My sub is laying on the floor, wrists bound, attached to my door handle.
Born to Beg is playing; I like the timing. I'm straddling him, looking down. Smoking a cigarette, leaning down close to let the smoke curl out of my lips and onto his face.
From time to time I'll eat one of the sable grapes he's brought me, letting the juice run from my lips and drip into his open mouth. I follow it with my spit.
Usually I smoke at the end of the session but today we still have a while to go. He doesn't know this though, and I'm enjoying the look of panic on his face, thinking it's all ending, already.
In these moments it's like there is nothing outside the four walls of my room to worry about, and no one else exists except the sub pinned down by my thighs.
And there's something peaceful in that.