6/08/2011

Precious Cargo

He starts to undress me. I whimper.

His hands pause. "What's the matter?" he asks me.

Blindfolded, I cower into the bed. "I don't like my stomach," I whimper.

"You're beautiful," he says, as his hands continue to remove my clothes.

_____________________________________

I am kneeling on the bed, eyes closed.

"Get into the inspection position," he tells me.

I pause, confused.

"The nadu," he clarifies.

I whimper (my sound of protest without saying "No").

I know it, but we've never done slave positions before. "I'm not a slave," I pout.

Yet I always thought it was such a beautiful posture of submission.

"What are you?" he asks.

"I don't know," I say, sounding suddenly afraid.

He smiles. "I know what you are," he says soothingly. "You're mine." He sounds happy about this.

I assume the nadu position, eyes still closed.

But I fidget. I am uncomfortable here. Do I put my hands palms up, or touch my middle finger to my thumb? I flex my hands.

"Stay still," he commands. "You're not doing your hands right."

A little affronted, but eyes still closed, I pout, "I'm not sure what to do. Some photos this way," I put my hands palms up, "but Jake's Kajira does this way," I touch my middle finger and thumb.

"Do what you've seen people in real life do," he encourages me, patient in this, my first time.

I touch my fingers together, zen-like, the way I've seen Jake's Kajira in her photos. I always thought that was a beautiful photo of her.

He blindfolds me.

I feel warm breath on my back. Feathery-light kisses. My skin prickles.

Soft, warm kisses up my back. Calm. Warm kisses on my neck. Relaxed.

Feathery kisses on my arms. I tremble.

I feel his soft breath across my breasts. My breathing quickens. He moves to my stomach.

I tense. Suck in my breath. Try, unsuccessfully, to suck in my stomach.

"Relax," he breathes through his kisses.

"I can't," I whisper. "I have to hold in my stomach."

The kisses leave my body. I hear his voice, soft and sure, in front of my face.

He kisses me lovingly on the lips.

"I want you," he whispers. "I want all of you." I start to tremble.

"I want your submission, your mind, your heart, all of you," he continues.

A dream come true, someone who wants all of you.

We'd just talked about how I am afraid...

Afraid my submission will be too much, more than he wants.

Afraid of my changing body,

Who am I if I'm not thin and young and sexy?

Afraid of the possible depth of my own emotional clinginess and neediness if I let that control go.

He speaks to me as through a dream.

He says the words I need to hear.

I melt.

I am his.
_____________________________________

Later...

Later, in the kitchen, he hugs me.

I feel so close.

But I pull away, self-conscious.

"I don't like my stomach," I explain, apologetic.

He pulls me toward him.

"I don't like how my stomach is the first thing that touches you now," I further explain.

He looks at me.

Smiles down at me.

And says simply:

"But you've got precious cargo in there."

He lightly touches my stomach, careful not to hurt.

"Remember," he says, "You're carrying the second most important person in the world to me in there."

He turns to get a glass of water from the sink.

I pause, struck by the thought.

Precious cargo.

He likes my growing stomach.

He doesn't mind when it hits him first when we hug. He doesn't mind that it makes sex more awkward every week.

Because I am carrying precious cargo.

2 comments:

Chris said...

This is a beautifully written story. Is it hard for this idea to sink in?

Emma said...

That was beautiful. ;o