The Spirit of Ecstasy

My name is Victoria, and I am proud to obey my man. He knows better than I the things I will enjoy- and the things that I need and want. He came into my life at the point where I most needed him, and for this he will always have my unending love and servitude.

I certainly did not always have an interest in venturing within this area of the sexual arena... it came upon me slowly and comfortingly, and then all the sudden blindingly, like an epiphany. You might say that it was shown to me and embraced.

A few years ago my life was a wreck even though as far as lives go, I suppose mine was rather successful. I am a rather well-known author within a certain (new age) circle of society, complete with devoted fan mail and invitations to speak at conventions and seminars. These people look up to me as a mentor, a sage, a wise woman with all the answers. And moreover, I am outwardly attractive, with raven hair, long legs, firm breasts and warm brown eyes that constantly give the appearance of walking within a daydream. I have no financial troubles, and an unending stream of fair-weather friends.

But inwardly, I was unhappy. It was like a tumult inside myself, and a feeling that my entire life was somehow fake. An inclination that made me feel small, ugly and withdrawn. I didn't date, because I didn't feel that I had anything to give another person, and the last thing I needed was empty, emotionless sex.

Enter: Christopher.

---

Christopher was by far the most persistent of my would-be suitors. I noticed him one day, as I was sitting in my favorite cafe during a lunch break. His nose was deceptively buried in a book, though he kept glancing up at me when he assumed I was not looking. I smiled at him once when our eyes met, charmed by his apparent shyness and the glint of his eye behind the small lenses he wore giving him a sexy, intelligent appearance.

From then on, I saw him more often in the cafe. He began to sit at my table, and we would have long conversations on books, poetry, philosophy, whatnot. Soon he was asking me out (and I was refusing) daily. Months passed this way, before the fateful day.

"Victoria?" he asked. I knew what was coming.

"Yes, Christopher?" I took a sip of my coffee.

"I have a challenge for you today. It is a trivia question. If you guess the answer correctly, then I will stop asking you out. If you can't answer... then you have to do whatever I ask you. Just for today."

Trivia... possibly literature? I was rather well versed in all of the subjects we constantly talked about and would have agreed to the terms, if he hadn't agreed for me just then.

Smiling, he spoke the question. "What is the name of the statuette on the hood of Rolls Royce cars?"

"They have names?"

---

My unanswered trivia question sealed my fate that night, and even though I despised myself in letting Christopher pursue the idea that I could be good for him romantically, I took special care in readying myself in standard fashion for what would be our first- and last date.

It was a summer night that I remember well. I wore a short, form fitting dress of black silk, a scarf in my hair of the same color, and sandals that showed my painted toenails. The entire ensemble was vastly different from what I normally wear, long floating skirts and soft gray sweaters, but it was sexy, modern and expected by most of the male population.

When Christopher saw me, he seemed surprised, although not pleasantly so. It was as if he had expected something else entirely, though he offered me a kind smile.

"You look... lovely, as always Victoria." There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

I looked down to the ground, ashamed at some unspoken something that I could not name. He took my hand, and I glanced up.

"This isn't you," he whispered. I began to cry, and he held me to his chest, arms encircling me protectively. "Lets get back to your place, angel, you'll feel better there."

---

I unlocked the key to my apartment, and we both stepped inside. As soon as the door shut, he grabbed my wrist gently, but firmly.

"Go change," he said in a soft voice, "into something that is worthy of you."

I looked at him in confusion, before I nodded unsurely, and set off for my bedroom with Christopher walking a few short steps behind me. He sat down on my bed as I opened my closet doors.

"That one." he said, motioning toward a wisp of white gossamer cloth hanging on a hook at the inside of the door.

I raised an eyebrow. "Christopher, its a chemise."

"I know what it is, Victoria. Put it on." There was something about the intensity behind his eyes. I took the garment from its hook, and held it to me. "Put it on," he repeated.

Strangely, I complied. Turning my back to him, I unzipped the tiny black dress, and slid out of it. I could feel his eyes on my body as I slipped the transparent white cloth over my form. It felt delicious, the cloth was thin and cool, covering the length of my body from neck to ankle. I felt him approach.

Christopher unwound the scarf in my hair, and it fell long and loose across my back. He ran his hands through my hair. "Beautiful..."

