The Master and the Slavegirl

On a warm night, the golden skin of the slave was kissed by moonlight as she approached the chambers of the Master. The door was closed, much like her heart, and she timidly knocked upon it. She waited for what seemed like an eternity, there on the threshold, knowing she would wait until he responded. Her breath was shallow. She could hear each one as she drew it in. The quiet overwhelmed her senses. And she waited. Then she heard it, the voice of him, he whom she had been summoned by, as he spoke but two words, "Enter, slave".

With trembling fingers, she pushed open the heavy wooden door. The room was dark after the moon-kissed lighting of the hall and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw him, sitting upon his chair, perched as it were before the fire, his eyes mesmerized by stories in the flames. She closed the door behind her and walked swiftly to his side, falling to her knees and bowing her head. "Before me," he ordered and she crawled about until her knees were but inches from his feet.

"Look at me," he commanded and she lifted her eyes to meet his. They blazed with unspoken words and tales of heartbreak, triumph and pain. They flashed from the flames of the fire, and yet were cold and unsettling. She could not look away even if she dared, so deeply his eyes held hers, trapped and locked within his own. She knew without hesitation that he was Master and that all she was his.

"Wine, slave," he whispered and she stood to slip across the room and pour him out a glass from the bottle he stored there on his shelf. Her feet were light and graceful as she crossed back to him, holding the glass just so until he retrieved it from her hand. She stood silently then beside him as he lifted the glass and emptied the contents with one swallow. His arm wiped across his mouth and he stood quickly from his seat. He towered over her when he stood her head just barely to his chin, and she quickly looked down upon the cold wooden floor before he caught her looking at his wide chest.

The room suddenly became very quiet. The only sounds heard were the crackling of the flames in the fireplace and the quiet breathing of the two occupants. The slave looked at the floor, knowing his eyes were on her. She could feel them burning her flesh. But she did not look up she just listened to the flames hiss until she heard his instruction, "Lips."

She tipped her head up to his, her eyes still closed, and she parted her lips a bit as she offered them to him. He took immediate possession of them, his lips burning hers with his strength, his dominance and his passion. She found herself melting into him, not physically but spiritually as his lips branded hers. His tongue slipped between her lips and she shyly met it with her own, unsure how bold she would be allowed to be. He was a powerful Master and he took what he desired. She would give it to him, freely without question.

His fingers slid into her hair, which hung loosely down her neck as he pulled her head back to more easily meet his lips. Her heart began to race at the nearness of him, his powerful body pressed up against hers. The scent of him overwhelmed her senses, the masculinity of him being unquestioned. He was desirable and dangerous yet she was drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

His other hand reached up to undo the clasp on her shoulder, freeing her slave silks so they slid quickly to the floor. She stood naked before him, suddenly shy, but his lips were so demanding she forgot her shyness within a moment. Now her lips returned his desire back to him, her need becoming a raging torrent sweeping through her senses. Her skin suddenly felt alive, her blood singed her veins, her muscles quivered with excitement. To be in this man's arms, this Master's, to know such bliss in possession, she had no words, unable to speak, lost in the whirlwind of her joy.

His arms strong, he lifted her, carrying her gently to the bed and placed her upon it. Naked, he admired her soft curves in the firelight as her lips curved to a modest smile. Quickly he removed his own clothing and climbed upon the silken bed covers to creep up between her parted thighs and look down upon her with his own smile, not modest at all but rather predatory. Her arms lifted from her side, of their own longing to feel, to touch, to hold this man and reached about his neck in invitation.

He leaned down upon her, his body heavy but welcome. She felt his manhood pressing upon her, demanding entrance. She opened herself to him, giving him all of herself, as He buried himself within her warm passage. She met his thrusts with her own urgent need to be taken, to be owned, to be possessed by someone as strong and forceful and magnificent as him. Her body craved his, needing to be filled by him. Each thrust brought her closer to him. As her own desires built to ecstatic release, she could feel his own need swell to scorching passion.

With a heavy sigh, he satiated his need for her as her own body trembled to completion. His hand then reached up to lightly stroke the velvet softness of her cheek. His finger traced the line of her delicate cheekbone. His eyes explored the plains and curves of her face, treasuring it, memorizing it. Then they pierced her own with a silent statement of command as he gently turned her face toward the pillow. His mouth aimed for her ear and she felt his tongue trace the edge of it. His breath warm upon the skin, his lips grasping at her earlobe, his voice an authoritative whisper as she heard one word, a word encompassing all that she was and all that she would be. One word that made him Master and made her slave, it was one word of possession, desire, need, quenching all these things and still rekindling them. One word she heard, "Mine."