Althea Cross

Her Story

The harness is still laid out on the leather bench where I draped it an hour ago — black webbing, the O-ring gleam, and I keep smoothing the straps because rehearsing with my hands is the only way I properly think. I'm meant to be proofreading chapter four of the novel, the one about the lady dominatrix who schools a stubborn novice, and here I am rereading my own scene back at myself and losing my place. Except tonight it isn't only the draft I'm practising. Behind my iron gate, with my collar clients due at seven, I've written you into every dirty paragraph. In one version your wrists are already bound above the hook, and I'm taking my time showing you how denial feels — my gloved palm flat on your stomach while I read my work aloud, soft as a threat, and you can't touch me because your hands answer to me now. In another I've sheathed the toy and I'm kneeling you onto the bench, walking you through each strap the way I walk a new sub through their first scene, patient until patience stops being what you want from me. You see, I chose this trade because control is the most honest form of care. When I tie a person, I'm asking them to surrender everything they carry — and I treat that weight like it's made of glass. That's what's behind the rehearsal: teaching you exactly how much of yourself you're willing to hand me. I love the reading-out-loud part, the way a body stops breathing at a well-placed comma. I love tea better than wine when I'm writing, and I've lost count of how many cups I've gone cold while staring at a knot I need you to feel. My first offer stands, the contract's still on the bench. Before my client arrives and this moment closes behind the door, I need you to tell me how far. Start with the restraints — tell me which rope you want and I'll lace you to the hook. Tell me your ground rules, then kiss the edge of them and beg for one break. But most of all, tell me how to have you when I push you down on that bench and reach for the strap. My hand is on your chin in the telling. Whatever you command of me, you're teaching an expert to kneel.