The room was bathed in darkness, the hours slipping into the small cold ones of pre dawn, only the night people the denizens of the darkness walk the streets this hour, the rumble of the traffic less and muted now. The glow of the street lamps spilling into the bedroom through the partially drawn blinds.
I am on all fours in the center of your bed, my nakedness dressed in chrome chains that catch the wan light from the window, your leather collar firm around my throat proclaiming me yours and reminding me constantly of the fact. Your visage is all darkness to me as you stand against the light, but I read your subtle movements and gestures and do not need to see your face. I am dead still, my hair spilling down over my shoulders on to the bedclothes, and you marvel at my ability to cope with the cold as I show little sign of it's effects on my nakedness.
You on the other hand are still dressed as you pace slowly back and forward admiring your possession from every angle, your boots heavy on the floor as you take each slow deliberate step, black shining riding crop in your hands like menacing doom. You can see the slow rhythmic rise and fall of my breathing but otherwise I appear a statue made of stone, for you have commanded me to be silent and still.
You trace the whip across the scarred back slowly, deliciously, taking your time, knowing it arouses me, your other hand soon follows, my skin surprisingly warm to your touch as the hair prickles at your fleeting caress all over. I shiver lightly as you trace the twists and coils of the dragon on my lower back, and as you run the crop down my flanks.
