A sensual short is what I like to call a micro story. It’s a tiny moment captured in the magic of words.
“Come,” he says, “sit. ”
But, I can’t . The madness of my nerves consumes me. I’ve already ripped my gown off twice. Each time I try to dress, the gown suffocates me with the weight of my fears. I have to peel myself out of it before I hyperventilate or worse.
“Come.” Louder this time. More insistent.
“Allen…”. The squeak of my voice only draws attention to my weakness. I feel sick. My stomach is light, unsettled. Oh no, I don’t want to throw up.
He grabs me from behind, the power of his frame cages me in. Lifting, he pulls me off my feet and drags me back.
“Stop!” The growl of his voice is low, guttural, and devastating.
He lowers us down, him sitting on the leather ottoman while he places me on my ass between his legs, facing away. I squirm and rise, but his hand on my shoulder keeps me in place.
“Sit,” he says.
“I don’t have time for this.” I have a routine. Rituals which make sense. I have less than an hour before I must be on stage.
“Shh,” he soothes, his voice soft and tender. “Relax. Close your eyes.”
But I don’t want to close them. I need to move and burn off this jittery feeling.
He reaches over my head and settles the mask over my face. “Close your eyes and breathe.”
His touch comforts me. His thighs trap me, but I’m not scared. Instead, the edge of my fear wears off.
“He’s waiting for you,” Allen says. “Downstairs.”
And indeed, the man who will become my master waits for me, without the jitters or the fear flowing in my veins. Those belong only to me. In fact, all of The Edge has gathered for our ceremony. The masters, their slaves, even the caretakers have been asked to attend. They’re all here, downstairs, waiting. Only Allen and I are upstairs.
My caretaker’s calming presence envelopes me and tamps down my insecurities. I’ve waited for this day for a year. I don’t want to screw it up. Allen will see me through. All I have to do is trust.
I reach back, my hands gripping his arms. “Is everyone else a mess like me?”
He kisses the crown of my head. “Everyone is different on the day of their collaring. How do you feel?”
Better. Stronger. More centered. I take a deep breath. “I’m ready.” I lean back and gaze at Allen. “Thank you.”
He hooks his hands under my arms and lifts me to my feet. “Good, The Edge is waiting, and I’m certain Master Prescott is getting anxious. It’s time.”
The dress slips over my head for the third time. It’s different now. My breaths are easy, my fears suppressed. Allen zips me in. The rasping of tiny metal teeth closing together is the only sound except for our fluid breaths.
He spins me around and examines his handiwork. Another submissive prepared. Another woman ready to accept her coveted role.
The pride in his eyes spills to his gentle smile. This man will make a wonderful master to a very lucky woman some day. I kiss him lightly on the cheek.
“Let’s do this.”
I am ready to become my master’s slave.
Ellie Masters 2017