"Christopher..."

"Shhhh..." he murmured, slipping his hands along my sides briefly, before taking my wrist and leading me back into the living room. He lead me to the large picture window, and opened the curtains.

"Christopher!" I could see the windows of other apartments across from mine, and people walking on the streets below. I took a step back, bumping into him.

"Stay there," he whispered firmly. "And let people see how beautiful you are."

I turned around to confront him, tears in my eyes. "Christopher, stop this. If only you knew how ugly I truly am. I don't want people to see me, especially in clothing like this. I think you should go ho-" I was interrupted by a smart slap across my cheek.

I stared at Christopher in shocked disbelief as the skin of my cheek grew warm from the blow. Strangely, I saw only kindness in his eyes. "You... are... beautiful," he repeated softly with an underlying hardness in his voice, "And you... WILL... let people see."

His large hands guided me back around to face the window, with quiet strength. He raised my arms out a bit from my sides, and kissed the side of my neck. "Beautiful," he whispered, tracing his lips across the tiny hairs on the back of my neck, and then kissing the flesh on the other side. "Beautiful..."

His hands slid up and over my breasts, kneading them softly. The warmth on my cheek was still apparent, and for some reason I found myself aroused at the sensation, and at the large hands that were covering me.

"Touch yourself," he whispered.

"W-what?" I stammered.

His hand roughly grabbed my wrist and guided my hand to my stomach. With a firm grip he moved my hand around awkwardly as I struggled against his grasp. "No, Christopher... I can do it." He released my hand, and I timidly traced a small circle at my navel, the gauzy cloth slipping deliciously over my flesh. Enticed by the luscious cloth, and the man nibbling at my neck, I grew bolder. One hand found the hard point of my nipple, and I teased it, the other hand slipping down to my moist folds beneath the thin cloth. Making a small noise of pleasure, I fount my clit and rolled my finger over it slowly. Soon Christopher joined me, three hands now caressing the warmth between my legs.

I felt a breath near my ear, and a warmth as he spoke softly. "Undress... Victoria..."

I froze in place. "No... I can't." I felt his rough hands grip at my arms, spinning me around to face him.

"You will." he said, simply. "Now."

Shaking my head, I refused. This strange evening was going to far. I was in front of a window, and this was venturing from a simple date into something else entirely. "No."

Grabbing at the neckline of my chemise he yanked sharply, tearing the delicate buttons near the top. I heard cloth ripping as the fabric parted, opening. He kneeled, tearing a line down the front, and pressing the cloth aside, moving forward. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me toward him as his tongue slipped between my legs, massaging my wetness.

Once again I froze, this time with agonizing pleasure. His fingers were digging sharply into my skin, and his tongue was persistently lapping up my sweet juices. I should have stopped him, then and there. I should have shoved him out my apartment door, but I did not. I found myself excited, aroused.

He stopped, smiling, looking up at me. "You like that." Dumbly, I nodded. "Do you want me to fuck you?" I nodded again. "Then ask."

I blinked down at him.

"Ask." he repeated.

"I..." He quirked an eyebrow. "Please, Christopher..."

"Please... what?" he asked.

"Please, I want you to do that..." I couldn't bring myself to say it.

"Why should I fuck you?"

"Because...I..."

"Because you are a little slut." he answered for me.

I blinked in disbelief. This... from Christopher? But the words excited me. They seemed fitting. Yes, I wanted to be a little slut. His little slut. I nodded again.

"Good... my little slut. Now, my little slut... what is it you want me to do?"

I paused, then spoke. "I want you to fuck me... please."

"Because...?"

"Because I'm a little slut." Nodding, he smiled and stood.

"But first, slut, you need to do something for me." He took one of my hands and yanked me closer. "I want you to suck my cock."

