She is shy. She has never done anything like this before.
She has rehearsed it so often that the music has become a soundtrack to these last few nervous days. It plays in her mind from the moment sleep releases her until she slides back into its arms. Perhaps it echoes through her dreams. She knows every persistent drumbeat, every smooth chord, every deep bass note, every sweet moan of hungry, dirty brass. She has her timings to the second.
She has tried to imagine this moment, tried to prepare herself for how she would feel.
Now, standing before the video camera, she realises that she could never have readied herself. Not for this intimate moment, her hushed room, this distant audience of one. Her mouth is dry, her heartbeat is wild and loud, her legs are weak. She is finding it hard to breathe.
She smooths her hands down her dress. They slide over her waist and onto her hips. She is desperately nervous. She is blushingly embarrassed. She is impossibly excited.
She is achingly aroused.
She presses a button on the slim, black remote and the music begins. The first notes are soothingly familiar and disturbingly erotic.
Despite herself, she begins to sway into her routine. She feels her hips move. As if by magic her body becomes lithe and sinuous. She is seductive, sexy, sensuous.
She knows he will watch her. Again and again.
Her hands glide over her breasts, caressing herself. Her fingers reach behind for the metal tongue of the zipper.
The show has begun.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
For various reasons, I was sifting through my past writings last year. I discovered this one, and it made me smile. I thought new readers might like it.
Art by William Oxer