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An Anquissette's Journey
"To Be Satisfied..."
This was my secret life, out from beneath the eye of the mundane. This wasa place of solace and a certain sadistic peace. I entered quietly through thedoor as I had been instructed. The surroundings - the slight creak of a worndoor, the scents of daily living, did nothing to betray this meeting's truepurpose. I made my way cautiously down the carpeted stairs, difficult to maneuverin the high stiletto heels that had been chosen for me. My mind began to churnthoughts of our last meeting and the secret pleasures it held. It had beena long week and I was looking forward to the evening's activities, a meansof release.
Opening the door to the basement, I was greeted with air a touch moist fromthe winter. I felt it upon the sheerness of my stockings and the bare skinI had exposed in numerous places. I had been told in exact detail how to attiremyself – the top was a black leather corset, its elegant lines flatteringmy own natural curvature and clinging to my figure. I had marked with pleasureearlier the way my full breasts swelled, tempting above its low neckline. Ithad been explicitly put that I should wear little else - some stockings thatstopped at the thigh, long vinyl gloves, a scant pair of panties, of courseand the classical high-heeled shoes in a fine black velvet. There were a lineof small silver buttons all down the back. I wondered if they would survivethis encounter, probably not. Such were the insignificant things I took noteof as I entered the room.
The lights were dim and I was bathed in the subtle shadows of the intimateroom. I discreetly shut the door behind me and stepped forward, my shoes makinga light clicking sound on the floor. Having placed my things in the upstairshallway there was nothing for my hands to clutch, so I fidgeted with my garters,making sure they were taut.
Perhaps, if the situation had been a different one, I would not have notedhis stealthy entrance, but I was trained to note such small things. With swiftstrides, He closed the distance between us. I could not help but cower a littlein his presence. He stood before me, all power and confidence, his shadow cloakingmy entire body in darkness. My stomach was tight with nerves and stillI was drawn to him. Making a conscious effort not to sink into a kneeling position,I barely held back the flood of submission. It was too easy to surrender mydignity now. I mustered my courage, took a deep breath, and stood my unstableground.
His hand rose casually in a gesture calling me to him, until he dashed itacross my face. I staggered before him, the taste of blood blooming on my lips. "Youwill kneel in my presence, whore," he said nonchalantly. I immediately sankbefore him, my heels tucked under my exposed bottom. The pain was slight andI maintained my position with pose. "Master…" The word escaped my lips,I no longer knew if it was a statement, a question or a plea. Perhaps it wasall these things. The floor was cold and hard beneath me. I watched as he pacedaround me in balanced and calculated steps.
"How do you dare show your face here? Is it to tempt my anger?" he asked,circling behind me. I felt his hand dig into my curls, wrenching my head backward,and I made an effort to keep my eyes downcast, despite the position of face.My throat felt vulnerable and exposed. "Look at me!" He pressed his firm thighhard against the back of my head, sliding his hand down to encircle my throat,jerking my face towards him with painful precision. "Answer, slave."
"Master…I did not know… I had displeased you," I managed tosay flustered by both the pain and the pleasure of my situation. My breathseemed to come hot and laboured. "Is that so?" He punctuated his cool wordswith a jerk of his hand. "Well, I will have to teach you to make a better noteof the desires of your Master." Another spasm of his clutching fingers andthen release. My pulse beat in my throat and spots of black danced in my vision. "Asyou wish, Master…" I whispered the words as a fog of languor invadedmy consciousness. With an effort, I turned my head, feeling the muscles ofhis thigh move beneath my cheek.
"Prove it, then," he said, as his strong hand shoved me to the ground. "Inthe corner, now." His tone rang out strong and demanding, brushed with thefaint hint of desire. I knew the corner well, equipped with rings and ropesfor suspension. I had spent a great deal of time being punished there.
Such was my fate, to desire the perverse. I could no more help my body'saddiction to suffering than I could work to prevent it with my words.
