And She Was His – an erotic story

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(I originally published this short story a couple of months ago.  This is a slightly amended version, edited by Adrea Kore.  I hope, if you read the original, you will think that this is an improvement.  Please note that this story features a bdsm relationship and may not be suitable for under 18s.)

 

He watched her from across the room, as the opening night at the gallery was in full swing.  She glided rather than walked, despite the very high heels she was wearing, and her body’s undulations made the silk dress slide effortlessly over her body.  There was no panty line showing, so he assumed that she was naked under the dress, as she often was.  She had a body that made many men (and some women too, he noticed) suck in air as she passed. They’d hold their breath; only breathing out as she departed –yet she seemed totally unaware of the effect she had on people.

And she was his.

He knew that all he had to do was raise a finger and she would obediently leave whoever she was in conversation with, and cross the room to be by his side.  But he liked watching her from a distance, and he enjoyed watching other people’s faces as they watched her with one eye, as though nothing was really distracting them from their individual conversations with their fellow guests.  They were mesmerised by her, just as he was.

And she was his.

Soft, rhythmic music was playing in the background, the sort of music to which he enjoyed dancing with her, right hand on her bottom, pulling her into his body, letting her know how much he desired her when she felt the hardness beneath his trousers.  She mirrored his movements precisely, so in tune was she with his body and its subtle messages.  It was almost as though they had a secret, unspoken language that transmitted between the two of them, that others could sense, but no one could translate.

And she was his.

Later, when they were alone, she would submit to him, bending her supple body into whatever position he demanded; her naked body a joy to behold and touch; with gently curving hips, soft belly and luscious breasts.  Her soft lips glistened as she licked them with her tongue, and the lips of her sex glistened with the elixir of love as he stroked her beautiful body from the tip of her nose to the ends of her toes.  A body like hers was to be slowly enjoyed, not taken hastily and carelessly, but savoured and appreciated like a fine wine.

And she was his.

But before the reward came the pain, which they both craved, he needed to give it and she to receive it.  Sometimes he liked to restrain her; sometimes he tested her endurance by invisible bindings, which she accepted just as well.  “Hold still, my love,” he would whisper in her ear, before he whipped her with the crop, and she would remain as still as a statue. Only her soft groans and a faint glow of perspiration giving him an indication that her sexual need was rising up within her, ready to crash like waves upon the shore, as soon as he gave his permission for her release.

And she was his.

“Take me in your mouth”, he would command her, and shiver as her lips formed a perfect ‘O’ around his hard cock.  He couldn’t remember ever being as hard as he had been with her.  It was as though the strength and energy of his whole body travelled to that one part of his anatomy when it was needed.  She made him feel like a king, like an emperor, and she his willing slave, as she sat at his feet and waited for his voice to command her.  He would never abuse her or mistreat her, but only give her what she craved from him.

And she was his.

“Master, how can I please you?” she would ask, in her soft voice, when he called her to his side. Gently, he would brush her thick, dark hair away from her face and kiss her tenderly on her neck and ear lobe, sometimes nipping it with his teeth.  “I want you…now,” was all he needed to say and she immediately left whatever she was doing, and her body was his for whatever he desired.  He adored dressing her in the morning with his choice of dress for that day, and slowly undressing her in the evening, as though he was unwrapping a piece of valuable and delicate porcelain, kissing her warm skin as he did so, and listening to her breathing becoming deeper as he began to excite her body with promised pleasures.

And she was his.

She was facing him now, across the room, being charming to two men who hung on to every word she uttered, and whose eyes never once left her as she spoke.  But she was fully aware of him, of his eyes following her whenever she circulated through the mass of people.  Just a slight movement of his finger was the only signal she needed.  Knowing he wanted her she gracefully excused herself from the two men who grinning at her like besotted schoolboys.  She took the shortest route through the room, her hips gently undulating as she walked, not once losing eye contact with him. Arriving to stand in front of him, she looked up at him, her eyes both alert and receptive.

“Did you want me, Master?”

“Whose are you, my darling?”

“I am yours, Master.”

“And whose am I?”

“You are mine, Master.”

And she was right, as usual.  He was as much hers as she was his.  For neither of them could function as a separate entity.  He needed her as much as she needed him.  Two halves of a perpetual puzzle; joined together in love.

 

Your comments and opinions are highly appreciated.

Photo: Shutterstock

 

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