Summer was more than half over, and the hot sun had baked her garden. Driving out to the mountain cabin, everything seemed yellow, tan and brown – more like fall – instead of the usual greenery that carpeted the scenic trip. Now, she frowned at her dry, thirsty vegetables and flowers, wishing for a nice rainstorm.
She turned and started toward the porch – seeing him there, stopped and smiled. This was their hideaway, a peaceful retreat kept private. It was a small but intricate wood frame dwelling with white porch rails, fancy trim moldings, an arched eve above the doorway, and a polished washed-pine porch floor. The dark cherry front door was hand-carved: two lovers reached from opposite corners, beautifully detailed arms – his, strong and protective; hers, delicate and trusting – outstretched toward one another until fingertips touched, entwined, and evolved into a single long-stem rose twisting skyward through the center of the door.
He stood on the steps, wearing jeans and nothing else, fair hair golden in the setting sun, flesh tan from working outside, brown leather moccasins on his feet. Leaning against the banister, arms folded casually, stance steady. He was a handsome man with steel blue eyes, a trim physique, his temples graced with slivers of silver, the corners of his smile lined with ageless wisdom. He held out his right hand, crooking a finger playfully to bid her closer.
Heart racing, she managed to compose her thoughts. He didn’t have to speak aloud to get her complete and undivided attention. Her silky auburn hair was pulled back in a long braid, a bevy of loose strands framing her face. She wore a deep purple silk sarong, wrapped around her full figure, tied and knotted at the left shoulder, falling in soft layers to ankles. She wore no makeup, except black mascara framed dark sapphire eyes, and glossy pink-tinted lips.
He found her both refreshing and tantalizing. Sometimes a girl, sometimes a woman – always submissive. He was neither insecure nor intimidated by her sexuality and affectionate demeanor. She remained drawn and devoted to him through many circumstances and situations. Between them, trust and respect, weakness and strength – lust and commitment. She was a seductive vixen by nature – feminine and sensual. He considered her a treasure, his own to behold.
Barefoot, she walked slowly closer to him, lowered her eyes, untied the sarong and let it drop to the ground. Beneath, she wore only panties – a string bikini in plain white cotton. Pulling shoulders back, she clasped hands behind her and began to descend to knees…
As he watched her transformation, the effect on him was physically apparent. She knelt before him on the porch steps and he stood tall above her there, unmoving, his pulse quickening. She was indeed a beautiful creature.
“How may I serve You, Master?” she whispered. “What is Your pleasure on this night, my fine Sir?”
Her voice was clear and almost melodic, barely a hint of southern accent. Sweet, respectful, and sincere.
He caressed her shiny hair, twisting long, loose strands around his fingers. “I trust you know how to properly greet your Master, little one. You need no instruction from me.”
“Sir,” she replied slyly, blinking lashes, gaze downward. “I will always need Your wisdom to guide me.” She paused for only a moment, posture straight, and then looked up at him. “May I please kiss Your hands, Sir?”
He traced her cheek then gently wrapped his fingers around her throat, feeling her pulse throb. “Indeed, my little vixen, and afterwards, I wish to watch you crawl inside where I may sit more comfortably for your most excellent service.”
She rose higher on haunches, slowly brought both hands from behind, uncurling elbows but keeping them close. She loved his hands, the way they felt warm against her flesh, wrapped around her breasts, pressed firm upon her ass. She took both his hands into hers and placed lips tenderly into each palm, breathed in the clean scent of liquid hand soap. The tip of her tongue mapped every crease, tracing his lifeline, memorizing the heart of him. Weaving her delicate fingers into his strong ones, guided his fingertips to her lips. One at a time, sucking gently on just the very end of each finger… looking up into his eyes, melting into him.
“That is enough, my lustful little nymphe.” He pulled away slowly, petting her hair affectionately before turning to go inside. He enjoyed her provocative greeting, and his cock throbbed expectantly. Gratification and reward would be his – and hers – soon.
She watched in adoration as he walked across the porch. He was a kind and intelligent man with keen senses. He had observed her one night in the company of commoners, and recognized her regal prominence. She had been dancing around the room, greeting and entertaining a diverse audience. Respectfully, he requested formal introduction to the eloquent dancer, and discovered her to be a rare and impressive creature worth pursuing. She fell quickly under his spell, although he professed no magical power. He was, by his view, simply a man.
She saw, by all measures, a man of class, integrity and enduring stature. Never manipulated or coerced, he held weight and bearing that clearly endorsed he was not to be reckoned with. Likewise, he provided steadfast comfort and refuge, earning her devotion and unwavering respect.
She waited until he stood in the foyer with the door open – and then she slithered up the steps to the porch, snake-like, across the porch. Her forearms flat, palms splayed out, she started toward him. Hips swayed side to side, higher than her shoulders, head low to the floor, braid curled around her neck. Crossed over the wood threshold, hearing him reach above her to push the door closed as soon as she was inside. Centered on giving him the most intimate pleasures. Right palm, left knee… left palm, right knee… right, left… left, right.
Each time she came near, he stepped back a few feet. Down the narrow hallway, into the library lined with bookcases. Candles alight in wall sconces, bathing the room in pale yellow. He moved across wool carpet, and sat down in the lush Italian leather armchair – then waited for her.
She kept eyes lowered, crawling until she reached his feet – and only then did she alter positions, sitting slightly upward.
“May I remove Your moccasins, Sir?” she cooed. Sultry vixen.
“Yes, that would be wise – and then, proceed.” He didn’t squander words – he articulated messages that were explicit and concise.
She removed his leather shoes, placed them neatly next to his chair before arching down to kiss the smooth tops of his feet, massaging the soles expertly. She traced fingers up both his calves, sliding herself up between his knees. She lifted the zipper of his jeans with her tongue, used her front teeth to pull it down, while deftly unfastening the single button above with skillful fingers.
His thick cock now bulged out from under cotton briefs, finally free from the uncomfortable constraints of blue denim. She pressed her face into the heavy mass, inhaling deeply, comforted by the familiar blend of his natural scent and woodsy cologne. She caressed him with her face, nose, eyes, mouth… he stood up, silent, and she aptly removed his garments. He was so mesmerized by his submissive temptress, it seemed effortless to assist in her tasking.
As he sat back down, he realized she had somehow managed to place a warmed cotton towel over the leather cushion, one end slightly hanging over the front edge under his knees.
He was never disappointed in her attention to little details.
She reached for a small basin – he hadn’t noticed it before this moment. It had been too long since she had served him and he looked forward to this fulfillment.
“You have a beautiful cock, Master,” she whispered, rolling his weighty length in one delicate palm, squeezing him firmly, gently.
“Lick my balls,” he commanded quietly. And she smiled, anxious to oblige, settling lower between his thighs. Holding his sculpted column so that the large head almost touched his belly button, she lapped at the smooth organ, quick taps of her tongue back and forth, up and down. Finally, he felt the rough texture of her tongue flat against his balls, massaging him with talented lingual muscles, playing him like a fine musical instrument. Delicate, intense, filled with soul.
