She loved the way the air moved over her skin -- all of her skin -- every time she took a step. She was dressed, but the whole of her outfit was lace. All of her skin was breathing. A good thing as she was almost in a sweat due to her nerves and her arousal.
She had dressed as instructed. She had awoken to find her clothes laid out for her in fact. When she'd arrived at his house yesterday after so many months of correspondence and telephone conversations, her nerves had been frayed to almost nothing. Together, they had enjoyed a leisurely dinner. They'd set together in front of his roaring fireplace, which took up the whole of one massive stone wall, sipping sweet wine and talking late into the night.
She knew that this polite evening was constructed only for her benefit. After so much time spent getting to know one another, exchanging photographs and revealing secret fantasies and desires, she'd assumed that by the time they met there would be no reason to be nervous. Perhaps no reason, but even so, when she'd knocked on the heavy oak front door, she'd been terrified. When he's whisked the door open to reveal his familiar, yet still unexpected, furrowed brow and dark eyes... his imposing physique looming over her... she'd almost fainted then and there on his doorstep.
She could tell by the way his eyes pierced straight through her, by the intimate way that he leaned in to murmur in her ear... murmurs that were almost primal growls. She could tell that he was ready for her. But he waited. He waited for her to relax... for her to be able to submit completely. It was what they both craved. So tonight he granted her the illusion of safety... of civility... of restraint. But just tonight.
Restraint. She was exhausted by it. The cocoon she's constructed for herself out of all of her repressive years of propriety was now beginning to feel more like a prison than a sanctuary. She wanted to experience the total abandon and freedom of giving her body to a man, completely, without her mind constructing all of the usual roadblocks. Until now, she had always remained too much in her head, worried about her size and the impression it made on her lover. Never had she taken a moment to realize at any given moment and in the midst of any of her many relationships (that she always somehow found a reason to walk away from) that she had a lover, in large part, because of her juicy, voluptuous body.
Lovers, yes. Plenty she'd had. But satisfaction? Never. And as the realization that each new playmate was not the man of her fantasies (that she had unconsciously been seeking her entire adult life), she would shut the door on each stunned face abruptly and without hesitation. Her string of broken hearts was war torn and bloody indeed.
She inspected herself in the full length mirror. She had been prepared to hate what she saw, but the image of her ripe body encased in this scrumptious costume was itself quite stimulating. Her long lace gloves and longline lace bra that surrounded her curves down to her very short lace ruffle petticoat were a study in wanton imagery. To be clad all in white, complete with a marabou puff garter and even a mini tulle veil was meant to send the message that here stood no innocent virgin, but a scarlet strumpet waiting to be taken. Needing to be taken. Her costume blatantly stated his clear intention that here was a wanton harlot, eager to be violated.
A soft breeze heralded his arrival. Ironic, as she knew he intended to rule with an iron fist tonight.
"Face me", he said ominously.
She turned.
She shivered under his gaze. He studied her fully... openly... feasting upon her with his eyes. She knew by the look in those dark eyes that her time to acclimate had come to an end. He would have what he wanted tonight.
Her eyes traveled down to his left hand. In it he held a riding crop. In the moment that her eyes widened with the realization of what he held, he closed the space between them. Sliding a hand under her veil, he roughly grabbed a handful of her lion's mane and tilted her face up to meet his. The initial brushing of his lips against hers was surprisingly gentle, but temporary. Soon, she was crushed against him, his tongue and teeth snacking on her red, pouty lower lip.
"You've dressed to receive me," he growled into her ear.
She felt the riding crop traveling up her inner thigh and gasped, "I do as my Master commands."
He tapped against her inner thighs with the riding crop, a clear message that she should widen her stance. He slid the crop up the inside of one thigh, across her wet lacey pussy and down the inside of the other thigh, to her knee, where he tapped her smartly but innocently.
"Lie on the bed, slut," he growled. She moved swiftly, if unsteadily - terrified in her arousal. She sat, and he pushed her roughly onto her back. "Spread those legs. Hold them open, and pull that petticoat up as far as you can" he ordered. She complied, and he immediately set to a painful pussy spanking, making sure to make direct contact between the tip of the crop and the obviously hard and distended clit clearly straining against the slip of lace barely covering her leaking slit.
When she was sure she could bear it no more, he quickened the pace of the beating, hitting her swollen pussy harder. "Pull your tits out and abuse those fat nipples, bitch," he yelled as he savagely punished her quivering cunt.
