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The world’s gone black. 

I can feel rigid constraints against my flesh, but I cannot see them.

I was not conscious when they were applied.

Experimentally, I try to move.  There is, maybe, a centimeter or two of give on either side of my clenched fists.  

I cannot bow my head.  There is a thick, padded barrier laid around my neck, disallowing motion of any up or down variety.

There’s a sort of giddy spiral unwinding in the center of my chest.  My heart is pounding as though it knows after thirty years of bondage in the cage of my ribs, it is about to be set free - and it will soar. 

Check my senses.

I see black.

I cannot tell if my eyes are open or shut.  If I open them, it is black.  If I close them, it is black.  

I touch black.

My fingers are clad in the thin, supple leather of well-worn gloves.  When I flex them, I feel the glove ride up just slightly, enough to betray the heavy cuffs that have been cinched around my wrists.  Any motion jostles the chain that binds my hands behind the chair.

I hear black.  

There - the sound I hear, a low, sinuous beat that evolves like a dancing parabola - swiftly and surely, so that I am unable to trace its patterns or discern any algorithm to its changes.  

I smell black.

Black leather.  It is a rich, enveloping smell with a tinge of iron, like rust or blood.  I greedily suck in air through my nose, and the leather agreeably shifts against my face.  I am wearing a muzzle.  It keeps my mouth shut.

Not that I had anything worthwhile to say, anyway.

I taste black.

The black, shiny taste of excitement, of desire, tempered with a light corrosion of fear.  I can still gulp, and do.  My mouth is wet.  I’ve been given water to drink.

And how about that last sense, that undefinable sense of intuition and alarm, the vestigial prickling of skin - proprioception taken to the next level?  

It is dampened, though it seeks through the leather, through the restraints - there is someone moving around me, purposefully.  It is a predator’s stalk.  The air moves around my bare chest.

The restraints aren’t the only thing that is leather.  I can feel heavy leather boots on my feet; can feel the creak and tug of leather pants on my legs.  

The beats are evolving again, tugging my brain, my senses, along with them, down into the void of my mind gone 

Black.

from “In the Dark”

For the complete story, click on the link below:

Ein absoluter Traum!

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