"My submissive are power, strength, bravery, and most of all they stand beside me willing in their position. You stand as strong as you kneel. Am I clear?" His words, like vows to ourselves he builds submission, not as a position under him by the po...
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It was hard not to feel the weight of this moment as I looked between the door and the man who could open it. Both were intimidating in their unknowns and together it felt like I had taken a leap into space. Nothing could ground me, no gravity, no tether. I swore I thought I would float into my thoughts. That is until I feel warm fingers, nibble and cores in their touch but grounding and supportive in their motive.
Turning beside me, I look down and see Celestes' fingers webbed into mine.
Not a hesitation in sight as she ensured I knew I would not enter this room a sacrifice. Squeezing her hand in appreciation, I turn to Master, whose silence gave us a moment of calm that she would stand beside us, just as much a guide as he was.
"You walk in here of open mind, but you are also here under me. What is your safe word because here you don't have limits, just areas you were previously afraid to venture?" Going deep into myself, I find a word I knew would be the word I chose "My safe word is Red."
Content with my answer, he turns to the door when I see the fingerprint scanner, aside from the handle. The door beeps and the locks turn before he pushes the door open, stepping aside to allow us to enter before him. The curiosity is welcomed, but the idea of stepping into the room balanced on one side of the scale makes me take his hand.
I don't miss the flinch in his hand, stunned at the action, but he doesn't move to pull his hand back. They are heavy and warm, secure like he would be the ground the stability Celeste gave me could settle on. He chooses to enter first before we follow in behind him when the lights of the room catch our entrance and my breath is taken.
The room itself is beautiful in the colour of silvers, blood reds, and navy blues. It was the size of a large master bedroom, with a medium-sized four-poster bed covered in soft black sheets and deep grey accents. At the end of it, a large, black and red lined chest box under a large black carpet. To the right, almost moulded into the wall, a large X cross with leather shackles on each end and one in the top centre.
A set of metal frame chairs sat on the left by a wooden table with hooks under it, and by the end at the wall, a navy-blue chair that resembled a throne. The walls are clean in navy blue, with sleek, handless cupboards against them to give the design that they must hold shelves. I had seen many sex rooms, dungeons and cold spaces used to dominate women and men into submission, but none carried the intricate thought that this one had.
It was not just some room filled with chains and whips. The room was personal, and daunting as it teased it mysterious through closed shelves hiding their treasures. My attention to the room is drawn when back in a soft gasp at the painting above the bed. The art piece above the bed is a painting of a woman, a hand enveloped around her neck that faces up. The skill of the sit allowed beige and blues to run down the images of the woman in submission striking against the white canvas. It was the only place of white in the room that took it over and brought it together.
