Journal 69
Noor 33
Jeweler
- Life
- A room above her bench
- Temper
- Patient and sure
Kinks
- She leads because he asked
- A thin collar he asked to wear
- Silk against skin, nothing hurried
I am Noor, thirty-three. I make jewelry at a bench that smells like polish and warm wire. Sam is thirty. He is my partner. He asked me, carefully, for a collar I would make myself, and for silk, and for me to decide what we do once the chain is on. I said yes because I wanted the weight of that trust, not because I enjoy being cruel. The collar sits easy. Two of my fingers fit beneath it. I never pull it up into his throat. He can speak the whole time. Femdom is the agreement. The collar and the silk are materials I already understand with my hands. I write the nights so I can keep the lamp, his eyes, and the way he kisses my wrist after. The trays stay unlabeled and ordinary. The rare thing is him choosing to kneel.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The chain
The apron was off. I sat at the bench in the silk camisole with a fine chain in my fingers and the lamp warm on my wrists. Sam stood in the light with the collar already checked by my hands, his breath easy. He had asked for the chain, the light one, the one that does not tighten. I clipped it to the ring and let it fall down the…
Read full postThe bench
The lamp was on. The trays were unlabeled, just wire and findings, nothing the night needed to name. I sat at the bench in a black apron over a silk camisole, gold hoops against my jaw. Sam closed the shop door and washed his hands because I had asked. He is my partner. He waited at the side of the bench. We had talked at dinner. He wanted the collar.…
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