Night's Caress
Part 1:
by Caterina

The crackle of wood and flicker of light seem less like explosions than
comfortable companions, after countless hours of waiting. Burgundy, thick and heavy, coats the windows, cloaking the passage of time and daylight's final retreat. I don't know how long I've knelt here, ceased to feel the numbing cold of the tiles against my knees, the cool slither of white silk against my
skin. Still I wait. What other choice is there? The glint of brass against
mahogany has ceased to tempt me. Locked or unlocked it leads nowhere that I want to go. Freedom is here in the waiting, in that first breath of air as it opens. In that first touch of skin on skin, or the slice of cool leather teasing and tormenting flesh.

I think back to the moment you came to bring me here. The slide of black silk across my eyes and the soft caress of your hands upon my cheek, as you
escorted me to your car and told me to trust, has replayed a thousand times
since you left me here. Then the moment your hands pressed firmly, gently
upon my shoulders and I felt the cold slap of tile upon my knees as you
ordered me not to take off the blindfold until you were gone. I had felt fear
in that moment, when the soft click of the door echoed like thunder and I
found that sight provides vision and not direction.

How simple it should have been to say no but the thought was less than a
whisper in my mind. The cravings had grown too strong. The need to know
ingrained so deeply that the thought, the possibility of what was to come,
had my soul aching for submission. To relax, to let go, to simply feel.
Ecstasy. No shame. No guilt. Simply the exchange of pleasure, not through
subjugation but through absolute compliance and trust.

The creak of unoiled hinges breaks me out of my reverie. Barely managing to keep my eyes down, the ache of straining muscles assure me that my thighs are spread sufficiently ... breasts nearly bursting from the corset-like top are displayed even further by the backward pull of my tightly clasped hands. I feel your eyes on me like a thousand caresses, as you circle slowly, then the slide of leather around my neck. The taste of blood, bitter sweet on my tongue, as I bite back a protest then the final blaring click as my fate is
sealed and a leash is added to my new collar. You tilt my head back so that I may see your eyes, calm and reassuring. There is control there and infinite
promise.

With the pull of my tightly wrapped leash, you lead me on hands and knees
toward a tall straight wooden chair. Sitting slowly, you tell me to stand and
lift my skirt, knowing full well that my only underclothing is the set of
white flowered garters and stockings that you had bestowed upon  me. I feel
the burn of blood beneath my skin as I do as you ask and hear your murmured approval of what an obedient little girl I am, feel the soft stroke of your fingers against the folds of my pussy before you turn me around and begin your exploration of the curve of my ass. I can't keep from flinching slightly at the snap of the garters against my cheeks, until I feel your hand between my legs grasping the hair of my partly shaved pussy, in silent reminder to stay still. Moments later I am across your lap, skirts tossed above my head. With your whispered order ringing in my ears, I spread my thighs further and feel your probing fingers on my clit, the folds of my pussy, the crease of my ass. Your other arm rests like a deadbolt across my waist keeping me still.

As the caresses turn to well aimed slaps on my ass and pussy you have me
count and thank you for each blow. Your voice turns taunting as the friction
and my wiggling cause my folds to soak with excitement. The week before you had asked that I send you a letter of all my secret fantasies, of all the
times I had allowed myself to cum without permission. You use these now with every stroke of your hand a reminder.

End

copyright 1999, eroticaforwomen.com