I crawled my way to the corner, the hard floor bruising my knees. I arrivedin the familiar location and kneeled, obediently awaiting, my muscles tensewith anticipation. I heard the too familiar sound of a drawer opening. Thena pause; its silence pregnant with the possibilities. I awaited his rough voice'sissue. I was to be punished, that was clear, but how would he do it?
My skin shivered as I knelt. My hands were resting on my thighs, which weregrowing steadily warmer with every passing moment. I knew better than to givevoice to my body's urgings, he had taught me as much last time. I was stillnursing those welts on my back. A slave's duty was to her Master and mine didnot look well upon his property speaking out of turn. And so I remained, revelingin a beautiful agony until I heard his footfall stalking towards me.
My head remained lowered, my eyes fixed on the hardwood below me. I notedits stained surface, small faded circles scattered in the corner. My bloodno doubt. There had been times when he would strike me with force enough todraw my blood, but it was in those moments when I felt we had our most intimateconnection - something primal, beyond words.
I waited for the burning fire of pain to illuminate my body. I already beganto crave the exacting delicacy of his work. If I took my punishment well, myMaster would be pleased. He would reward my behavior. But no scourge fell,no exquisite pain coursed across my skin.
"On your feet," he said, grinding out the words. "There," headded, pointing to a large wooden desk in the corner. I hadn't noticed whenI entered, but the desk had been cleared of all of its contents. Once I wason my feet, he shoved me so that I stumbled, confused, towards the desk. "Ihave waited long enough," my Master said menacingly, advancing towardme. "Alright, slut. On your stomach." I leaned over the worndesk, its edge biting at my pelvis. Face pressed against the surface, the scentsof polish and use filled my senses. I had assumed he was to paddle or spankme... I should have learned not to assume. I heard him moving behind me, thesound of a zipper, a belt being undone... I should have known. I felt his handsgently graze my buttocks, softly probing at the moisture already present. Ifelt him grab the nape of my top and tear it open, ripping the buttons allthe way down my back. He spread my legs noting, I'm sure, how I was almostdripping with need.
Then with one smooth thrust, he pierced me to the core. I could not helpbut cry out in surprise and fear. He was violating our contract. We had agreedthat nothing sexual could come of our arrangement. He clutched my hips andthrust himself into my too narrow passage, so hard I gasped with pleasure. "This...is what... you deserve, whore." I felt my body go pliant in his hands,submitting to the violation. "You brought this upon yourself," hesaid coldly, as he grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head to far back.Crying out, my body began to lean into his force, massaging him inside me,with a will to please my Master despite myself.
"Admit it!" Again he thrust into my depths, forcing his way evendeeper by pulling me to him. Gasping with exhaustion and need I answered, "Yes...Master...I did ...this." "Did what...you filthy slut?" "Imade you...I made you fuck me."
As a gesture of approval, he stroked the aching pearl of flesh that lay pulsingbetween my lips, urging my hips to grind against the solid desk. All this provedtoo much for me and my entire body exploded in a flood of lust. While he continuedto ram himself into me, sheathing himself to the hilt, I felt wave after waveof passionate languor. My body shook with the intensity of my climax forcingme to claw at the grain of the wooden furniture. I heard him groan as he climaxed,his muscles straining against my flesh. Then as deftly as he entered he pulledhimself from me, leaving an aching hollow place.
"I want you to wear me..." he said in a worn & deep tone, onlythen did I feel his warm juices drip onto my back and rear. "Turn over,slave." I did so, painfully noting the trauma my hips had received fromthe desk. I kept my eyes downcast as he spent himself on my body, his juicedripping down my legs. He had marked me as his own.
Gently he took hold of my chin, "Look at me, I want to see your face," hisvoice full of subdued desire. I looked up at him, large hazel eyes searchinghis features. There I found contentment in his eyes and intent in his smile.
