Master of the HousebyBelderiever©
I return home to my castle as a light rain begins to fall overhead. The beautiful hilly countryside shows off my estates bountiful fruit - vineyards. The rain in this dry season will do them some good. This is my sanctuary from the outside world and the bickering pettiness of parliament. Here is where she is. But as I walk into the main foyer and grand hall I notice something... she has not greeted me yet - another inconvenience in a day full of them. The sun has long since set and the evening is just beginning. These halls bring me no comfort as I walk down them to my study. I am the last lord of this estate. Around me is a museum to this lineage, kept perfect and preserved to entertain those of importance. But this is not for me.
I lay down on my couch; the cushioned hardwood supports my weary frame from a day of dealing with pretenses. The falsities of the outside world grate on my stature. From the peasant to the Lord, each is a disgusting bundle of secrets. Lies and masks consume those outside these walls to protect their frailties. Strength is in honesty, pain, and the ability to weather its brutal face. The other lords and fat merchants do not heed my arguments that the civil unrest will soon boil over.
My rantings on The Outside are interrupted by her soft footsteps as she enters my parlor - my muse, my angel, and my devil. She speaks not a word by takes her place by my side, kneeling beside me. With a graceful sweep she pulls her long dark hair up and drapes it over my torso as she lays her head on my thigh. I can almost feel the soft curves of her skin through the leather of my breeches. The somehow cool touch sends ripples through my being and washes away my concerns. My fingers caress her tresses, and follow a long lock to its tip. I bring it to my face and breathe in the scent. She perfumes it every day, and every day I try to determine the exact mixture she uses. Lilacs....orange peel... cinnamon oil... and that silent smell. I can never determine what it is, but it invigorates the senses like cold air and bright sunshine in the morning. It makes me lift my head up and gaze upon her, drinking in every fine detail of her being that she has worked so hard to perfect for me just for this evening.
Her wine colored gown is modest and unfrilly, yet lavish still in its simplicity of the textile. With her hair tossed over me her neck is left exposed to the air, and my eyes follow the curve of her ear and down it. Soft smooth unblemished skin accented by a simple pear shaped silver pearl earring. The contours of her neck direct my attention down her shoulder, distracting me from her most deliciously bewitching feature. Her bosom moves ever so slightly as she breathes, soft ample mounds exposed above the confines of her garment hypnotically capture my gaze. My thoughts have completely left me and are hers now.
I reach down and stroke her cheek, and she sighs slightly in response. A hooked finger curves the sensual backside of her ear and causes her to angle her head ever so slightly towards me. My palm glides over her skin and down her neck. My finger trails that divider between skin and fabric over her shoulder and around each of those divine globes ever so slowly. I watch as the heaving of her excited breath causing her bosom to rise and fall dramatically, making it difficult to skirt that fine line between fabric and flesh. She is my savior; I owe her as much as she owes me. She is my pet, and my keeper.
I lift her head with my hand and look into her brown eyes. They gaze blankly back at something far behind me. Even still, I read her thoughts and her desires in that one look. Without another word she lifts herself up slowly and gracefully to adjourn to the next room. I too, rise and wander slowly over to the plain harpsichord sitting against the side wall. Unlike other musical instruments that could be found decorating this mansion with their ornate moldings and rich trim, this one's elegance can not be seen, it can only be heard. Atop it sits a glass of wine poured in expectation of my arrival. I take my seat and lift the glass to my lips. The aroma hints that it has aired enough to quench my thirst without overpowering my palate. And just so it is exquisite, as my pet is an excellent selector of vintage. My fingers find their place at the keys, but my mind is not yet ready to unleash them. The tensions of the day have not yet been released, so I too adjourn to the next room to seek my pet.
This room was once a solarium with wide windows through which the garden could be seen. The balcony outside the window shields occupants from prying eyes from below while those inside can see the treetops and the hedges below them. The stars tonight are hidden behind the clouds. The furnishings of this room were removed and I converted it to entertain my nightly pleasures. My pet already has a fire going in the hearth to banish the chill night air. I watch her glide slower across the floor. She can tell I am watching her even though her back is too me. Her small hands lift her hair and pull it over her left shoulder, exposing the back of her neck and dress to me. I can see the lacings of the gown clearly, and I admire their craftsmanship. The adjustments she made to them clearly were not meant to last long. At least, not with what I intended to do.
Those thin, delicate, articulate fingers of hers start to rub the exposed side of her neck until they reach the top of her lacings. They pull the knot and it comes free. Her hands then reach under her arms to pluck at the strings until little by little they undo themselves and the back of her dress spreads open for me. Unlike the powdered up harlots of vanity other men admire, my pet has such natural beauty I would not tolerate a corset nor bloomers. And I suspect she is the more grateful for it. The sight of her smooth skin in the firelight elicits a sigh from me - she is so beautiful.
Holding her dress to her she moves more toward the middle of the room. Long ago a chandelier hung from right above her, but now something more instrumental takes its place. Beside me, waiting patiently is the chord tethered to a cleat. I undo it and lower the load until it dangles in front of my pet. She drapes her arms over the wooden bar and awaits me. My boots are loud in the quiet room as I walk to her. Her gaze is focused on the floor and her head tilted, almost presenting her wrists to me. I slide her hand into the leather strap and secure it, and then again with the other one. Her hands tighten around the bar when I finish, and she lifts her head up towards me as I return to the cleat and unsecure the line again. With steady pulls I lift her arms above her until they are firmly stretched high, but not enough to lift her off the ground. Here, now, in the middle of my room, is my most precious thing on display for me. I circle her, drinking in all of her beauty as she is displayed. She knows I am watching her thought her eyes glance downward, and her breathing deepens, making her chest rise and fall with each breath. Ahh, now we begin our song.
Across the room opposite the hearth is an ornate cupboard that once held fine silver. In a matter of speaking, it still does, but of a different make than dining utensils. The top drawer holds a long length of leather split and frayed into may tendrils. No, that one will not do. I close it and go to the second one, the penance rope. No, both of these are too extreme for tonight. The bottom drawer has my favorite toy, an antique fly whip made of ebony from Africa inlaid with silver from the late Roman Empire. The horsehair had been replaced. Yes, it will do just nicely.
I begin by draping it over her shoulder opposite her hair; she can feel the soft hair as it pulls over her skin. Her neck angles to embrace the horsehair as I drag it past until it falls free to drape beside me. The room grows quiet and I close my eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire. Letting my thoughts be pulled into the moment. Then with one fluid swing I strike her back with the whip. It stings and her fingers grip the bar tightly for a moment then relax. She utters not a word as my arm flows from the backstroke right into the next swing. Swish, swish, swish, with long rhythmic motions the flog strikes her back again and again, each one timed exactly like a pendulum of a clock...each one building in speed. I close my eyes and feel the motion. Like a dance at a ball, my body feels the rhythm and takes over and my mind is just along for the ride. My pet knows this tune, and speaks not a word throughout it. No matter how hard the tail stings, she doesn't utter a peep. Only the rattling of the manacles above her as she twitches and tenses to the pain speak for her. Ah, my beautiful pet, so graceful, so demure, and so perfect.
My arm descends with one final quick strike. For this instrument it is not the force from witch it strikes but the speed that renders the flesh. The stinging bite makes her fingers curl backwards for a moment before grabbing the bar for support as she goes limp. Her shoulders sag and heave as she catches her breath. I feel the heat from the fire consume me; my brow is already sweaty from the minor exertion. This will not do. My boots thump on the wooded floor across the room to the cabinet. With the flog back in its place, I remove my shirt and place it neatly on the cabinet counter. Next to it is the bowl and pitcher my pet has prepared for me. Cold water pours into the ceramic dish as I wet the rag in it. Such simple pleasures as a cold wet cloth are unknown to most people. They are too poor to afford relief from the heat of exertion, or they take it for granted. We take so many things for granted. It is only through my ministrations is such a simple thing ambrosia. And if such a simple thing can become a gift of the gods, what then, does love become?
