clarencejohnson
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Whims Over Wishes (story)
🕑 Added 2023-11-14 02:43:49 +0000 UTCKevin shifted uneasily, the chains around him clinking softly. Sunlight streamed through the window, intensifying the heat in the small, stuffy room. Sweat beaded on his forehead, sliding down his face, hindered only by the layers of duct tape that encased him like a cocoon. The chains bit into his skin, and the tape constricted, squeezing him in a relentless grip.
This room, this bed, these chains - they had become his world, a reality he was reluctantly accepting. The taste of the soiled panties in his mouth was bitter, and made him think of Emma. When had she left for the store? Time was an elusive concept now, lost to him in the darkness enforced by the tape over his eyes.
He heard a faint sound, perhaps the creak of a floorboard. Was she back? His heart quickened, the only part of him that could still respond freely. The sound faded, leaving him in silence, save for the soft rustling of his own constrained movements.
Kevin tried to swallow, the dryness of his throat making it difficult. He could only wait, hope, wonder. What was she doing? How much longer would she be? The questions spun in his head, unanswered, as he lay there, bound and blind, in the heat and silence.
Parched and sweltering, Kevin longed for the simplest of comforts—a sip of water. His world had shrunk to this: enduring the relentless cycle of dehydration and waiting. The arrival of Emma was his only respite, a fleeting moment when his basic needs were met.
A fly buzzed around him. With each attempt to ward it off, the chains jangled. In a moment of desperation, he jerked too sharply, the chain linking his collar to the bed frame snapping taut. A sudden choke left him gasping.
Then, outside, the unmistakable sound of a car pulling up. His heart skipped a beat. Was it her? The sequence of sounds – a door opening, the trunk, the rustle of grocery bags – was almost musical in his anticipation. His breathing quickened, not just from the thirst and heat now, but from a cocktail of nervousness and excitement. Each sound was a step closer to her presence, to relief, to the end of his solitude.
As he listened, the sound of footsteps approached. His thoughts raced. Would she bring water first? Would she notice how the heat had taken its toll? The door handle turned, a small but significant noise, and his heart pounded in response. This was the moment he had been waiting for, a mixture of dread and longing, as he prepared to face his girlfriend once again.
Emma burst into the room, a whirlwind of energy and words. "You won't believe the day I've had," she started, her voice animated and tinged with exasperation. She began changing her clothes, oblivious to Kevin's predicament. "The store was a madhouse, absolutely packed. And the produce section? Don't get me started. Half the apples were bruised, and the tomatoes? Forget about it. They looked like they'd been sitting there for weeks, you know?"
Kevin, bound and gagged, could do nothing but listen, his responses limited to muffled grunts.
"And then there was this kid, running up and down the aisles like a maniac. His mother didn't even bother to stop him. It's like, have some control, right?" Emma's voice rose and fell with the rhythm of her tale, a symphony of mundane grievances.
Behind his blindfold, Kevin's thoughts spun. Emma's every word painted his world, a world shaped by her whims. He felt a tangled mix of relief at hearing her voice again and unease about what her unpredictable nature might mean for him next.
Kevin's silent prayers for attention, for the smallest acts of care, echoed in his mind as Emma's rambling continued. He longed for her to close the curtains, to ease the relentless sun's glare, to offer him water, anything. Instead, she sighed and sat on the bed beside him, still caught up in her own world.
"Sorry, have you been ok?" she asked, her tone casual, almost an afterthought. Kevin tried to respond, his voice muffled and desperate behind the gag. Emma's reply came distractedly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. His heart sank. This was one of those times when she'd overlook his plight, her mind preoccupied.
Kevin's emotions swirled - disappointment, resignation, a flicker of hope extinguishing. With Emma, it was always unpredictable. Sometimes she was caring, other times playful or even cruel. But today, she was distant, her attention scattered. He lay there, listening to her voice, a reminder of the ever-changing nature of his days, dictated by her moods and whims.
