The first of five stories written to please Phoenix, who awoke me to love, and to life. I had not known the meaning of either until we found each other.... what will I do without her?
Read. Please... I wish these stories to live in your minds, so our love will never fade.
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My Phoenix.
Magnificent. Tall, elegant, lean and streamlined perfection from head to toe. Walking: a symphony of sensuous motion, eloquence, flow in every movement. Talking: intelligence, heart and wonder flashing from your sea-coloured eyes, now grey, now blue, now wreathed in the straight fall of your scarlet hair.
A grave, austere, pensive, mighty angel, veiled in a thundercloud, that is suddenly broken: by sunlight - mirth, the silver bells of your elven laughter.You are music, to me, and so, life itself.
Shakespearean actress, pole dancer (tournament competitor!), intellectual, paragon of physical strength, discipline and fitness, you embody and unify all contradictions within yourself.
Willowy grace, power and wisdom. All-wise in the ways of love... control, surrender. Top, bottom, woman, boy. You are everything to me. Before and after you: nothing. The be-all and end-all, alpha and omega. My beginning, when I thought all life ashes, and my living end: my love, the one great love of my life, love in human form: I revere you.
My Queen... my very life is in your hands.
You lead me naked to the pole in the center of your living room, and handcuff me, with my hands behind it. We lock eyes for one long moment, before you slip the blindfold over me. I am helpless and totally vulnerable. What's on your mind? Does anyone really know what their lover is thinking? If you wanted to, you could do anything to me now, without any consequences.... I rack my brain for anything I may have said or done to piss you off.... Love and fear, trust and suspicion, wage war within me.... then I:
Hear - the click of your heels as you walk away, and try to focus on my breathing.... I'm aroused but anxious... what happens next? I hear you walk back, slowly, feeling you stop in front of me, your warmth, your breath against my face... I arch my body to reach you, writhing, reacting, reaching out with the only thing I have, straining, pulsating.... to no avail, I touch only empty air as you twist away from me... I hear your low, throaty chuckle at my helplessness, then:
Feel. I gasp as the cold, sharp steel of of your Wartenburg wheel, a spiky spur designed to heighten skin sensitivity, traces my lips.... followed by:
Taste... A strawberry? Dipped in...... yes. Cognac. A violation of the sobriety I've struggled to maintain for decades. I am powerless against the warmth spreading through my body, down, outward from my belly, the power of it undimmed by time... and simultaneously, I feel a fatal sense of inevitability, finality, a premonition of doom. But suddenly, I don't care. I have already broken every vow for my overpowering love of you, of life... I can't help it, I want more and to hell with the consequences.... I suck the delicious hot liqueur from the fruit as you slowly push it into my mouth, then savagely bite down, the juices spilling, and hear your laughter as you trace the trail of sweetness with your tongue, down my neck, back to my mouth, with a deep lingering kiss... then:
Horsehair caressing my face, delicately drawn, hissing, then trailing across the skin of my chest, up, down, withdrawn... a whistling sound as smack! you strike, and the burning starts, drawing blood to the surface.... thence to my hips, my thighs, my ass... Then: