*A dark smile passes across his beautifully haunting face and he kisses me tenderly, roughly, owning my body with the slightest touch.
"Get on your knees," he whispers.*
**Chapter Two**
I do as I'm told. The carpet is soft beneath my knees as I sit on my heels with eyes to the floor, my hands behind my back. I see the faded cuffs of his jeans, his bare feet beneath. It's a scene from my deepest fantasy, my farthest dream, but I'm living it here, in this bedroom, with him.
He paces in a circle around me. "Someone knows how to beg properly," he chuckles, patting my hair with a heavy hand. I keep my eyes to the floor. I am dangerously wet.
He gets on one knee before me and uses his finger to lift my chin.
"I want you to tell me, sweetheart," he growls, "have you ever been anyone's little slave?"
Bashfully I look away.
"No." My nervous reply carries the weight of my fear - and my hope. He grabs my chin roughly.
"No sir," he chastises, his face inches from mine. I gulp.
"No, sir," I whisper.
He nods approvingly.
"But you've wanted to. Haven't you, sweetheart?" he asks. He knows. My eyes widen, as do his, when I say the words we've both been dying to hear.
"Yes, more than anything. I've always wanted to."
"Yes, of course you have," he murmurs, stroking my cheek. "I can see it in your eyes. I can tell just by looking at you, in that dress... With that smile... With your every movement. You beg to be owned."
As he speaks, he takes the palm of his hand and traces my side, down to my hip, to my thigh.
"You're going to be my little slave tonight," he promises. I drop my eyes properly, the command implicit in his words.
"Spread your legs, slave."
I do. My legs flicker in the candlelight, my boots and legs coated with the juices that have escaped my panties. When he reaches between my legs and traces my thigh, I jump with pleasure at his touch. My eyes downcast, I see his sturdy hand and the dark hair on his forearm disappear between my smooth white thigh, beneath my white lace panties.
He begins to stroke my slit slowly, tracing up to my clit and back again. His touch is so slight that I could be imagining it. My breathing quickens. The slightest moan escapes my lips.
"Do you like this?" he whispers in my ear.
"Yes, sir," I moan softly. My chest rises and falls rapidly.
"Look at me, slave" he commands. I raise my head. He holds my gaze as he strokes me back and forth, tantalizing me. His eyes are pitch black in the flickering candlelight. He suddenly slips a finger deep inside of me and I gasp.
"Good girl," he whispers, moving his finger masterfully inside of me, grazing my g-spot with every motion. I am breathing heavily now, and the sound of my panting melds with the sound of my juices as he moves inside of me.
I still don't look away.
"This body is mine, little slave," he says. "Do you feel this pleasure? This is just a taste of what I'm going to do to you."
I moan.
He smiles. "Your little body has so much to learn about being owned. Your tight little pussy has so much to learn..."
He slips another finger inside of me and I cry out.
"You've never been touched like this before, have you slave?" he whispers.
I bite my lip and shake my head. He begins to finger me harder, and my legs tremble beneath my weight. His eyes are absolutely glaring, daring me to look away, but I know I can't, my body can't handle the sensation -
"Beg me to come, slave," he commands, his hand again picking up speed. "Beg me to come."
My pants have turned into one continuous moan. I quiver furiously, perched upon my heels.
"Please, sir," I moan, "please..."
"Please what?"
"Please sir, please let me come!"
I am dangerously close to the edge. I feel tingling in my calves, in my abdomen, and my pussy begins to tighten around his fingers.
"You want to come, little slave?" he asks. I groan in response.
His fingers move rapidly.
"Come. Come for me," he commands.
I cry out as my entire body clenches. My pelvis arches forward as I toss my head back in ecstasy, my pussy clamped tightly around his fingers in waves of electric pleasure. The fierce sensations wrack every muscle in my body.
What feels like hours later, my body relinquishes its tired fight. My head and shoulders drop before me and my moans have died to a steady, deep, heavy panting. His fingers are inside of me still.
I can feel his satisfaction.
"Look at me," he says. I drag my eyes to meet his, breathing deeply. A bead of sweat drips from my brow. He casually removes his sopping fingers and brings them to my lips.
"Open," he orders. "This is what it tastes like when you come for me."
I open my mouth and he shoves his fingers inside. Somehow, even in my exhaustion, I am ravenous for the taste of my arousal. I suck at his fingers until they are clean, my tongue coated with my own sweet taste.
I hardly realize how quickly my legs are shaking until he lays his free hand on my thigh.
"Stand, sweetheart," he says.
Knees quaking, I help myself up from the ground. The room is quiet and calm, the only movement coming from the same, burning candle. I'm surprised by its stillness, surprised that, if he and I weren't standing here right now, someone could walk into this room and never know what took place.
My panties are pulled slightly down to the left, my inner thighs gleaming with the sheen of my wetness. I'm shivering.
I look at him cautiously, fully clothed in his jeans, his t-shirt, his dark eyes, half in wonder and half in fear. Unsure what, if anything, to say. My nipples stand pert, hard as stone.
I returned to my feet a different person than when I left them - and he knows it.
He eyes me up and down approvingly, taking in the sight of my body, used and flush with pleasure. I see the heat in his eyes again - that solar flare - and know that he has, again, decided something.
He bends down and scoops my white dress off the floor. Nonchalantly, he hands it to me.
I look into his eyes, utterly confused.
"Put it on," he instructs.
I cock my head, uncertain. He nods. I take the dress from him and slip it over my head. I wonder if I did something to upset him, something wrong. Did I spoil everything by approaching him too eagerly? Did I fail a test I didn't realize I was taking?
I adjust the dress properly around my thighs, embarrassed of my nakedness and of my presence here. I suddenly feel naive, like a child wearing her prettiest dress for the wrong occasion. I don't know where to look, unwilling to meet him in his eyes, that dark familiar place.
Sensing my doubt, he suddenly reaches to me, pulling me into his chest, as his heavy arms envelop me completely. The warmth of his embrace is all-consuming. He puts his hand behind my head, holding me close.
I close my eyes. He gently pushes my hair behind my ear.
"You are mine now," he says darkly, softly. "You know that, don't you?" he asks.
I pause. Were I elsewhere, with anyone else, his words would have jarred me. The prospect of owning another person in body or in soul - a concept that would ordinarily revolt me - sounds positively intoxicating coming from his lips.
