Blinding light

Chapter 1

It was outside time, beknownst space, a universe of dream and lust. A story a thousand times repeated as an echo of a dream never awakening.

She, a beauty of betold stories, out of a never written book, lost in a wind of inspiration, between the ink marking out her body and the silky sheets of words, and that obscur presence, that pressing scent of lust, the kind one shivers to, yet cannot turn away from.

Blindfolded, dressed in soft shear, laced and ready. The beauty possessed by her master, while he is lurking in the room to get his way. She slowly enters the room, as a tamed wolf, rolling her pelvis in oscillating movements as if something was tickling her body. One arm slowly moving in front of the other; one leg lusciously before the other; the shoulders rolling to stretch her arched back, as the playful beauty that she is.  Slowly getting to his level as he directs her to him, imperatively  calling at her so she approaches still closer, while uncovering his trainer's stick, the shaft that would dominate her appetite and submerge her senses. 

She slowly, barely touches it with the tip of her nose as it rises more and more toward the ceiling. That tender stick asking to be stimulated by a touch, a warm breath. She yearns to grab it with her firm fingers, but her master has something else in mind. She can feel its skin, stretched and yet, soft and bloodily, warmed and filled, on every pores of her face, slowly caressing her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her ears, going through her hair as if it wanted to comb her.

A firm grip holding her neck restraint, rising her head to the unknown. When suddenly lips are felt on her neck, right under her chin, kissing its way through the neck. Passing the shoulders leaving bite marks along the way. With each touch, her body shivers, trembles, discovering new fields of unexpected sensations, as if rolling her body in a fields of flower thorns. No pain felt; only intense punctual electrical shocks as he progresses towards her spine, pushing her head down to uncover her bare back, her hips, her buns, soft and raised. 

Stoping his soft entry, inspecting her gift to him. Indeed, as she earlier acquiesced to submit herself to this game of his, she knew then she would have to hold back, torturing herself, and let him have his way, obeying every orders and abandon herself to his every desires. Maybe, only maybe, would he allow her the pleasure of being greeted with his lips, his tongue, his body heating her with passion as she shall so desire. So she knew then. Now, there is no turning back, she has to submit and wish for thy gift … if she is the nice beauty her master wants her to be. 

She pushes away this moment of reflexion, to be all alert to the game unraveling on the other side of her blindfold, in this dark night, like a new world waiting to be conquered by her senses, her touches, called upon by her moaning and begging: a black road without stars to guide her into the unknown. 

This is when she felt his dressing stick making its way between her lips, while his hands grab her hair. Directing this masterpiece with the firm confidence in every waves of motion transduced down into every nerve endings. An explosion of senses from within, tinkling down her spine as he's making her go up and down on this throbbing stick, feeling its entire length, all its bumps and breathing veins, its warmth but mostly its desire to be tasted and devoured as a candle lit by a burning fire, eating away its white wax, dripping relentlessly on the slippery floor. 

Submissive as she is, she still knows how to make his heart pump desire, pushing blood towards his shaft, pumping its entire length as it grows and grows and move on itself as if it had a mind of its own. He forces himself as far inside her as she possibly can handle; which is pretty much its entire length. Tasting him down her throat as his body oscillates to thrust himself between these hungry lips, sliding along this slippery and tasty tongue. She sees through her own senses, perceived forms and pleasure so astute as if the light of day was hitting her eyes and her skin all enervated…

Releasing his spring river, from the depth of a dead season, glimpsing at a watery cascade liberated by her submission, she feels the warmth of life coming back to haunt the empty nights that she felt for so long now; too long has she waited. She swallows the flourishing nature dressed in a perfume of lust, a scent of some force reduced to its own moaning, speechless, feeble, its frailty: the master has become the submitted. At this point, she knows her winter is over. That white veil of dreams revealing her red flower, mist of pleasure running down her legs like a tree's sweet water. She knows, underneath that blindfold, her eyes are hypnotizing him. She knows he is at her mercy. She knows ... Is she ? Will he allow himself to be controlled ? 

To be continued …