He loved it when she came to this bed, late at night and shower fresh. Her skin still held the closeness of hot water pelting a bit too long on her soft white skin. Blood pinkening here and deepening there against the many scars she bared rarely and only in the right company. A melody of rosemary and cucumber wafted into the close air as she lifted the covers and slid in quietly, carefully, prodding gently to make sure no cats would attack her toes. He knows, as she positions herself methodically into place. His awakening grows as she wriggles down into the cocoon of down comforter and hemp cotton sheets. Her skin radiates from the shower, inches away but pulsing with the desire quickening her breath in spite of herself.

He waits as her breath regulates, before leaning in and dropping his arm haphazardly over her middle, she doesn't complain. The subtle tenseness vibrates, he pushes against her, feeling the give as they roll from their respective sides until he lies near completely on top her medium frame. His leg has made its way between hers, nudging the shuddering flesh further from its match. He allows the weight of his body to press her deeper against the memory foam mattress, patiently attending to the taut muscles and waiting, with each breath for them to relax.

They say nothing.

In the blackness, beyond the space of this four-posted bed, nothing else mattered. For when she came to him at night it was dutiful and reverent. Always a clean and willing participant to what discipline and delights lie waiting for her there. Had there been days when she'd misbehaved and received a lashing before the play, or simply been sent away when the grievance was too severe? Heartbreakingly and rare, the moment had happened where he listened to her tearful pleading outside the bolted door. Hours that passed as he seethed, full well knowing she had refused to leave her own bedside when surely there was reason to tan her hide.

But it was not so tonight. Never would Discipline be held over night, the two would reconcile each morning, discuss and move passed whatever misunderstandings had taken place and with a kiss to the forehead they would begin anew.

She was broken in ways this agreement had healed her from. To say their delicate arraignment had allowed her to thrive was not to do so lightly. His guidance and oversight kept her within bounds of what she needed in order to succeed and he was happy to take on the obligation of the task. Because of this, instruction and expectation for each had been expressly given in a document that sat, displayed unassumingly among other rare treasures he had. Dinner parties were always a laugh when someone would ask, her skin would burn a delightful red and he would put on the charade, regaling them with a tale of fancy, though never the same story twice.

He allows her to feel himself grow thicker against her skin, the press of their bodies liquefy the hovering steam between her cells and the slickest of sweat, viscous with lotion, begins to gather where the two forms meet. Closer now, he breaths her in and the sound of that intake makes her shudder, lifting her body closer to his raised skin, drawing up to regard her with a gentle, 'tsk,tsk,tsk...' She pouts, lifting her head to brush his chin gently before settling back against the sheets. Rocking against her rhythmically he rotates his hips just right and moves completely between her thighs, bracing his weight on the arm overlapping her as the other moves to caress the small of her back. "There's a good girl," he whispers, more to himself though he knows, the raspy breaths will tickle the hair at the nape of her neck, smoothing his words over and over again. Some times, with little more than the movement of his lips against her back, shoulders and neck, the incomprehensible utterance became an invocation, opening deeper conduits to delight. His left hand deftly roaming up and down her side, knee to hip, hip to back, dipping here and there to press, caress or tweak in tandem with the words he barely spoke.

And still she did not move. The sound of her breath as it quickened and sighed from his manipulations danced in time with his repeated rhyme, the song grew in crescendos and quakes until she felt herself cresting to break and uttered a single word.

Everything stopped. For the longest moment, she struggled to hold her orgasm at bay, his breath ceased as he watched her writhe, denying with silence her reprieve. Once the wave had passed he chuckled and said, "I've barely touched you yet..." So was the sign of a long night of wonder, where he'd leave her to sleep after hours of play and one or two embracing, in a bed three times too large. Pampered on waking and a leisurely day ahead she would need the recuperation and hydration of a day off from work. Thankfully this was all according to plan, in that neat little scroll in its place of honor among the many treasures he had.
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Pub: Dec 21 2020 11:08 UTC
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