The Promontory

Summary: A travelling wizard comes to his tower to surprise his wife.

When she came down the stairs which curved around the side of the tower, he saw her hair descending in plumes of auburn, flowing around her breasts, cupping her waist, and shimmering like a pool of light around her wide hips. She was wearing a light-grey linen shirt that she had tied at her stomach to make it fit her skin, and was holding a wicker hamper full of sheets that he saw she meant to hang on the clothesline which stretched across the courtyard. Her nipples were poking out from under the shirt, making a light impression; she was not wearing any bra. Her bangs were plastered against her forehead, her cheeks were flushed, and she stared down into the courtyard with an intensity as though she had just been struck - but she did not see him. Behind her head as she descended he could see the azure waters of the Sea, stretching into the distance, infinite under a cloudless sky.

The tower shot up into the sky like a lonely finger, a promontory jutting into the heavens along the cliff's edge of that country. At its peak it wore a copper roof that looked like the cap of some mischievous elf or gnome. There was a single window at the top, which looked out over the rolling waters of the Sea, and its inhabitant could glimpse these on days when, in storm, the Sea shuddered and heaved.

The courtyard was at the base of the tower, and wrapped its arms around it like a circle of protection. There was a garden in the center, and a set of columns forming an atrium, between which was strung a clothes-line. The steps along the side of the tower led down here, and from where he was, in the shadows behind a column, he knew she would not see him. He watched as her bum formed a perfect curve in silhouette as she turned down the stairs, and as she stepped down hesitantly he saw the cheeks of her ass bounce to and fro. Her hair rustled around her tits which jostled as she balanced the hamper on one hip and walked across the garden, lost in thought.

She set the hamper down, and touched her toes. Then she began to pull the damp sheets from the hamper and drape them across the line, forming the impression of curtains of grey-green fog. He saw her tits jutting out over the orbs of her hips and ass as she turned, her skirt drawn over her knees. The folds of her skin and the folds of her clothes twisted around each other like billowing clouds.

He stepped out from behind the column, walked up behind her, and shoved her head-first down into the hamper. She tried to scream but it was muffled by the linen. She thrashed with her arms, trying to claw at the intruder and get him off. Then he reached around and grabbed her left breast, pulling on her nipple the way he knew she liked it, and her body relaxed, going limp like a rag doll. She knew it was him. He pulled up her skirt and stuck two fingers into her slit. She gave a small moan. He grabbed her head and shoved it further down into the hamper, pressing his whole body against hers and pulling on both her tits. She began to rub herself up against him, bucking her hips up and up greedily.

He was as hard as a rod of iron. He let down his trousers in a smooth motion, and rolled the head of his cock against her lips. She shuddered and moaned again, clawing at the linen with desperate thirst. He rubbed his cock against her opening again, relishing the sense of her greedy torso bucking against him, and then impaled her with it, pounding down into her with all his weight and pressing her further into the basket. She gasped, and then cried out. She thrust her ass up to meet him with gusto, and he shoved her torso further down into the ground as he pounded her. She drank it in greedily, breaking against his cock with mad ecstasy. The more he gave it to her, the deeper she seemed to be able to take it. No amount seemed to satisfy her. She rolled against the laundry, giving off a series of mewling moans, drooling into the sheets with her eyes rolling into the back of her head. He fucked her harder. She lost herself. Then he came, his cock rising like thunderclaps and pound-pound-pounding up into her in time to her bucking hips, causing her to shudder and moan and then drop with a sputter as he released himself, panting. She rolled her arms against the linen, squealing in frustration, still unsatisfied. He pulled up his trousers again with satisfied aplomb, and swatted her ass. She let it down, and lay there in the linen, humiliated and discontent, and then turned to stare up at him with reproach in her eyes.

He thought she was going to scold him, so he took care to grin in as self-satisfied a way as he could muster - in order to start the argument from a strong position. But this only seemed to drive her further into heat, and she stared at him in a mixture of annoyance and greed, her lips parted slightly as she panted, neither of them saying a word.

Then, without warning, she pulled one of the sheets from where it had fallen out of the hamper, drawing it up across herself in a giant plume of green fabric. It billowed across the courtyard, tangling with the thistles in the garden, and then she sprang up, drawing it about her like a cape, and ran across the ground. She scampered up the steps, pulling the streak of green behind her, which flashed against the Sea as she went around the tower.

He was already pursuing her, clambering with his boots up the steps and coming around the bend to the small porch at the edge of the cliff, with the bench carved out of stone that overlooked the ocean. She was nowhere to be seen, but the double doors were ajar under the pointed arch, and were wavering slightly in the breeze. He pushed them open, and stepped into the foyer.

