He sits high in his leather chair; lounging in his dark
finely tailored suit, the very face of GQ model perfection, holding a tumbler
of seductive dark liquid. Every now and
again he brings the glass up to his perfectly cruel lips and tastes the
top-shelf bourbon.
I am on the floor in front of him, awaiting his next word
like some kind of trained dog. Little
does he know that street mutts never fully heel to their masters. The wildness, the desperation, never leaves.
The hunger and pain is just one word or gesture away and we know this. Betrayal is just around the corner; better to
bite and run then feel slapped once more. I have learned all too well what
happens to men like that when they are around me.
I know what he expects of me, a silent submissive posing in
all my glorious nudity; the devoted worshipping at the temple of her religion, bowing
at the feet of her god. The candle-lit
room, dark furniture and deeply enriched tones are all props set to enhance his
position and mine. I know what he
expects, but does he know what I expect in return? Is he as prepared as I am?
This is an important night for us, so I wait until he is
ready. I have all the time in the world,
really, to play this game. Maybe this is
the one that will finally be worthy.
I catch the note of crystal glass set against the hard
surface of the side table. The gentle
creaks of leather as he rises slowly to his full height. I can’t help but shiver slightly at this song
of seduction. Nothing says sex like the
slow creak of worn leather. Approaching
my spot next to the bed, steps strong and sure, he halts just in front of my
knees. Kneeling this long is hard on my
body by waiting is worth the reward, in this respect.
Another pause that lasted eternity and he kneels down,
lining our eyes on the same plane. That was your first mistake, master.
My mask stays in place even as my body prepares for the inevitable.
I glance toward his left hand, a studded leather collar held
loosely in his large grip. “Are you ready?” he asks, as if we haven’t discussed
this a hundred times before. His repeated need of reassurance loosens my leash
just enough. Instead of words, I pull my hair up so he can slip the collar
around my neck;the mark of faith and trust in his Dominance.
Each tingle of the buckle increases my fire; an inferno of
need and desire. I know what is coming
and I need it more than my next breath.
I can feel his rapid breaths against my neck and I close my eyes to that
I can commit each moment to memory. His
breathing becomes ragged and strained. The
heat against my skin where his bushes across mine is scorches and I revel in
the pleasure/pain of it all.
The last click of the collar is secured and I am set
ablaze. Turning, I stand up while he
crumbles down to all fours.
“You failed. Your
strength, your conviction, were not absolute.
You asked me for my all yet cannot give it in return.”
I knock him over onto his side with a slight push of my bare
foot, exposing his chest and the fear in his eyes. I reach toward him, running my fingertips over
the soft material of his sweat-soaked button up. The heat radiating from me is not helping his
struggle for air. The flames licking
around my skin singes the cloth away, leaving his chest bare. He feeble attempts to get up are useless, and
I reach down and take what I offered him so freely; the bloody release of his
soul dripping from my hand.
Never turn your back on this stray for she will bite you the
moment you falter. Strength and confidence are the only things some creatures
respect, even a creature such as me.
Emelyn St. James ©
