Brook

Are there rolling hills and gentle curves where you walk?

Are there trees that shelter the roll of the creek as it babbles and glitters in the shine of the sun or fullness of the lunar mystique? Boughs that overhang pools of waist depth, kept cool from summer heat and free of deep frost. Do you have this where you are?

We do. At the end of a slope of lawn the creek roils over some large smooth stones and wends its way nearer the house than at other points. Here, it undercuts the bank and leaves a brief stretch of mud before settling into a pool that covers our knees. The bottom here is silt and ages ground rock powdered fine. It's easy to step in and comfortable to the toes as it squishes up between.

Here she stood in the full sun. Heated air wavering above the delightful chill of water. Splash and splutter filling our ears and my lips have to tease right to the very flesh of her ear before she will hear the whispers I have for her. The water flows, bringing the wash of a breeze with it and her raven hair fluffs, swirling about our faces. Neither of us reach to wipe it away.

I, because the moment presents itself for the beauty the feel of flyaway strands of her mane bring to the perfect day. Slight tickles and delicate kisses that mingle with the flecks of the splattering cascade just to our left. There is no one else to revel in the view of her chest as it heaves with the exertion of quietude.

She, because docility has become her. Exhaustion and need have had their war within her breast and the battle unwon has left her gasping. And reeling. The cool water washes the marks across her backside and the contrast to the blistering heat that poured from her cells mere moments ago must be overwhelming to her. I watch her shivers and they delight me so. A deep and abiding memory made from every tiny tremor and puckering.

There is a sensuality deeper than anything I've ever known in the way she finally gives in. Knowing she will eventually surrender changes nothing for the dance of fire. The inner struggle will come. Slowly at first. Held at bay with the understanding that this is the dalliance we choose. Reality will come, however, and her body will perform as it will while her mind rebels. At the center of the maelstrom I will sift emotion.

The water laps gently at her thighs as I fill a sponge and brush it over her smooth skin. The chill stretches her flesh, giving me a thrill of desire. Her head is bowed in delicious abjection and the water rolls from her as I squeeze the sponge out. And again. Her breasts point and sway with the lolling, aureoles drawn and nipples jutting from both the cool moisture and her absolute excitement. Even her sex looks full and open within the light furze. Giving in has brought her to new heights of arousal and I can feel her buzzing with electricity.

The crisscross markings glisten with dew as they play over the tender sides of her globes and the dappling sunlight gives them sparkles like tiny rainbows. I grip the sponge in my fist and let the cascade bound from her billowry. Splashes tease my legs. She gives short snubs and they keep time with the throbbing of my aching member, but her head stays bowed. She has submitted. Fight against it as she will, when she cedes control, she obeys and my thoughts to her become so tender that I would release her from this if she but asked.

Washed in the river, plenished by the comforting waters, she allows herself to be led to the soft grass where she will receive me and lose the battle with exhaustion. She will go willingly and as the lamb. Translucent in her innocence. She will accept me not with the grace and desire of our everyday lovemaking, but with the servility and desperation of complete submission. I will ravage her. As the beast. The bull in heat. Lust incarnate.

We took our lunch on the veranda. A smattering of samples. Fruits and cheeses. Breads and nectar. She with her flowing hands and delicate laugh. A delicious buffet of sensuality. Enrapt, I took her by the hand and suggested a stroll to the stream. A frolic over the grass. Her eyes smoldered as she coyly asked my intentions and I was lost. Then and there given over to her. There is no conflict for me. There is only her and the all consuming need to feel her soul snuggled against my heart.

Her hand lightly within mine, her energy full and burning, she walked with me to the bedroom where I chose an assortment of tools. Each selection eliciting a gasp or "mmm" and an equal note of anticipation from inside my being. Her wrists accepted the cuffs, her hands the plait of my fingers and we walked.

The tender slope of lawn, green soft grass delighted in the midday sun and our passing was like the zephyr. A sigh. Will we pass this way again? Who will know? Who will mark that time? The warmest zenith of the sun will pass before we make that return. Less a puff of breeze, then, and more a chuff breath.

