Thoughts of Her Master

Silently, she stares blankly out the bay window of her city loft, not looking at anything in particular, her focus elsewhere. Her mood echoes the view from her perch; grey listless clouds hang too low over the city, swallowing up the tallest of skyscrapers, draping her world in darkness and shadows.

It has only been a few hours since he left but she feels as if she has been alone for days. His visits with her, their special times together are too short and too far between. She resigns the situation for what it is and what is has to be, relishing in the time they have together and steeling her resolve to proudly muddle through when they are not. Confidently, she breathes in and out, his scent still lingers on her body, and it intoxicates her. She must not disappoint him, must show him she is strong and he can count on her to remain his always.

She waits for him. In everything she does in her life, she waits. Her Master, her lover, her life, her reason for being. Without him, she is as a lost lamb without a shepherd. No one to guide her, to teach and discipline her, to love her.

Her worth is measured in his approval of her, in his pleasure. Her submission a precious gift. His domination needed for her very survival. Opposite sides of the same coin, without each other, they are incomplete.

She slowly wakes from her thoughts as the cold rain pelts the glass windowpanes. She is naked, save for her gold collar, and the cool air has chilled her sweat-soaked body. Her nipples stand proud and taut from the cold. Rising, she turns and walks to the bathroom, preparing to soak in the Jacuzzi tub. As she passes the mirrors that adorn a full wall of her oasis, she takes in the beautiful markings her Master has left her with. She beams, knowing these marks will be with her for a while, even when he cannot. The crimson stripes crisscross across her rounded bottom and down her thighs in perfect design, her Master is an expert in painting her body with his belt, flogger, or crop.

Running the water for her soak, she adds oils to the stream of heat filling the tub. As the level and temperature begin to rise, she pads quietly into the kitchen to re-fill an abandoned wine glass with her favourite chardonnay returning to the sanctity of her refuge from the world outside. She slides gently into the tub, the once-cold porcelain heated to perfection, and sighs. The marks slowly begin their renewed burn and sting, the water igniting the fire her Master started earlier.

Her mind relaxes and she relives his visit, her hands roam across her body as if they were his. Slowly they caress her neck; she leans into the touch as she would his. Painted nails scrape across her jaw line, down her neck and over her throat, her skin reacting with shivers even though she is submerged in steaming liquid. With one hand resting behind her head as a pillow against the cool tub, she slides her other hand farther south grazing the erect nipple peeking out from the water.

Her nipples have always been over-sensitive and with enough arousal, she could orgasm just from her Master touching and pinching them. She rolls the blood-filled tip between her thumb and finger, pulling and pinching just enough to elicit a low groan of pleasure from her lips. Her other hand continues over her breast, she shifts in the tub bringing both breasts and nipples into contact with the chilled air in the room. Goosebumps cover the pale skin as she cups one breast and leans in to lick and suck the engorged tip. Lapping her tongue around the rigid bud, she kneads the breast, as her Master would, gently at first then more forcefully, all the while nipping the tip with her teeth.

The heat building between her thighs and in the pit of her stomach soon directs her wandering hands towards her core. As she imagines his hands probing her wet folds, she sinks two fingers into her saturated pussy. Her juices coat her fingers and mix with the oiled water of her bath allowing her fingers to fuck her, curling her fingers upwards to stroke that exact spot that will send her over the edge. Her passions rise; her breathing becomes laboured in pleasure as her body approaches its impending release.

With three fingers buried in her, sawing in and out with abandon, stretching her around their width, her other hand finds her clit, hard and protruding from its sheath. Circling the little cock with the tip of her finger, she can hold out no longer. Her body bucks and jerks as her orgasm peaks, her fingers sucked into her pussy, her clit pinched between two manicured nails, as water is sent cascading up and over the edge in a mini tidal wave.

Gradually the electricity running through her veins subsides and she is able to compose herself. The room is filled with steam and the sweet smell of her sex mingled with the bath oils. Content, she sinks into the heat of the water, completely submerging her pleasured body for a few moments, re-emerging refreshed and relaxed, taking no notice of her Master, standing quietly inside the doorframe of the bathroom, watching her every move, with the sly grin of a Cheshire cat upon his face.