Out of the Shadows. Senta Holland

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      I am getting dizzy. I am getting closer to the place of powerlessness, to the place of total yielding.

      He slides his hand over my hair again but this time he grabs it, hard. All the nerve endings on my head start to scream. I have goose bumps all over my skin. He is making his domination physical.

      I look into his eyes the whole time, although mine are filling with tears. He smiles. My subjection has been forced out into the open.

      When he is satisfied, for now, he lets go of my hair and I kneel, hands bound behind my back, head dizzy in more than one way.

      My master’s hands wander to his own body.

      I am getting very moist. I think I know what is going to happen.

      ‘Watch,’ he says.

      I do.

      Slowly, very very slowly, my master is taking off his belt.

      The sound as he undoes the clasp is humiliatingly, exhilaratingly familiar. I couldn’t stop looking if I tried.

      He draws the belt out. Long, wide, well-worn leather. He slowly runs his hand along its length. I’m going to give up breathing.

      He takes a step towards me until he stands so close that his crotch is pressed to my mouth.

      I don’t know what he is going to do. Whatever it is, I will submit.

      He is my master.

      ‘Down,’ he says quietly.

      I understand. I obey.

      I bend forward and lower my head until my face touches the floor, right next to his shoes. My bound hands sink into my back and come to rest on my shoulders.

      Power has been exchanged.

      He is the owner of my body and my soul.

      He will do with me what he wants.

      He may use his belt, on my naked, pale round ass, exposed and presented to him. He may turn round and take me from behind. He may play with the deep band of female arousal that goes from my ass to my clitoris, until I forget my name and even that I used to be a simple human.

      Oh – what is this, exactly? Is there a name?

      People call it BDSM. Yes it’s a Californian committee term.

      I call it my sexuality.

      My true sexuality, hidden under transparent veils.

       The round-the-world ticket

      I only ever wanted to stay in Bangkok for three nights.

      I remember sitting in the travel agents in London, looking at the coloured bands spanning the map of the world, smooth and slightly rounded to fit the curvature of the planet. The bands were the journeys I could take. It was my choice. But there were certain conditions.

      I’d found my way around California, New Zealand and Australia and now I was stuck.

      ‘You’re going to need another stop on your round-the-world ticket,’ said the travel agent. A fingernail traced the coloured band, swerving slightly as if with the vibrations of the flight, predicting turbulence.

      I had heard of Bangkok. Of course I had heard of Bangkok. Enough that I didn’t want to go there.

      You see I didn’t know it then.

      On the other hand, it did seem to be well connected.

      Outside, the snow was falling in thick fairytale flakes.

      It mounted up on the pavement, it even covered the street, between cars, it was too abundant, the tyres couldn’t smash it down.

      I thought of my shoes. I was going to be dancing in wet slush before I got home.

      ‘OK,’ I heard myself say, ‘let’s put in Bangkok.’

      ‘Yes, I think that’s a sensible choice,’ said the London travel agent. ‘It’s a good place to get to somewhere else.’

      Sensible choice! Ha!

      The snow flakes, big as my palm, pressed their spokes against the window. They didn’t look real but they were. All snowflakes are like that, it’s just that usually you can’t see it.

       The back-up date

      The smells. The smells were so different. So very strong, so individual, like the soup of seven spices. And the sound. So much sound. So much sound altogether, so many layers: the crickets that never, never stopped, even right in the middle of the city, the cars, the horns, the music. And the people. So many people.

      I was overwhelmed. Just less than twelve hours ago I had been in the Australian desert looking at a sky with stars closer than humans. And all my life, right up to this point, I had always been a little chilly, somewhere deep in my bones. It was not good, but I was used to it.

      When I got into Bangkok I felt the heat and my body expanded. Then I entered the jungle. The jungle of buildings. The jungle of smells and sounds.

      My mind was flooded. My body was happy. This was her kind of town.

      We had made contact on the internet.

      I was by that time quite good at finding, selecting and meeting men. I had found them in London, San Francisco and Sydney.

      I had no great hopes for Bangkok, but I made dates. Of course. I always made dates, and apart from him I had a few back-up dates.

      Well, actually, my Nai was the back-up date.

      That’s why we met so soon, just hours after I flew in, into the new continent. It was the only way I could fit him into my dating schedule.

      So tired, the top of my neck was a glass fibre skull, I lay down on the strange hotel bed – run down and shabby like many before but filled with a different kind of air.

      The smells were everywhere and I couldn’t decode them.

      I could feel the moistness and remembered that the city swam on a vast underground river.

      I took out my little golden book that had become quite plump from its journey and I looked at his phone number.

      Part of me kept shouting: ‘I want to sleep! I want to sleep!’, another part was drifting off without speaking, and I kept waking, clutching the little book, staring at the number, looking at the small sturdy clock that was efficiently showing the passing of the new, Bangkok, time.

      It’s always scary, hearing the voice for the first time. It is often so disappointing.

      It confronts me with my dreams.

      Today, swimming in the jungle with my eyes closed, it didn’t feel so sharp. How to judge anything? I was in a different world.

      Still, СКАЧАТЬ