"What do you think I want you to do now?" My mind raced throughthe possibilities and came to settle on only one answer. I knelt gracefullybefore him and took him into my mouth. I savoured him with every pass I made.He shuttered and let out a soft moan. I continued to work my tongue aroundhis shaft, at times flicking its surface, at others licking it broad firm strokes.As his moans grew more frequent and intense, he grew to an erection in my mouth.I accepted him eagerly, lips and tongue working in artful precision, puttingto practice years of experience. Elated, I devoured him with a renewed intent.I toyed with him as person dining on a rare delicacy, for indeed that is whathe was. He buried his hands in my long hair, guiding my head along his hardform, but I needed no guide in this pleasure. I forced his slick shaft deepwithin my throat, cutting off even air for his pleasure. Once deep within mythroat I made as if to swallow repeatedly. He shuttered with his whole bodyand shoved me to the floor, "You fucking whore…" he shouted,back-handing me across the mouth. I licked my lips, tasting my blood mixedwith his seed. I looked up through the mass of curls spilling over myeyes and saw his face take on that familiar look of amused distain, as he againlet himself spill all over my body.
"Go clean yourself. I don't want a dirty slave." He motioned to the showerin the adjacent room. I rose obediently from the floor to cross to the room.He let me stand and make my way, watching my progress. Ever aware of his eyesfollowing my exposed body, I carefully tread each step when a sudden fear overtookme. My heart pounding, I realized that he would not allow me to escape severepunishment if any of my filth was to drip on the clean floor. Now acutely awareof his wetness all over my skin, I strained not to let any fall. I reachedthe stall after what seemed an eternity. Letting go of the breath I hadn'tknow was held, I silently opened the beveled glass door. Reaching my hand intothe shower, my flushed skin brushed the chill tiles. My body gave a slightinvoluntary shutter.
Having turned on the fall of steaming water, I stepped gingerly into thestall, closing the door behind me. I let the steam enfold me and the warmthof the water seep into my bones, soothing the aches of my flesh. I tilted myhead back to submerge my hair – letting it grow water-logged and silkendown the length of my back, maintaining only a shadow of its former ringlets.
"What makes you think a slave has the right to privacy?" he demanded, pullingopen the door to the shower with his powerful form blocking the exit,allowing in a blast of frigid air and stealing my private revelry. Leaningforward, his heated fingers stroked my cheek allowing the sharpness of hisnails to trail along my skin. My blood heated to his touch, my back archingforcing my breast towards his intimidating figure. With a faint smile he heldmy chin with his hand forcing me to look him in the face. With his other handhe held aloft a washcloth. "I want you clean. This should touch every inchof your body…slowly," he added with a mirthful smile. "And remember… Iam watching." With that said, his hand forced the shower dial to the far left,turning the water from a delightful comfort to an icy torture. His smile twistedwith a sadistic satisfaction as he took his seat in front of the shower, leavingthe door open to view my suffering.
Well, if it was a show he desired, I would not be the one to disappoint,despite the cold. Ignoring the frozen sheets falling on my shocked skin, Ibegan to slowly caress my arms with the cloth. I made the conscious effortto frame myself in the door – a proscenium of sorts for my private stage.Years of dancing had allowed me full knowledge of how to accent a certain lineor curve of the flesh and I used every lesson to please my Master. So slowlydid I have the fabric grace me, every motion contributing to a silent seduction.I tried to push the frozen stream's pelting from my mind, but I felt my skingrow textured with small bumps and I had to clench my jaw shut to keep it fromchattering.
Still I continued on… massaging my legs; working from sculpted calvesup over slender thighs to the one place that still held warmth. Suddenly thesubtle texture of the cloth became intimately apparent. My eyes downcast, Ichanced a secretive glance at my spectator, my full gaze falling upon the growingbulge straining within his trousers. A plan quickly budding, I turned my backto him under the pretense of washing it. I went to resume washing my legs,bending over, letting my hair cascade about my face, I used the dark and shiningtendrils to hide my curious glance. Then, watching his expression, I slid myhand, covered in the terry between my legs. The cloth felt rough like a cat'stongue against my heated entrance, still swollen and aching from its earlieruse.