Our feet found the loam heralding the copse of trees at the bank of the waters and it was there that her inner clash began. The sly, knowing, come and get it look was gone and the apprehensive girl appeared to my utmost pleasure. Suddenly uncertain, she stumbled as my fingers tugged her to twin aspen trees four feet apart. She must surely recognize the reason for the straps.

Just a stumble. The temptress flared back in her eyes and made it clear she would do anything for me. Her lashes batted and pupils rounded, flickering to the tenting in my pants. I pressed her there and she went willingly. Sank to her knees, brought her hands to my zipper and worked greedily to free my eager appendage, all the while making sure that I saw her beautiful cheekbones and delectable lips. Pooching out her features for me to view and approve. And I do. Showing her curves in sinuous relief.

I let her take me into her throat once, twice, even four and five times. Hungrily. I thrilled in it. She responded with vigor when I took up a fistful of her luscious hair and growled in frustration when I pulled her away. Her chained hands looked such a delectable sight that stopping her took all the strength I had. Ah, and she did all she could to make it harder.

Bound hands arouse her to passions, but being unable to move frightens her. Tied wrists fire my needs, but fear and uncertainty drive me to heights of depravity untouched. Just a stumble, but it took her composure. Seeing herself tied between the trees held her from taking the next step for just a second. Just a misstep of time, but her sangfroid thawed and the uncertainty fuels my desires.

Suddenly on her knees and striving for control, she tries to perform all the things she knows I find so irresistible. Holding her hands up to the base of my cock and dipping her eyelids in a gesture of submission. Such things are trivial to me, however, fully enjoyable that it is her, but petty nonetheless. I love her with a need beyond such frittering.

When my hand yanks her head back, she gasps and whines and her struggle begins. Were I to check her sex, it would be dripping in anticipation of things to come. At the same time, she is wondering if there is something wrong with her to want this and with another part of her wants merely to make love. To be taken, yes, but to be able to give on her terms as well. She is capable, skilled and motivated. Able and intelligent. She is submissive, beautiful and mine.

The tinkling of the brook weighted the air. Notes of merriment floated in the breeze. Wafted among us. The tug of her hair, the tautness of her neck muscles as she tries to pull back. Her trial begins.

Her body moves in a "please". She wants and doesn't want. Needs and wishes she didn't. Hopes for and against. Her curves show her pleadings in a way her voice cannot. She is too proud and too able. Her body knows, though. Her pores beg for punishment and her breath for release. The shiver that wracks her in the difference makes me so hard I feel an ache shooting through me.

I let her head go and it grabs my hardness greedily. I move enough to connect the strap to the tree on the right. Another to the tree on the left. I separate her wrists then and chain them. Her voice pushes out to the musical air "please" and it lengthens my hardness. Makes it twitch and jump.

As she covered its entirety, her wrists take the straps and they tighten until her shoulders stretch to their end and her breasts are pushed out to my gaze. The sun dress she put on at our bedside this morning hides none of her curves and she demurs as I start to pull it up over her head. She has a hard time being completely immobilized and blindfolded. I have to help her and I pull my member from her mouth to bring the shift up onto her arms and stretch it across her back, her head free, but it presses at her to bow her head. She refuses, my delight.

Tufts of sunlight dance among the leaves above her head and gives golden glinters flitting over her cheek and forehead. Proud supplicant. "You know what I want." And she does. I want everything. I want all she has and all she can give. Her head lifts just enough that her breasts jut. They sway, their weight too much for her slight frame. Haughty and delicious, my love. A wild garden of delights and I would tame her.

Her eyes trail my wavering pole as I move out of the range of her vision. Her foot kicks from my grip as I work to wrap the two ankles together. "Are you fighting me?" There is mock surprise in my voice. I knew she would. She truly doesn't like being bound so thoroughly, though her juices will be flowing all the more as I work.

"Please." It's not yet a begging tone, though she tries to enjoin a whine into her word. An attempt to placate me. To show me what I want and nudge me to take it now. I am patient and she will plead with all her heart before I take her.

But, oh how it turns me on to hear her say that word of love! Her foot yet waves and it takes an effort to secure it to the other and anchor it to the ground. "Fighting it will only gain you punishment." I tell her quietly and she answers with a sob that is also a contented sigh and it liquefies pleasure to seep out and glisten on the tip of my hardness.