The cold dampness of the cloth revives her senses. Her head angles up, exposing her throat to me. I dab it slowly, gently, lovingly. The ears... the nap of the neck... the shoulders. Her head sags forward and rests on my shoulder. I nustle her gently to me. With one hand I pull that luxurious mane of hers over to one side, so that I can tend her stinging back with my wonderful cool wet cloth. She sighs in relief with each touch. And it is this moment that all that has gone before was meant for. So many look longingly to the sky and dream of touching it, having forsaken the touch of the grass between their feet. Only those that have been to the bottom of a well, savor the feel of the grass, and ignore the sky.
A warm sensation on my chest brings my thoughts back to the room. Her soft lips found their way to me. My gentle pet, she wants something. She wants more, and this is her way of asking. My hands reach up to hers and our fingers entwine. Her lips slowly peck across my bare skin. Her fingernails soon dig into the back of my hands as she demands more. I reach up and unleash her wrists. They drop to her side and she stands upright as I back away. Her gaze focuses on the warmth from the hearth, and those glossy eyes stare past it to unseen things. Her cheeks are such deliciously supple things. Subtly round and cherubic they make her all the more desirable. My hands find her cheeks and lift her head up; she looks to me but not at me. Her eyes are off in a different place. Slight brushes with my hands move her hair back in place behind her and then cradle her face between them. Her eyes close as she leans her head back into my touch. Just as she comes to greet it, I move them away and they flow down her neck. Her eyes find me again, and never leave my face as I slide the shoulders of her dress off her arms. Having been undone in the back, nothing keeps it from falling straight to the floor. My pet is unveiled before me, but all I care is for the look in her face as I lift her arms back to the bar, and tighten the leather straps around them once more.
That gaze follows me as I disappear behind her yet my hand lingers. It slides over her smooth skin to the back of her neck. In response her head leans forward exposing the nape. I walk slowly backwards admiring her form laid bare for me. So pure, so perfect, so innocent. She does as my will demands. She is obedient.
By now I would have my next implement in my hand working off the days toils on her backside. But I feel my interest waning, and my loins waxing. Perhaps it was the futility of today's arguments in parliament that has left me feeling that life is too short for anger. Those fools have set the stage for something terrible. They have a false sense of security in their lands. Eventually the common folk will grow too broken from their harsh treatment and fight back. I know more about the tolerance of suffering than any jailor, warden, or abusive landlord. Yet my hands are clean of that sin. My angel has washed them for me.
I pull the cloth from my head, letting the tangled curls of my hair fall. At my cupboard is a small wooden box lined with metal. Inside is a rare treat for the aristocracy – ice crumbs. Much like snow, but chipped from a large block hauled down from the mountains. I carry it to her and scoop a handful into my palm. The shock to her skin makes her stand rigid as I rub the chilling slush down her back. Today is not a day for the whip... I have something else in mind. I watch as the hairs stand on end from the chill and small bumps rise in her delicious skin. Not long before it turns to water against her heat. I scoop another and this time graze her ample bosom with it, her nipples harden immediately and she jerks back from it. Ah! I have found her weakness for today. The thin leather of my gloves keeps my fingers resistant enough from the cold. But she is bare and vulnerable as I wash her body in cold. I pull the gloves free with my teeth and let them fall to the floor. No, I should share in my pet's treatment, so that I can know exactly the extent of her pleasure and pain. My ice filled hands torment her nipples again and again. She squirms against me until the feeling goes numb more and more. Ah, but only so long. Her sides are more sensitive in the beginning, and she jerks away as I wash my hands down to her hips. But again, the feeling goes numb and she no longer resists. I kneel to the floor and should on of her legs forcing her to lean on me, yet loose control of her leg. A woman's feet are a thorny rose – touch them wrong and they bite back, caress them and the bloom is yours for the plucking. With a firm grip on her ankle I press my ice laden hand against her heel and quickly press the slush upwards to her toes. Her leg jerks against me, yet there is no where for her to go. The toes are not so sensitive, yet equally subjectable to ministrations from the fingers. The torture of the ice becomes a massage of the hardest working part of the human body. Like the ice, my pet quickly melts against my hands. But too soon does my interest wane again and I leave her wanting more. I replaced her leg and stood, returning to my armoire of delicacies. I could here her teeth chatter slightly from the chill treatment. The fire would soon warm her back up. I look to my frozen hand and the wet slush that still clung to it. Ah! Inspiration hits me.