Since I could not use my voice to make my plea, I begged him for releaseusing my body. I toyed with myself, imaging it was him touching me so gently.A fantasy of his caresses, so precise and poignant, guided me along. Chancinghis displeasure, I let the cloth fall and continued my desperate performancewith my own hands. Through my dark curtain of hair, I watched the lines ofhis face become pained with need. It was only fair that he should suffer somewhatfor having violated me so…
I withdrew my hand from its pulsing orifice and returned to just showering.Taking my hair in my hands, letting a few strands dangle artfully, I beganmy previous temptation anew. I sculpted my form, letting the graceful streamsof water highlight my curvature. I slid my back against the smooth tile andguided the water to let a small trickle of its icy liquid trail over my breast,tumbling over my hardened nipple. Shifting my weight, I let one slender hipraise just so to emphasize a slender waist.
I wanted him to take me in completely, to realize the full worth of his devotedpet. After all, I had worked to perfect my figure for him, countless hoursof sweat and pain working towards an ideal.
A hint of a smirk crossed my face as I realized that must appear as one ofthose erotic statues on an Indian temple. How appropriate then that I shouldbe as a devadasi serving her god. With my spirits lifted and my body near hypothermic,I ended my performance. I looked at him repentantly, hands folded in frontof me.
With just a nod, he silently released me from my arctic prison. I immediatelyshut off the horrible fall of cold and stepped from the shower. He stood, talland utterly masculine, welcoming me into his strong arms; greeting me withthe soft comfort of a rich towel. How I adored him in these moments of closeness.He held me willingly captive, against his broad chest, as he tenderly wipedall trace of moisture from my chilled skin. After I was dry he led me to acouch where he had several blankets already prepared. Wrapping me tightly hesoftly commanded me to sit and recover. Taking the place next to me, he satwith a single agile motion. I noted how it seemed his presence had lost noneof its power, I still felt so small next to him, but now it felt as if he couldshelter me with his will alone. The remainder of the evening was a haze ofpleasant rewards and niceties. There had been some steaming cocoa, a massagereturning life and heat back to stiff extremities and when I began slippinginto a comfortable languor – a container of whipped cream to revive me.
An Anquissette's Journey
This was my secret life, out from beneath the eye of the mundane. This wasa place of solace and a certain sadistic peace. I entered quietly through thedoor as I had been instructed. The surroundings - the slight creak of a worndoor, the scents of daily living, did nothing to betray this meeting's truepurpose. I made my way cautiously down the carpeted stairs, difficult to maneuverin the high stiletto heels that had been chosen for me. My mind began to churnthoughts of our last meeting and the secret pleasures it held. It had beena long week and I was looking forward to the evening's activities, a meansof release.
Opening the door to the basement, I was greeted with air a touch moist fromthe winter. I felt it upon the sheerness of my stockings and the bare skinI had exposed in numerous places. I had been told in exact detail how to attiremyself – the top was a black leather corset, its elegant lines flatteringmy own natural curvature and clinging to my figure. I had marked with pleasureearlier the way my full breasts swelled, tempting above its low neckline. Ithad been explicitly put that I should wear little else - some stockings thatstopped at the thigh, long vinyl gloves, a scant pair of panties, of courseand the classical high-heeled shoes in a fine black velvet. There were a lineof small silver buttons all down the back. I wondered if they would survivethis encounter, probably not. Such were the insignificant things I took noteof as I entered the room.
The lights were dim and I was bathed in the subtle shadows of the intimateroom. I discreetly shut the door behind me and stepped forward, my shoes makinga light clicking sound on the floor. Having placed my things in the upstairshallway there was nothing for my hands to clutch, so I fidgeted with my garters,making sure they were taut.
Perhaps, if the situation had been a different one, I would not have notedhis stealthy entrance, but I was trained to note such small things. With swiftstrides, He closed the distance between us. I could not help but cower in hispresence. He stood before me, all power and confidence, his shadow cloakingme in darkness. My stomach tight w/ nerves and still I was drawn to him. Makinga conscious effort not to sink into a kneeling position, I barely held backthe flood of submission. It was too easy to surrender my dignity now. I musteredmy courage, took a deep breath, and stood my unstable ground.