Kevin's mind wandered back to the beginning. It was almost ironic how this situation, now so out of his control, had been his idea. He'd always harbored a fascination with being dominated, the thrill of being at the mercy of his girlfriend's whims. He remembered how he'd pleaded with Emma to indulge this fantasy. She'd been hesitant at first, finding the whole idea strange, but eventually, she acquiesced.
Kevin had hoped, more than anything, that she would find enjoyment in it. And to his delight, she did. Their first experiment in this new dynamic had been exhilarating for both of them, sparking a desire in Emma that he hadn't anticipated. She wanted more, and so did he.
As their sessions evolved, so did Emma's approach. She became more assertive, more inventive, and with each encounter, the extremity of her actions escalated. Kevin had embraced it all, even as the balance shifted, even as he found himself more in her power than he'd ever imagined.
Now, lying bound and blindfolded, he reflected on this journey. A part of him missed the simplicity of their early explorations, yet another part couldn't deny the thrill of the unknown, of Emma's ever-changing moods and desires. His current predicament was a testament to how far they had ventured from where they began – a path he had initiated, but one that had taken a turn he hadn't quite anticipated.
The gradual shift from a game to a lifestyle had been subtle, almost imperceptible. Kevin couldn't pinpoint the exact moment his submission to Emma became all-encompassing. It was like that tale of the frog in boiling water – he hadn't realized the heat until it was all around him. Step by step, he had relinquished his freedoms, while Emma's control over him grew.
He had always had the power to stop it, to step back from the edge, but he never did. Each step deeper into this dynamic was a choice he made, a boundary he willingly crossed. Now, looking back, Kevin understood there was no return to what was. Emma wouldn't allow it, and truthfully, he couldn't imagine wanting it.
Years had passed since his will had been his own. Emma's preferences, her desires, had become the guiding force of his existence. The thought of reclaiming his old life, of stepping back into a world where he had to make his own decisions, seemed overwhelming, almost alien.
In this world of Emma's creation, where his suffering was a constant and relief a rarity, there was a simplicity he had come to appreciate. The pain, the deprivation, it was all for her – Emma, the center of his universe. And despite the hardships, he couldn't deny a deep, complex love for her, a love that made every moment of submission worth it.
Emma's voice filled the room again, now recounting the annoyance of stepping into a muddy puddle outside the store. As she spoke, she unwrapped the tape around Kevin's mouth and removed the soiled panties. For a moment, he felt the freedom to speak, to ask for water, but he knew better. This wasn't why she had ungagged him, and she hadn't inquired about his needs. Besides, interrupting her was against the rules.
He remained silent, letting her vent uninterrupted. Then, he felt her toes brush against his mouth. Without hesitation, he began to clean the mud off her feet. It was clear why the gag had been removed – not for his relief, but for her service. His role was not to express his needs or desires but to attend to hers.
In this moment, Kevin understood his place. His needs were secondary to Emma's, irrelevant until she deemed them otherwise. Now, her desires were simple: someone to listen and clean her muddy feet. He was that someone, a tool for her use, adhering to the rules that defined their relationship.
As Kevin's tongue made its way obediently between Emma's toes, she vented, "And I was literally in line for ages, you know?" She paused and nudged his cheek with her foot, "You missed a spot between the toes."
Quickly, he shifted his attention to the overlooked area, his tongue tracing the contours of her skin. "Yeah, right there," Emma murmured, a hint of satisfaction in her voice.
"Anyway," she continued without missing a beat, "Just as it's my turn, the cashier starts chatting with the customer ahead of me about her grandson's birthday party. And then she starts triple-scanning the avocados! I had to gently remind her we weren't trying to stockpile for an avocado apocalypse."
Amidst the mundane saga, Kevin found himself syncing with her frustration. He could picture the scene she described, the everyday irritation at its most visceral. Even as he serviced her, the grit and earthiness of the mud on her feet was a stark reminder of the world outside this room – a world of trivial conversations and checkout lines. The taste was bitter, textured, a sensory echo of the mundane life he once knew. His empathy for her was genuine, if complicated by the muddiness that filled his mouth and the chains that bound his movements.
