The Red Ribbon

I couldn’t help myself… I needed to do it, even though I knew I ran the risk of displeasing you. But there was nothing else that could be done. To satisfy myself, I had to do it.

I let myself into your apartment. I arrived not long after noon, and I knew I had hours before you came home. Luckily, you were working away from the city, so I knew you would message me to let me know when you would be heading home. Even though I am your slave, you know that I am a woman, first and foremost. More importantly, you know that I’m a woman in love with a man she never wants to lose. So you let me know what’s going on, even though you don’t have to. I had plenty of time to do what I needed.

Stepping inside, I set down the bags and box I carried and leant against the door, merely standing there, inhaling the scent of you. Your deodorant, the faint hint of the coffee you brewed this morning, the basic smell of you. I slowly walked through the apartment, touching the things you would touch, running my hand along the couch where we had spent so many hours watching television or talking, and where you spent so much time commanding my body. Just the thought the number of times you’ve sat there as you watched me dance and strip for you, the number of times I’ve knelt before you, gently licking or hungrily sucking your cock, and the number of times you’ve knelt in front of me licking my cunt or fucking me… just the thoughts alone arouse me.

I turned around, and surveyed the room, thinking about what I had to do. Even with your return home hours away, I had to get started. It wouldn’t be done quickly… not what I had in mind. I shrugged out of my jacket, and hung it on the hook near the door. I was dressed for comfort and practicality, and not seduction, even so the fabric rubbed across my bare nipples. Absently, I reached up to tweak them as I kicked off my shoes, thinking of you as I did, both impatient for your return and hoping that I’d have enough time.

A knock at the door signalled the beginning of what would be a very busy afternoon.

—

The hours had passed quickly, and pretty much in a blur. But finally I had finished almost everything by the time you sent me the message saying you were leaving for the day. I replied, letting you know I was free for the evening if you had anything in mind. It wasn’t a complete lie; I didn’t have any other plans except to be there with you.
Then I started on the last things I needed to do.

Stepping into the shower, I quickly shampooed my hair, relishing in the feeling of the suds sliding down my back, the water washing them over my ass… the feel of them on my breasts, slippery and slick. I rinsed and then massaged in the conditioner. As I waited for that to, in theory, do it’s magic, I washed the rest of my body, caressing and teasing my breasts, nipples, stomach, thighs and ass with soap-slicked hands. My body temperature was rising, and the ever-familiar throb in my cunt became more pronounced. The afternoon’s activities, while in sone ways satisfying, left me with even more hunger for your touch. But you were to be home soon, and there were still things to be done. I cooled down the water, and rinsed my hair. Getting out of the shower, I quickly dried off, before once again making my hair appear as it did earlier. Not one thing could be different about my appearance.

Walking into your bedroom, I smiled. I liked and enjoyed what I had done during the afternoon. I just hoped you wouldn’t be too displeased. I quickly rubbed moisturiser into my body, and slipped into the clothes I had laid out on the bed earlier. With one last flick of my nipples, I left the room to make sure everything was in place.

Walking through the apartment, I ticked off items on my mental list. Everything was in place. All that was needed now was for you to come home. And I can’t wait, I thought to myself, leaning over to ignite the oil burner.

—

By the time you get to your door, everything is in place. Inside, the hundred or so candles in their own special glass containers are lit, the oil burner fills the air with a sensual mix of scents, and I will be in your room. Waiting. But all of that is for you to discover.

You don’t know I am there. You are possibly still pushing your work day from your mind, or even thinking about what you will do to me, and with me, that night and over the weekend. You don’t suspect anything is different, until you arrive home and walk to your door.

On the front door is a large white envelope, addressed simply to N. Leading from it is a wide red ribbon, snaking beneath the door in invitation. You would take the envelope and open it, reading the note inside. It simply says Follow the ribbon.

You would unlock and open the door, instinctively reaching for the light switch, momentarily confused by the candlelight. A notecard taped to the switch lets you know that I have taken care of everything, and the light is not needed. Maybe a small frown would cross your face at my impertinence, or maybe it would be a small smile of curiosity as you wondered what I was up to. Following the ribbon would take you first to the shower, the choice of jeans and shirt or your favourite robe waiting for you to slip into. Maybe you would shower or maybe just change, but afterwards, the ribbon takes you to the kitchen, where a fresh pot of coffee sits, as well as a silver ice bucket filled with chilled bottles of beer. A place card sits between them, inviting you to take your choice. There is also an arrangement of snacks for you to choose from, if it is your wish.

From the kitchen, you will be lead back to the living room. A note, attached to the ribbon, invites you to sit. Another on the remote controls invites you to play the tape that is in the VCR. You would sit back with your beverage of choice, turn on the television and hit play. It wouldn’t take you long to recognise the song playing through the speakers as one of your favourites. On screen, you can see your slave, kneeling on the floor in the same room in which you now sit, directly in front of the exact couch you are currently sitting on.

Slowly, she begins to move in time to the music, rising from the floor, swaying her hips in rhythm, twisting and turning, almost belly-dancing. You may think of a concubine dancing for her master. Or just a slut enticing you to her bed. The visuals of her dancing are inter-cut with images of the red ribbon, leading away from the living room, letting you know that the journey hasn’t ended.

Back to her – dancing, moving as the music dictates. The ribbon weaves up the stairs like a snake. Her hands reach for her breasts, and you know she is only teasing her nipples with her index fingers, running them across the top, barely grazing the skin, before flicking and pinching and then cradling her breasts. She runs her hands down her body, and along her upper thighs and then back up, stopping at the top button of her blouse.

The camera follows the ribbon along the landing… you know where it’s heading. Back to your slave, who is now stripping away the clothes she is wearing, each button undone revealing pale skin and black lace beneath. Back to the ribbon, you know it is leading to your bedroom.

The music builds, the images mingle.

Her shirt falls to the floor, the ribbon runs under your closed bedroom door.

Her skirt falls away to reveal more black lace underneath.

The bedroom door opens and the camera pans along the floor and then across the bed.
The song finishes and the image freezes on screen, a message overlays, before fading to black.

—

In the last image, you can see me there, my hair a riot of messy curls, my body clad only in a few skimpy pieces of black lace, lying on the bed, arms restrained above my head, waiting patiently. One leg is bent, knee to the
ceiling, in the name of comfort. The other is stretched out, inviting to be caressed. My back sligh
tly arched to push my breasts higher. Through the lace, you can see my erect nipples, and on my face, a look of need. A look of desire. A look of longing and want. A look of submission.
Before the tape ends, you’ll once again see the words Follow the ribbon.

The red ribbon that leads from the living room, up the stairs, and under the door to your bedroom… to the room where I lay in the video, lace clad, nipples erect, hands bound, awaiting your pleasure.

Follow the ribbon.