His hand rose casually in a gesture calling me to him until he dashed itacross my face. I staggered before him, the taste blood blooming on my lips. "Youwill kneel in my presence, whore," he said nonchalantly. I immediately sankbefore him, my heels tucked under my exposed bottom. The pain was slight andI maintained my position with pose. "Master…" The word escaped my lips,I no longer knew if it was a statement, a question or a plea. Perhaps it wasall these things. The floor was cold and hard beneath me. I watched as he pacedaround me in balanced and calculated steps.
"Why do you dare show your face here? Is it to tempt my anger?" he asked,circling behind me. I felt his hand dig into my curls, wrenching my head backward,and I made an effort to keep my eyes downcast, despite the position of face.My throat felt vulnerable and exposed. "Look at me!" He pressed his firm thighhard against the back of my head, sliding his hand down to encircle my throat,jerking my face towards him with painful precision. "Answer, slave."
"Master…I did not know… I had displeased you," I managed tosay flustered by both the pain and the pleasure of my situation. My breathseemed to come hot and laboured. "Is that so?" He punctuated his cool wordswith a jerk of his hand. "Well, I will have to teach you to make a better noteof the desires of your master." Another spasm of his clutching fingers andthen release. My pulse beat in my throat and spots of black danced in my vision. "Asyou wish, Master…" I whispered the words as a fog of languor invadedmy consciousness. With an effort, I turned my head, feeling the muscles ofhis thigh move beneath my cheek.
"Prove it, then," he said, as his strong hand shoved me to the ground. "Inthe corner, now." His tone rang out strong and demanding, brushed with thefaint hint of desire. I knew the corner well, equipped with rings and ropesfor suspension. I had spent a great deal of time being punished there.
Such was my fate, to desire the perverse. I could no more help my body'saddiction to suffering than I could work to prevent it with my words. I crawledmy way to the corner, the hard floor bruising my knees. I arrived in the familiarlocation and kneeled, obediently awaiting, my muscles tense with anticipation.I heard the too familiar sound of a drawer opening. Then a pause; its silencepregnant with the possibilities. I awaited his rough voice's issue. I was tobe punished, that was clear, but how would he do it?
My skin shivered as I knelt. My hands were resting on my thighs, which weregrowing steadily warmer with every passing moment. I knew better than to givevoice to my body's urgings, he had taught me as much last time. I was stillnursing those welts on my back. A slave's duty was to her master and mine didnot look well upon his property speaking out of turn. And so I remained, revelingin a beautiful agony until I heard his footfall stalking towards me.
My head remained lowered, my eyes fixed on the hardwood below me. I notedits stained surface, small faded circles scattered in the corner. My bloodno doubt. There had been times when he would strike me with force enough todraw my blood, but it was in those moments when I felt we had our most intimateconnection - something primal, beyond words.
I waited for the burning fire of pain to illuminate my body. I already beganto crave the exacting delicacy of his work. If I took my punishment well, myMaster would be pleased. He would reward my behavior. But no scourge fell,no exquisite pain coursed across my skin.
"On your feet," he said, grinding out the words. "There," headded, pointing to a large wooden desk in the corner. I hadn't noticed whenI entered, but the desk had been cleared of all of its contents. Once I wason my feet, he shoved me so that I stumbled, confused, towards the desk. "Ihave waited long enough," my Master said menacingly, advancing towardme. "Alright, slut. On your stomach." I leaned over the edge of theworn desk, its edge biting at my pelvis. Face pressed against the surface,the scents of polish and use filled my senses. I had assumed he was to paddleor spank me. I should have learned not to assume. I heard him moving behindme, the sound of a zipper, a belt being undone... I should have known. I felthis hands gently graze my buttocks, softly probing at the moisture alreadypresent. I felt him grab the nape of my top and tear it open, ripping the buttonsall the way down my back. He spread my legs; I'm sure noting how I was almostdripping with need.