Quickly I return to her and press myself to her backside firmly. Startled by this she slowly leans into the odd embrace. I reach down to her womanhood and cup her firmly. Her head jerks back against my chest immediately and tosses in defiance. Her hair flings about against me as she struggles. But despite her torment she utters not a word. Her silence is both haunting and melodious. It leaves me focused on the language of her body. In my other hand I brought with me the largest chunk of ice I could fish out of the remnants. I slide it down her abdomen slowly. Immediately she calms and moans. One sensation can distract from another – another lesson in suffrage. She gasps softly as it finds it way over the small patch of hair to her warm mound. Her clitoris rises against the cold treatment, exposing her weakest vice. Yet this time she does not fight it. She melts before me, letting go of all that she was for the sake of the attention I give her. Her body succumbs to the lure of ecstasy. Before the ice can completely melt, her body snaps and goes rigid. Her thighs twitch and tremble as the rest of her body tenses taught. A moment later it is all over and she slumps against me, her lips nuzzle the side of my neck as she pants heavily.
I release her wrists from their restraints. I barely got the last lash untied that she did spin in place and she was upon me. Her arms draped around my neck and her lips pressed to my chest as her teeth tried to dig in. Her fingers were like a badger's raking my skin and attempting to pull my clothing off with disregard for their finery. The beast within had been unleashed, and my pet was on the prowl.
She sank to the floor and leaned against me, her arms hugging to my leg as she caught her breath and her state of mind. Slowly her thoughts remembered their place and she began to more delicately care for my attire as she removed my boots strap by strap. Her lips pressed to the leather on my thigh in gentle kisses as she worked. The straps came unbuckled and I lifted a leg free. She proceeded to undo the other similarly, thus soon I stood in but leather breeches before her. Those too were short lived as protection to the elements as the ravenous hands of my pet pulled them from me.
The room was now littered with garments and clothing outright. Nothing unusual for its new function, yet it made traversing it slightly more hazardous. My fingertips found that wonderful mane of hair and began to brush through it slowly. Her lips clung to my thigh and kissed the length of it. I looked to the room, distracted, searching for my next entertainment. An interesting assortment of benches and workhorses sat next to the window against the wall. They had been outfitted with added support and straps for creative uses.
A soft wet sensation in my loins broke my wandering and made my eyes roll back as her tender wet tongue found my swelling member and caressed it. One pair of thin delicate fingertips held it to her lips as she kissed and suckled it. The other gingerly stroked the fruit of the branch causing it to grow. This simply would not do.
I stepped back from her, and grabbed her wrists firmly. The shock upset her and her eyes were wide with a moment's panic. With one powerful swoop, she was in my arms her feet dangling over my left elbow. The panic melted and so did she into my chest. I brought my pet to a padded table with rope and straps, and laid her on it. I walked around it, binding her feet, arms, and neck to the chords. There was plenty of slack that she did not need to position herself. I allowed her to contemplate what was to come as I returned again to my armoire and pulled a leather flog from the top drawer. When I returned to the table's edge, she approached me on all fours and inched closer, seeking me out. Her lips found my neck and pecked across it slowly. I pretended not that her electrifying kiss had no effect on me as my hands turned the wheels at the table's edge. These pulled the chords taught. First her legs were pulled straight and apart. Though her attentions to my neck and shoulders were not interrupted. Next I turned the outer two and her arms were pulled wide. Lastly I detached the chord to her collar from the winch, and pulled it taught myself. I applied gentle pressure causing her lips to travel down my torso and stomach. Her lips had to pull away as her neck reached a cushioned block designed to cradle the head and she rested hers there. I took a step closer and pulled on her leash, and her lips found what she had wanted earlier. With a soft moan she wrapped those succulent red roses around my manhood. I leaned my head back and quietly enjoyed the delirium as her tongue caressed over me, traversing the veins and contours that swelled to her touch. Her hands grabbed the edge of the table for support as she leaned closer wanting more.