This is my favourite place. The warm patch of sun on my skin. The golden glow all around me. The feel of the soft carpet on my soles. The smell of
the old house- not musty or dry but warm, welcoming and delicately scented with wood-smoke and delicious cooking wafting up from the kitchen. The sound of the birds outside the
window. The crunch and squeak of the tape around my wrists, binding me tight, secure like a hug, not harsh like a handcuff. The soft denim on my skin,
the memories of what happened to me last time you tied me up barefoot in my blue jeans. The feel of your hands on me, the taste of your kiss, the feel of your breath, licking me
from head to toe, the sound of the zip as you peel down the denim, the sight of you standing over me, me in my favourite place... at your feet.