Then with one smooth thrust, he pierced me to the core. I could not helpbut cry out in surprise and fear. He was violating our contract. We had agreedthat nothing sexual could come of our arrangement. He clutched my hips andthrust himself into my too narrow passage, so hard I gasped with pleasure. "This...is what... you deserve, whore." I felt my body go pliant in his hands,submitting to the violation. "You brought this upon yourself," hesaid coldly, as he grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head to far back.Crying out, my body began to lean into his force, massaging him inside me,with a will to please my Master despite myself.
"Admit it!" Again he thrust into my depths, forcing his way evendeeper by pulling me to him. Gasping with exhaustion and need I answered, "Yes...Master...I did ...this." "Did what...you filthy slut?" "Imade you...I made you fuck me."
As a gesture of approval, he stroked the aching pearl of flesh that lay pulsingbetween my lips, urging my hips to grind against the solid desk. All this provedtoo much for me and my entire body exploded in a flood of lust. While he continuedto ram himself into me, sheathing himself to the hilt, I felt wave after waveof passionate languor. My body shook with the intensity of my climax forcingme to claw at the working muscles in his back. I heard him groan as he climaxed,his muscles straining against my flesh. Then as deftly as he entered he pulledhimself from me, leaving an aching hollow place.
"I want you to wear me..." he said in a worn & deep tone, andthen I felt his warm juices drip onto my back and rear. "Turn over, slave. "Idid so, painfully noting the trauma my hips had received from the desk. I keptmy eyes downcast as he spent himself on my body, his juice dripping down mylegs. He had marked me as his own.
Gently he took hold of my chin, "Look at me, I want to see your face," hisvoice full of subdued desire. I looked up at him, large hazel eyes searchinghis features. There I found contentment in his eyes and intent in his smile.
"What do you think I want you to do now?" My mind raced throughthe possibilities and came to settle on only one answer. I knelt gracefullybefore him and took him into my mouth. I savoured him with every pass I made.He shuttered and let out a soft moan. I continued to work my tongue aroundhis shaft, at times flicking its surface, at others licking it broad firm strokes.As his moans grew more frequent and intense, he grew to an erection in my mouth.I accepted him eagerly, lips and tongue working in artful precision, puttingto practice years of experience. Elated, I devoured him with a renewed intent.I toyed with him as person dining on a rare delicacy, for indeed that is whathe was. He buried his hands in my long hair, guiding my head along his hardform, but I needed no guide in this pleasure. I forced his slick shaft deepwithin my throat, cutting off even air for his pleasure. Once deep within mythroat I made as if to swallow repeatedly. He shuttered with his whole bodyand shoved me to the floor, "You fucking whore…" he shouted,back-handing me across the mouth. I licked my lips, tasting blood mixed withhis seed. I looked up through the mass of hair spilling over my eyes and sawhis face take on that familiar look of amused distain, as he again let himselfspill all over my body.
"Go clean yourself. I don't want a dirty slave." He motioned to the showerin the adjacent room. I rose obediently from the floor to cross to the room.He let me stand and make my way, watching my progress. Ever aware of his eyesfollowing my exposed body, I carefully tread each step when a sudden fear overtookme. My heart pounding, I realized that he would not allow me to escape severepunishment if any of my filth was to drip on the clean floor. Now acutely awareof his wetness all over my skin, I strained not to let any fall. I reachedthe stall after what seemed an eternity. Letting go of the breath I hadn'tknow was held, I silently opened the beveled glass door. Reaching my hand intothe shower, my flushed skin brushed the chill tiles. My body gave a slightinvoluntary shutter.
Having turned on the fall of steaming water, I stepped gingerly into thestall, closing the door behind me. I let the steam enfold me and the warmthof the water seep into my bones, soothing the aches of my flesh. I tilted myhead back to submerge my hair – letting it grow water-logged and silkendown the length of my back, maintaining only a shadow of its former ringlets.