Emma's stream of complaints veered away from the grocery store saga. Her tone softened to a murmur, her words becoming more introspective. "And what about that call from the bank? Such odd timing," she mused, almost to herself. "They never ring unless something's up. Was it about the loan, or something else...?"
Kevin felt the slight pressure of her other foot nudging against him, an unspoken command. He shifted his ministrations without pause. Her foot guided him with small, sharp movements - a nudge to the arch, a press against his lips, a withdrawal, then back again.
She seemed to drift deeper into her own concerns. "I need to check those documents again, can't shake the feeling I missed something..." Her voice trailed, her foot momentarily still, before resuming its quiet direction.
In his place on the bed, Kevin continued his task, the taste of earth and sweat now familiar. Emma's stress was evident, a cloud in the room that shifted the dynamic subtly. She was here, but not with him, her mind entangled in matters he could only guess at, her feet the only part of her still communicating with him - and even that was becoming more absent, more mechanical.
The phone rang. Emma answered with a chirp in her tone that hadn't been there moments before. "Hey girl, what's up?" The transformation was instant - her voice bubbled with laughter, her feet dancing with each giggle, inadvertently thumping against Kevin's face.
He tried to maintain his focus, his tongue working diligently despite the playful kicks. "No way, he did not!" Emma squealed into the phone. "Oh, and speaking of hot, have you seen Jason lately? He's been hitting the gym hard. It's like... every time I see him, it's a 'hello, muscles!' moment, you know?"
Kevin felt a heel accidentally jab his cheek, but he continued, undeterred. The conversation above him flowed on, Emma's laughter punctuating her words. "And that smile? Ugh, could totally melt butter. Not to mention he's just the sweetest guy."
Through it all, Kevin's task remained the same: to clean, to serve. Each inadvertent hit was a reminder of his position, each word about another man a twinge in his chest he didn't pause to acknowledge. Emma was in her element, and he, in his own way, was in his, fulfilling the role he had grown to accept.
Emma's voice flowed with a cadence of enthusiasm as she continued to gush about Jason. "And he's just so charming, you know? Like, he could be talking about paint drying and I'd be totally engrossed."
She paused her reverie for a split second, glancing down at Kevin. "You done yet?" The question was clipped, almost an interruption to herself. Kevin grunted a yes, the sound barely escaping his throat. "About time," she muttered, her attention already snapping back to the phone call.
"Huh? Oh, just... the slave," she said nonchalantly, answering a question from the other end of the line.
Emma then leaned over Kevin, her hands finding the leash and tugging his head upwards without gentleness. She stuffed the panties back into his mouth with a practiced indifference, the tape wrapping around his head again with a few sharp tugs. His head was pushed back down, the bed absorbing the impact as she stood, her conversation never pausing.
"Yeah, so anyway," she continued, her voice bright and animated as if the last few moments hadn't occurred. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Kevin alone with the muffled sounds of her laughter trailing off into the distance.
In the aftermath of Emma’s departure, Kevin remained. The chains gave a soft clink with each small adjustment he made, searching for a position that granted even a moment’s reprieve. Hunger gnawed at him, his dry throat begged for water, and the room was still awash with the heat from the unrelenting sunlight. The familiar buzz of the fly circled him.
From beyond the walls, Emma’s laughter filtered in, a sound disconnected from his reality. Kevin pushed his needs to the background, a practice honed by time and necessity. They were inconsequential, mere shadows, because they meant nothing to Emma. His existence ebbed and flowed on her tide of attention, and now, as it often was, he was at low ebb.
He understood the hierarchy of her world. Today, her stresses, her laughs, her life beyond the door took precedence. Kevin’s presence, his needs, would remain unacknowledged until such time as Emma’s focus returned to him. Until then, he was a silent fixture, a constant in her varying world, waiting with the patience that had been etched into his very being.
