Paradox

Her sense of excitement and foreboding was immediate as she kicked the door shut with her heel. Shades pulled down and curtains drawn over the windows. Every light off. The room black as pitch and the click of the latch as the door shut was the sound of the dungeon door. Her Master lurked in the dark and it was his style, his pleasure to watch her anticipation grow, her nervousness as she stood in the dark.

"Master???" Inquisitive ~ almost uncertain. Groceries carelessly placed on the counter as she glances around. Her anticipation grows, her nervousness. Even thought she knows him well, until she feels his touch, until she hears his voice, until she has the reassuring knowledge that it is indeed her Master lurking in the dark... her body trembles with excited nervousness. "Master...???" Almost a whimper. Begging for reassurance. Feeling a bit of fear, and still, even with the fear, her nipples stiffen... her cunt contracts.

"Close your eyes, whore." The words fall on her ears with both relief and trepidation. Indeed, it was her Master... the demon in the dark, but, his voice... deliciously evil. Almost a whisper yet it carried a tone of complete confidence in her obedience, and even as she swung her head in the direction of the voice, she dutifully clamps her eyes shut and gulps a breath.

It seemed like hours. No movement, no sound, but she can feel the unhurried eyes on her. The slitted eyes of a cat preparing to pounce... silently tensing muscles... vision riveted. The hypnotic tension freezing her in place…motionless except for a quiver in her stomach and a slight sway. The dark of the room and the blackness behind her closed eyes challenge her balance. A light dizziness accelerated by the anticipation.

"Steady yourself, whore." Her body jerks in surprise... the voice whispering only inches from her ear. As stealthy as a shadow he had slinked to her side and been standing there, and now her heart raced, her brow beaded with sweat. Fingers encircle her wrist and guide her hand to the back of a the wrought iron chair that had been mysteriously and silently placed in front of her. "Steady yourself, whore," again he whispered.

She places the other hand on the chair back... its position such that she bends forward slightly at the waist. She had spent the day at work without a bra according to his order this morning, and the hours of jostling had rubbed her nipples on the fabric to a point of torture. And now, as she is bent to the chair, the weight of her breasts pressed them harder against her blouse. Her Master was so well attuned to her that, at her mumbled moan, he knew her nipples burned. Fingers dabbled at the front of her shirt. Tapping as light as a feather on the nubs through the cotton... tracing tiny circles around them. Then, finding the first button and, with a practiced twist of the fingers, it opened. With slow deliberation, the fingers marched from one button to the next, each in turn falling open. Between each one, the fingers examined the nearby nipple, tracing its outline with the tip of a nail, feeling them stiffen further... enjoying the hiss from between her teeth. With each button that surrendered, the shirt pulled across her breasts to the side, until at last, they hang free. The relief was immediate, but in the same instant, they prickled with vulnerability as they swayed beneath her.

His body moved, she could only sense it, but not hear it. Slinking like the shadows hemselves he moved through the room. She tries to follow with her ears, but they were drumming with her heartbeat, and she clenches her eyes tighter as the temptation to peek came upon her. He would never know in this darkness. She could look to see what he was doing, and he would never know.

Again, so close to her ear that it frightened her... "Do not open your eyes, whore." God, how did he know... is he living inside her. Her heart raced faster.

The crinkling of paper. Familiar. What was that... yes,... the tissue around the roses that she had lain on the counter with the groceries. He unwrapped the roses... why???

A husky sweet perfume fills her nostrils, and then the softness of velvet on her lips. A rose petal just under her nose and the fragrance fills her head. "The rose.. ." Master whispers, "is such a paradox. As soft as the kiss of a kitten, and as sweet as ambrosia... yet... the thorns, sharp as the fangs of a serpent, like the tip of your Master dagger. Pleasure... pain. Comforting, yet so very dangerous. Kiss this rose, whore, kiss this soft petal. The soft petals of your mouth against the soft petals of this flower. Kiss it. Inhale. Drink in all the pleasures this contradiction of nature can provide. Breath it in."

"And now... feel it. " The fragrance diminishes as the rose is pulled away. Then, the softest tickle on her right nipple. The velvet petal brushed over the bud, around it... grazing the sides of her suspended breast. Like the trail of a feather on her skin. "Such a paradox," Master whispers again in her ear. Instantly, the sharp sting of a thorn against her nipple. Her wail explodes with violence at the contact. "Pleasure, blended with pain," He whispers into her ear, and the razor tip scraped around the outer edge of the areola, searing instantly to the pit of her stomach. Another scream and her nails clenched at the back of the chair. How can such a beauty cause such agony... and the light scraping of this tiny dagger trailed directly over her throbbing nipple. Then, tapping, with a miniature stabbing motion, and each thrust exploding from her throat, first with a yelp and then evolving into a scream.

Through the torment and the cloud of pain her mind finds some reason. Her nipple rages with agony yet her cunt wept its pleasures. As this demon... this lover... ravages her nipples, waves of ecstasy cascaded through her loins, and a climax like none other shattered the night. As she bucks against the chair, the pointed thorns or the rose pecked at the pointed buds her nipples, and the soft pink petals of her cunt bloomed... weeping with the dew of pleasure.

The longest time she stood panting... leaning over the back of the chair. Her nipples tingled. Her cunt throbbed. Eyes still closed and the room dark a pitch. Still... no sound, except for a rhythmic breathing from the man beside her. Sweat rolls along the sides of her breasts and she can feel the pulse in her wrists against the chair. As her thoughts calm, as she begins to settle, the back of her mind reminds her, Master did not cum. Instantly, an even softer whisper into her ear. Hands and knees, whore. The jangle of a chain in the dark, the click of a pad lock opening. Her knees settle onto the pillow. This softness is the only kindness she will feel for awhile. "Hold this for me, whore" The riding crop is placed between her teeth, the tangy, musky taste of leather on her tongue... hands lift her skirt over her rounded cheeks. The fabric of her panties is roughly gathered and pulled upward, and it sliced between her cunt lips and across her arsehole... and snapped as it was released. Preparing for what she knows is coming she begins to quiver, and then, lips, as soft as the rose petals kiss her arse cheeks. Then the other, until her arse is covered with kisses and moisture from his mouth. A soothing, loving tongue devoured and lapped over the smooth skin and hands massaged the moisture. The tenderness is awesome, and then... the realization came.

Paradox... the rose... pleasure... pain... contrast... and she feels the riding crop tugged from her mouth. One long deep breath from above her and the whistle of leather in the dank night air. "Here comes the thorn, whore."

To be continued...