"What makes you think a slave has the right to privacy?" he demanded, hispowerful form blocking the exit, while pulling open the door to the shower,allowing in a blast of frigid air and stealing my private revelry. Leaningforward, his heated fingers stroked my cheek allowing the sharpness of hisnails to trail along my skin. My blood heated to his touch, my back archingforcing my breast towards his intimidating figure. With a faint smile he heldmy chin with his hand forcing me to look him in the face. With his other handhe held aloft a washcloth. "I want you clean. This should touch every inchof your body…slowly," he added with a mirthful smile. "And remember… Iam watching." With that said, his hand forced the shower dial to the far left,turning the water from a delightful comfort to an icy torture. His smile twistedwith a sadistic satisfaction as he took his seat in front of the shower, leavingthe door open to view my suffering.
Well, if it was a show he desired, I would not be the one to disappoint,despite the cold. Ignoring the frozen sheets falling on my shocked skin, Ibegan to slowly caress my arms with the cloth. I made the conscious effortto frame myself in the door – a proscenium of sorts for my private stage.Years of dancing had allowed me full knowledge of how to accent a certain lineor curve of the flesh and I used every lesson to please my Master. So slowlydid I have the fabric grace me, every motion contributing to a silent seduction.I tried to push the frozen stream's pelting from my mind, but I felt my skingrow textured with small bumps and I had to clench my jaw shut to keep it fromchattering.
Still I continued on… massaging my legs; working from sculpted calvesup over slender thighs to the one place that still held warmth. Suddenly thesubtle texture of the cloth became intimately apparent. My eyes downcast, Ichanced a secretive glance at my spectator, my full gaze falling upon the growingbulge straining within his trousers. A plan quickly budding, I turned my backto him under the pretense of washing it. I went to resume washing my legs,bending over, letting my hair cascade about my face, I used the dark and shiningtendrils to hide my curious glance. Then, watching his expression, I slid myhand, covered in the terry between my legs. The cloth felt rough like a cat'stongue against my heated entrance, still swollen and aching from its earlieruse.
Since I could not use my voice to make my plea, I begged him for releaseusing my body. I toyed with myself, imaging it was him touching me so gently.A fantasy of his caresses, so precise and poignant, guided me along. Chancinghis displeasure, I let the cloth fall and continued my desperate performancewith my own hands. Through my dark curtain of hair, I watched the lines ofhis face become pained with need. It was only fair that he should suffer somewhatfor having violated me so…
I withdrew my hand from its pulsing orifice and returned to just showering.Taking my hair in my hands, letting a few strands dangle artfully, I beganmy previous temptation anew. I sculpted my form, letting the graceful streamsof water highlight my curvature. I slid my back against the smooth tile andguided the water to let a small trickle of its icy liquid trail over my breast,tumbling over my hardened nipple. Shifting my weight, I let one slender hipraise just so to emphasize a slender waist.
I wanted him to take me in completely, to realize the full worth of his devotedpet. After all, I had worked to perfect my figure for him, countless hoursof sweat and pain working towards an ideal.
A hint of a smirk crossed my face as I realized that must appear as one ofthose erotic statues on an Indian temple. How appropriate then that I shouldbe as a devadasi serving her god. With my spirits lifted and my body near hypothermic,I ended my performance. I looked at him repentantly, hands folded in frontof me.
With just a nod, he silently released me from my arctic prison. I immediatelyshut off the horrible fall of cold and stepped from the shower. He stood, talland utterly masculine, welcoming me into his strong arms; greeting me withthe soft comfort of a rich towel. How I adored him in these moments of closeness.He held me willingly captive, against his broad chest, as he tenderly wipedall trace of moisture from my chilled skin. After I was dry he led me to acouch where he had several blankets already prepared. Wrapping me tightly hesoftly commanded me to sit and recover. Taking the place next to me, he satwith a single agile motion. I noted how it seemed his presence had lost noneof its power, I still felt so small next to him, but now it felt as if he couldshelter me with his will alone. The remainder of the evening was a haze ofpleasant rewards and niceties. There had been some steaming cocoa, a massagereturning life and heat back to stiff extremities and when I began slippinginto a comfortable languor – a container of whipped cream to revive me.
Gigi
- 15.08.2021
- 20
- 0
