Hotel, imagined (2)

For Violet on the occasion of her birthday. With love.

The pile of the carpet pushes up between my toes like a verdant lawn; with my eyes closed, I can almost feel summer heat as I stand, naked, on the balls of my feet. The tip of your toes pokes me just below the crease of my ass, as you sit behind me, watching and waiting. I rock, but don’t crumple. I won’t break until I’m ready to be your Little One. But you’re going to test me until I surrender – you own my mind but sometimes my body needs to be pushed until it remembers its yours. Forced into a tiny space. Muscle memory.

The lawn is carpet once more and the sun’s rays the warmth from the hotel’s heater. Two whole days to serve you and drain myself of anything I haven’t yet handed over. I’m back in the room and my body is testament to a punishing series of questions you have asked, needing me to finally respond that I don’t know, I don’t have any more answers, that I’m too tired to resist and I just need to feel broken and small.

But not yet. I’m still a tall tree in a stiff breeze, standing before you, tiptoed, fingers woven and clutching the back of my neck, and the pain is creeping up my shins and into my thighs. I’m hurting for you in the only way I haven’t yet, the last 48 hours a blur of smacks and sweet wet kisses, clawed throat holds and cradled suckling, my mind sprawled like a tiger skin rug before the flames from your fire.

And the room has gone. I’m on a crumbling path that leads to that wild cabin on the brow of the wooded hill. The climb is steep and my knees buckle with the load I bear. Three feet from the door I feel myself falling through the front in slow motion, until my skin feels soft prickles of the carpeted floor. Behind me I hear the last contents of my pack fall and start their inexorable trip back down the slope, slipping away, and I’m now alone in the vastness of an eternal forest whose ancient boughs loom and loop over the roof outside.

Behind my head I can hear you at the door.

“Open up for me, honey”

I lie curled and unable to answer, drawn to the warmth and security of the tiny shack in the huge woods. I feel two wet fingers pushing into my core and I shut my eyes to everything but the scraping of the trees overhead, the cooing of the birds in your voice as you press me into the shape I have been longing to find.


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