In the still room she knelt on the floor with her head bowed; he stood behind her with the belt in his hand. They had formed this tableau many times before. It was one of their oldest and most favorite games. A ritual in which they both knew their parts, with their lines memorized: a play straight out of the BDSM playbook. He would bind her hands tightly with the belt, then walk back in front of her, his cock thickening inches away from her face. He would tease her with it then, rub it all over her face as she closed her eyes and purred.
Except that’s not what happened. That’s not what happened this time. That’s not what happened when he looped the belt in his fist, not what happened as he walked toward her, not what happened as he stood over her, entranced and aflame.
He paused. He inhaled the moment, marking it in memory, not truly even sure what he was going to do next as his arm seemingly developed a will of its own.
He lowered the loop of leather around her neck. He did not pull on the belt but left the loop loose as he walked around to stand in front of her again. He felt on the verge of some new world.
She raised her head to look up at him. Her face was aglow, as if lit from within. Her mouth was slightly agape, her eyes round with wonder.
When he remembered the moment years later, and he would, he would recall her expression as not even specifically sexual. He would remember the openness of her gaze, the complete lack of boundaries, the trust in knowing anything might happen next. It was the awestruck look of a child; it was the worshipful look of a parishioner deep in prayer. The look of an athlete milliseconds before the firing of the starting gun. The look of a girl about to receive her first kiss.
Their eyes locked. The air shimmered. The space around their bodies electrified. The moon broke out into clear sky, and moonlight spilled through the window, baptizing them.
from Serious Moonlight, by J G Cain