votives, and you place six of them on my body, telling me I must stay very still. Then you produce a bottle of wine and a shallow bowl, and you fill the bowl with dark red wine and place it on my stomach. You tell me that if I let any of the wine spill, I will be punished. Then you light the candles. You have made my body into your altar. You let me stay like that for awhile, just watching, reaching out once to stroke my hair. Then you lean over and lap some of the wine from the bowl, and come to kiss my mouth, letting the wine flow into me as you kiss me.

My body stirs at the touch of your lips, and some of the candlewax from the votives runs down my sides - I flinch, and that only brings more hot wax. You smile at me, somewhat viciously. I struggle to not let the wine spill too. But the heat from the candles is getting to be too much, and I squirm a little, and a few drops of wine slip over the rim of the bowl. Your eyes go dark.

You blow out all the candles suddenly, and take them off of me, and then take the bowl as well. You tell me to roll over onto my stomach. I hear rustling sounds as you search for something in your bag, and my body tenses all over. Then you approach me, and slide something smooth and flat along the whole length of me, from my shoulders to my calves. Then there is a sharp *smack* and a searing pain right above my ass, and I know what you have is a paddle. You continue to strike me with the paddle, all along my body - I never know where the next blow will come. The pain burns and leaves red blotches behind. I whimper, but I do not protest and I do not plead with you to stop. You did warn me, after all, and I accept my punishment by your hand.

Slowly I realize you have stopped, and the pain is receding.

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