I swallowed hard, reluctant to go down on him in front of the window, but somewhere deep inside I knew that I wanted to. With nervous fingers I reached forward timidly, fumbling with the fastenings of his pants. He shoved my hands aside, unfastening them for me, freeing his thick, hard cock. I looked up into his eyes, slowly leaning forward and letting the tip of my tongue dance around the head before I took it into my mouth, rolling my tongue around. I wanted him, I wanted to please him, to consume his manhood. I thrust his cock deeply into my mouth, moaning and slipping my tongue over the firm skin. I grew more enthusiastic when I saw pleasure flicker over his face- and as my head bobbed, his hard cock slipping in and out of my mouth, I felt as if a great weight had lifted from me. His hands wound their way into my raven locks, twisting around and clasping my hair tightly, pulling me forward. Eagerly I rolled my tongue over his cock, taking him deep into my mouth. He filled me with his manhood, touched the back of my throat, but it was not enough. Hungrily I clasped his thighs and pulled him forward, my nose buried in his pubic hair. Laughing softly, he pushed me back, and I smiled up at him guiltily.

"Quite the wanton little slut, aren't we?" He grasped onto my hair, pulling me upwards to a standing position. I found myself amazed that I was deriving pleasure from such rough treatment. "Turn around," he ordered, and I did so. "Now... bend over." I obliged.

I felt the head of his cock rub against my opening, and then he grabbed onto my hips, slamming home. I was pushed forward awkwardly against the window as he thrust violently into me. I could see the people below on the street, my pleasure heightening, knowing that any one of them could look up and see my tits and face pressed against the glass. I could hear him grunting softly, and his thighs slapping against my ass as he pummeled into me. The sensation was fantastic, his cock filled me completely, threatened to pierce me. His fingers dug into my hips, pulling me back each time he slammed into my warm cunt. Just as I felt I was nearing orgasm, he stopped suddenly, his hands tracing circles on the cheeks of my ass.

I moaned in protest, and I felt the sting of his hands as he slapped my cheeks simultaneously. "Does the little slut want more?" he asked.

"God yes... please..."

His fingertips were brushing softly across the flesh of my buttocks, like a whisper of breath. Again, his hands flew down, and the sharp sting and warmth of pain spread across my skin. He thrust once quickly into me. "Like that?"

"God, more.... please... more..."

I could hear him laughing softly. He slipped himself in and out of me with agonizing slowness. I pressed back into him, but found his hands stopping me. "Now, slut, you aren't playing the game right..." His hand slipped forward around my inner thigh and down farther to pinch my clit. Hard. I moaned at the sensation. "You don't get anything... unless I say you can have it."

"Please.... please, Christopher... God, fuck me. I want to feel you inside me... God..."

"That's more like it, Victoria." He withdrew himself completely, and pulled me to an upright position. "Now go, and lie down on the bed."

I went to the bedroom. My mind hazy, and my eyes watching him in glances where he followed me but a few paces behind. The throbbing between my legs unabated, moist tendrils of desire tracing their way down my thighs as I walked. I was still amazed at how enveloped I had become in this debasement of my usually unshakable autonomy. What was it about being made into his creature, his little slut, that so captured me? Before I could recover from my reverie I was standing at the bed. He was behind me, so close that his breath bathed my shoulder in warmth, and his manhood rested tantalizingly against one of my buttocks.

"Why aren't you lying down?" he said softly. His voice seemed to shatter a seemingly endless moment of silent longing. I realized suddenly that my ass had been wiggling and writhing almost involuntarily, seeking to catch up his cock once again dim my moist folds.

"Remember my little slut, to play the game fairly." He said, and before I could respond I was falling forward. I barely registered the firm push to my back before I was face down upon the covers.

Recovering a bit, I crawled my knees forward onto the bed and glanced his face over my shoulder. He was smiling the gentlest smile, but his eyes betrayed nothing as to what might come next. I saw him surveying my raised ass. The realization causing my throb to deepen and my pale cheeks to gain color.

"I'm here..." I began to raise my face up of the covers but was stopped short by another sting from his palm across my ass.

"No, stay there." He seemed to muse to himself. "You are so very beautiful like this. With the soft petals of your fertile flower so... accessible."

I felt his fingertips trace the lightest of lines across my buttocks, then another finger traced the crease of my ass and came to rest lightly upon my anus. A moan had already begun to escape my lips, but before it could complete itself it was cut off but a sharp intake of breath as his finger lurched down into my body, and my body had opened for it. The sensation of the sensuous stretch mingled with the sting of its sudden-ness had shocked and further undone me at once. What would he do to me? What have I agreed to? But as my mind whirled I knew that I did not really care. Without thinking, my hungry ass had begun to slowly gobble its way up his finger, wanting more and more, my throbbing responding in time to the subtle efforts of my flesh.

