This is dedicated to my Master...
Icy rain pattered rhythmically against Kitty's bedroom window, the storm raging outside like an abandoned lover. She huddled deeper beneath the down comforter, counting on its thickness to fight off the cold. When the electricity had gone out earlier that night, she had had to rely on candles and the fire on her hearth for heat and light, and now that she was nested deeply into her bed, she felt lonely. It was too quiet in the old house, other than the rain, and the thunder. She closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that she should sleep, but it was long in coming, elusive.
A floorboard creaked, and her eyes shot open, but her cat gave her an inscrutable look from the bedside as if to say "And your problem is??" Abashed, she nestled back down again.
Now, it seemed as though she heard a soft intake of breath, and she looked around, warily. But her cat gave her the same inscrutable look and stretched out at her feet with a jaw-popping yawn. "Silly," she sighed, and closed her eyes again.
Finally, she felt the cat pounce off the bed and run like all the demons of hell were on its heels. She didn't think much of it; as it was the sort of thing cats do on a moment's notice, until a low chuckle, just barely audible beneath the patter of the rain, was heard nearby. She cracked an eye open, and tried to convince herself that there was not a pair of burning gray eyes in the darkness beside her bed. She stared at them, daring them to fade away the way the other phantoms had that night, but they did not. Her breath hitched in her throat, her heart pounding wildly, all her childhood nightmares coming to life before her in the dark as she lay under her covers, not daring to move for fear this boogeyman should cut her to ribbons.
A stray flash of lightening illuminated the dim figure that stood beside her bed. It was definitely a man, though lithe of build and graceful of posture. He wore skintight denim jeans that showed off his dancer's build, a black wife beater beneath a black leather jacket, and high, black leather Wellington boots. His hair was long, and fair, falling over his lean shoulders. His face was fine-boned, almost androgynous, one high arched eyebrow raised in amusement, his sensuous lips parted in a self-satisfied grin that showed his wickedly pointed teeth. His dark, gray eyes burned into her, and she could not decide if his beauty was more frightening than his seemingly magical talent for breaking onto her house unheard and unseen. In the candlelit darkness his voice was soft and low.
"Not so silly, my dear..."
A terrible shudder passed over her body; somewhere between horrific fear and undeniable lust. She got enough breath in her constricted lungs to squeak out, "Who are you?"
His grin widened, snarling sexily, "Oh, my dear, but that would be telling!"
"Wh-what do you want?"
The bedsprings creaked slightly as the stranger, with lust in his eyes, climbed onto the bed over her, pinning her with his lithe body, crouching over her like a hunting cat. The lust was tainted with a cruel edge, and she felt herself begin to tremble slightly. Why on earth didn't she fight him off? He didn't seem that he could possibly weigh any more than she did, and he looked almost too thin to provide much of a fight. Indeed, his weight on her body was not enough to prevent all movement, but something in his eyes suggested that it might not go well if she fought, and those fangs suggested just what.
There was a command in his expression, control, and she felt compelled to obey his softly purred command. There was no hate in his burning eyes.
Bemusement; yes. Sadism; yes. Control; indeed.
An almost tender caress to her cheek stilled her trembling, but she could not tear her eyes away from his. "What do I want?" he purred, "Whatever I ask of you. Are you naked beneath those sheets, my dear?"
She nodded, a chill skittering down her back again at the thought of being so exposed to this wild creature, but she remained beneath the comforter, white-knuckling the edge of the blanket. His grin was feral, now, and he plucked thoughtfully at the blanket's edge, watching her fingers tighten. Suddenly, the bed seemed awfully warm, but she didn't dare relinquish her hold on her covers. She felt like a mouse between the paws of a golden-haired cat, the fanged smile only strengthening the comparison. He stretched out, catlike indeed, beside her, continuing to fondle the blanket edge and watch her reaction.
"You know, if I were to request you remove those covers you would have to do it, my dear," he said conversationally.
"Why?" she breathed, without thinking.
The movement was so fast she could barely track it as his eyes glowed red, his graceful hand caught up a handful of the concealing blanket and ripped it from her grasp, exposing her naked body to the cold darkness of the room. She instantly curled into a shivering ball, her hands thrown up over her head with a shriek of dismay. The elfin stranger cocked his head, studying her naked body for a moment, then in a surprising motion of affection, covered her back up into the warmth of her bed. She peeked out from under the blanket at her antagonist in disbelief.
"I am not all cruel," he said softly in response to her incredulous expression. "But I will be obeyed, is that clear?"
"Y-y-yes, sir," she answered quietly, enthralled.