The entrance hall was flanked with wooden arches which formed two racks that looked like choir screens. From their various knobs and depressions were hung an assembly of cloaks, coats and hoods, creating a forest of fabrics which rustled as he let the wind in from outside. He shut the door and strode through into the main hall, surveying his domain.

There was a fire burning merrily in the furnace in the center, surrounded by the couches and chairs. The chimney rose through the roof of the room into the tower above. Set off in a rounded depression at the side of the room was the kitchen, various copper kettles hanging from hooks in the wall surrounding a round window that looked out on the headland. In another niche was an iron staircase, spiraling upwards. She had left the sheet draped upon it, as if in invitation.

He clambered up the stairs, climbing through the vaulted archways which twisted in on themselves like a roll of twine. He came to the bedchamber, but the four-poster bed was empty. The silk sheets were pristine, as though they had never been touched, and the window was ajar, the curtains wafting. The only thing out of place in the room was her shirt, which had been discarded in a rumpled heap on the bed.

He kept climbing, pulling himself up through the shaft into the library. The four windows in the room, normally untouched, were open, and scrolls of parchment were fluttering around like birds. He went to close the first one without thinking, and found her skirt hanging from the hinge. He felt himself getting hard again, and discarded the garment at once.

He climbed the last flight of stairs to the attic, with its telescope and instruments, its single window, and the slim widow's walk on the balcony. The door to this balcony was open, letting the light from the sunny day pierce the inner gloom. He stepped outside.

She was standing naked on the balcony, her breasts forming perfect dew-drops which seemed to collect the light. She had put all her weight on one leg, accentuating her ass, and her hair was whipping around in the breeze.

"You keep me shut up in this tower all the time," she said to him, not turning. She stared out over the Sea. "Is that really how you want to greet me?"

"Don't you like it?" he said to her, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Of course I like it," she said. "You put a spell on me." He kissed the nape of her neck and ran his fingers gently through her hair. "You have entirely bewitched me, and made me your property," she continued. "If you asked me to jump from this ledge I would do it. There are days when I hate myself, shut up here in this vault keeping house, not knowing when you will return, and all I want is to feel your touch, to feel you inside of me. I don't want anything else. I ask myself why - it doesn't seem to make sense. Aren't I supposed to long to escape from the tower? But I want the tower, more than anything. When I am not shut up inside it, I feel exposed. That's why your spell worked. That's why you were able to put the binding on my soul at all. I wanted it, to belong to you, and through giving myself up I got more bliss than I could ever imagine. More pain, too," she said, "because you treat me like a doll, and torture me by leaving. And I like the pain, and it makes me want it more. Then I feel sick with myself and I am right back where I began again." Her face was flushed. She was breathing heavily. She turned to him.

He held her firmly by the waist, and planted a kiss on each breast. "I am your slave," she said, breathless. Her eyes flashed. "Take me."

She was already dripping wet. He pushed her hips up against the railing and spread her legs. Then he balanced the curve of her ass right up against the edge, grabbed her by the waist, and let her torso fall out over the precipice below. There was nothing preventing her from falling off the balcony but his right arm wrapped around her, holding her tight. Her arms hung over the abyss, and she closed her eyes and let herself go.

He entered her gently at first. He massaged her ass against the railing, gently grinding her up and down as he plunged his cock deep within her. She was suspended from his arms, wrapped in a blanket of sky as he filled her. She gave herself entirely to him, and as she did her pussy became thick and sodden and wet.

In that moment he bound her to him, and she let go of the entirety of her will. Then, suspended at the edge of the tower against the sky, he took her body for his pleasure. He rammed his whole length into her, pounding into her like a spear, while her limp limbs wiggled. Her body was entirely the instrument of his pleasure - he used her like a sheathe for his cock. He let himself go, and stopped seeing her as a person, simply as a tool or a toy to satisfy his thirst. She was purely an object, and he could use her to satisfy whatever urge he wanted. Her body was his, entirely at his command. He fucked her.

In their own way, both of them needed liberation from their responsibility. Her, the responsibility of exercising her will, deeply needing another to command her. For him liberation from responsibility was exercising that command, needing to know no matter what he did he could never hurt her.

At that moment, at the height of both of their surrender, she came. Wave upon wave of bucking hips sprang up against the railing and for a moment they both thought he was going to drop her, but of course, he did not. And then she relaxed, undone and relieved, and burrowed her face into his neck. He hoisted her against him, and carried her downstairs, laying her down on the bed.

As he did she whispered the secret in his ear she had never told a living soul, and never would. "I'm yours," she said. "I love being your slave."