"So you like to be fucked in the ass as well do you?" His voice itself seemed to be grinning. With that he withdrew his finger with an obscenely adorable sounding 'pop', and my hips slumped to the bed.

"Fuck me." I panted. "I want to feel you inside me... Anywhere you like... Fill me... God..." I could hardly believe my own words. What was I saying? But it didn't matter. What mattered was the fire that spread from my crotch all over my body, and that he seemed to know just how to fan its flames.

"I see you now know the game... Very well then Victoria." His voice washed over me like water. My eyes closed, I trembled wondering what I would feel next.

His fingers grasped my hips pulling them once more upward. As they rose he slipped into me so effortlessly, filled me so completely, that my mouth opened but no sound emerged. Then he was still, and for a long moment we remained thus: Christopher and his little slut. It felt so good to be owned, absolved of everything but to be his. My voice returned when he slowly began to glide in and out again. Having begun gently, it quickly escalated into a frenzied pounding of bodies, every stroke marked by my deep cries and his pleasured grunts.

I was trying to form words, but only short sounds could escape between my heaving breaths. "Yes... Oh... God..."

And as the pounding continued and orgasm swelled within me once again a new hunger seized me. Something powerful and bestial, but not a hunger that called action from my limbs. I wanted his seed. I wanted to be flooded by him and to drink every drop into my womb. Disjointed images flooded my mind of Christopher leading me about town on a thin silver chain fastened to a silken choker, my swollen belly and dreamy expression badges of both personal rapture and servitude to my man. This fugue shattered when my release ripped through me, the incessant impacts of flesh on flesh sounding across the room. He was gripping me tighter now, his cries having risen to twine with my own in the air of my bedchamber.

I knew all at once that just at the instant he had beaten my orgasm out of me, I had wrung his out of him, and that we were lost together in this sea of nameless intensity, That my pliance was a match for his demanding.

His hand traveled lightly up my back. He gently but with surprising firmness brought me upright, and whispered into my ear. "You ARE beautiful Victoria... And you are also, mine."

Our bodies still connected, but now pressed tightly together as if that connection sustained both our lives. He slid his hands onto my heaving breasts, cupping and kneading them as if to summon forth my milk. The closeness was delicious. The sounds of our mingling breath, and his lips upon my shoulder kept us in this beautiful stasis. But I was not finished.

My voice suddenly panted "More... Please, more..."

The sudden separation was wrenching, and I knew it was for him too, as I heard his cry as our flesh separated. He placed me on my back, tenderly kissed both of my nipples in turn and proceeded to drink out the mingled love from my body. Electric jolts seized me with each pass of his expertly invasive tongue. He was tasting the very depth of me, and lapping it up like a contented kitten. Then he raised his face to mine.

"Is this the more you wanted my little slut?" he chided me gently, holding one of my cheeks in his hand.

It was but it wasn't. I wanted more... more what? My answer came swiftly as the caressing hand slapped me. My eyes met his kind gaze, and he could surely see the gulf of desire he had opened within mine.

"Fuck me." I mewed as if begging for bread after a month of fasting.

"And why..." he began, but I cut him off eagerly. "Because I'm a little slut... Your little slut."

Something akin to ecstasy washed over his expression. At that moment, his lips still moist, he placed the gentlest, most timid kiss I had ever experienced upon my lips. He kissed me as if I were the first he had ever kissed. And that timidity seemed to dissolve with my participation, so that our tongues began to dance together, to mingle and caress. My mind reeled at the contrast of tenderness and dominance within him.

Our kiss broke, dissolving into longing mutual gazes. Then he suddenly produced a gift box... the kind that usually contained fancy baubles from overpriced jewelers. The box was black with a red ribbon. He offered it to me, but his voice retained command. "Put it on."

Opening the box revealed the silk choker from my visions. Set upon it was a heart-shaped garnet and words embroidered either side of it. The words read "My beautiful little slut", black stitching on black silk. How could he have known? Had he planned this?

It felt a part of me as it went around my neck. Once it was fastened to me I began to curl upon him, catlike and languorous, but he held me back. "You asked for something," he said, "and now I may grant your wish."