Saturday, June 12, 2010


His eyes take in her form as he enters the room. The light flickering over the skin of her back from the candle placed behind her. The tilt of her head dropping her hair softly over one shoulder. The muscles in her back tense as she hears him enter. He follows the curve of her back to the swell of her hips, to her round ass perched on top of her heels as she kneels waiting for him to approach. He stands for a moment just to take in the sight.

He can sense her coil as he approaches. The involuntary tension in her shoulders, her neck tightening, her toes curling just a bit. The shadows from the candle in the front catching the flush spreading up her chest to her cheeks as he walks around to see her from the front. Kneeling, legs spread, eyes down, cheek tilted up, her lip quivers and he fights back a smile.

The plans for the evening settle in his mind. She is such a good little pet. So willing, so mailable, so directable. Maybe too willing, he worries that he may grow bored with her...that she may not prove to be enough of a challenge for him...that she won't be all that he believes that she can be. The challenge, after all, is part of the fun.

She struggles to stay still, he can see her eyes following his feet under her lowered lashes. He watches the movement as he walks around her form. Such a handful this girl. For all appearances she is perfectly obedient, following his instructions to the letter. Yet, he knows, behind those appearances sits an analytical mind...waiting for him to act...judging his moves...willing and able to stop the dance at any time. Oh yes, this is the challenge...this is what he desires.

More than her flesh. The smooth skin of her neck exposed and tense. The rise and fall of her breasts with each breath. The tips of her nipples hard and eager for his touch. The soft swell of her thighs leading to the sparkle of wetness between her legs already. Her flesh is enough for most, but it is more than her flesh he desires. It is the challenge of her mind that draws him near.

As this is the moment. The moment he has crafted so carefully. She has built the set, but he wrote the script. As she kneels at his feet, she holds her submission in her hands, and until now he has allowed it. For it must be freely given, or it is not his to take. It is in this moment that his palms sweat...and his heart races at the thought. So easily she could wrap her fingers tightly and withhold that which he needs. She could look at him and meet his eyes in challenge and smile and the moment would be lost. In this moment...despite the props, the costumes, the rests firmly in her hands.

And with the slightest movement she raises her hands and opens her palms to him. She is his for the taking.