Her ankles tied, I move around in front of her and my penis waves in her face. She moans and her legs shuffle, testing the bindings. A pinch on the nipple tells her what will come and she cries out in anguished bliss, twisting in her constraints. Each pinch making her tug at the bindings until her delicate shoulders strain, the muscles flaring and showing individually under a sheen of perspirant moisture.

"Are you going to keep fighting like a bad girl or behave like we both know you will in the end?" My voice is quiet, even to my own ears. Husky and wanting. I can barely speak for the arousal. For the feeling of needing her. My whole body is intense and coiled. I feel the same thrumming coming from hers.

In answer, she jerks in her traces and my belt snaps down onto her rear. She cries out and I pinch her nipple again. She screams. More an "ohh" of joy and surprise than a wail of pain. She wants and wishes she didn't. The cuffs shake in defiance and I wrap a cloth around her eyes, gaining a fluid sigh from her in return.

She never gives in, that scintillate little vixen of mine. Her curves flashed at me. Twinkling more lively than the dappled light through the leaves or the brightness of her eyes as we walked here hand in hand. Her breasts with a sway and jiggle, her hips jutting first one way then the other, her neck tautened and graceful. More than poetry or art, more than sense and motion.

The leather of the belt slaps onto her buttock again and again. And again. Then encircles her thigh. The second belt, the one that drew such a curious glance from her in the bedroom, performs the same maneuvers. Smack. Smack. Cinch around the thigh. My thumb to her lips, then my thick hard pole. When the ropes pulled her thighs apart, putting pressure on her ankles, she gasped, moaned, and wriggled harder than I've ever seen her. The groan forced itself from me. Shoved out my throat with all self control.

The whip on the sides of her swaying jugs shocked her less than it did me. She drives me beyond my ability to remain collected. She does it with full intention and a satisfied smile tinged her lips as the whip rose and fell and her head turned away from it side to side. Offering me first one breast, then another until, panting heavily, I regained composure and pressed my length into her throat. I pumped then, bucked and flailed. Grabbed the back of her hair and yanked. Her moans and winces were vibrations sending me fast over the edge.

A splatter brought a squeal from her. I yelled out as the next jolt sent a stream burning out the end of my being. Successive jolts opened me up and turned me inside out. "Oh, you little witch." I cooed in her ear when I had nothing more to shoot and the dry pumping had finally abated. "You did that on purpose. Bad girls get punished, you know that." My hands smoothed her hair and stroked her face, my lips touched her nape and she moaned long and low and gut wrenching. She followed this with a sinuous shift of her body that jerked me back upright and awake.

I'd turned a strap on dildo inside out and reworked it so that it would attach around her, holding the tool inside her. She's so tight that anything inserted in her while I toy with her is forced out. A wonderful feeling when I fill her. Utterly delicious and when she cums, it gets even tighter. I put it in and on her as she wriggled and moaned.

Each squirm earned her a slap on the bottom and each moan rewarded by a kiss. When it was in and secured, I connected an egg vibrator to the clitoral stimulator. She was jerking and mewling when the material went in her mouth and the cries muted. "Why do you struggle so?" I asked quietly. "A good girl does what she is told without fighting. Bad girls get punished." Her butt cheeks clenched and the lash whistled through the air to land with a very satisfying snap.

Again and again the whip rises and falls as she strains and pulls. I stop. Reach out and pinch her nipple. Her back arches in a delicious move that makes my hardness jump and an ache shake me. Another pinch and I can feel her cumming.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare cum. That's mine and you will give it to me when I say or your punishment will go on for days." She shivered and thrashed, crying out through the gag. I turned off the vibrator and waited. Slowly, she calmed and when I thought it was safe, the lash came down on her bottom once more and the electricity ripped loose.

Over and over she went to the edge. Her haughtiness gone and fatigue showing in her shoulders hanging. My hand in her hair and the gag pulled down so I could shove my hard pole in her mouth. A pinch of nipple got just an arc and when i pulled out she said the word for me. In just the right way. She took my heart.

"Please." A true plea. Dripping with need and desperation.

"You'll be my good little girl?"

"Yes. Please."

I turned the vibrator up and felt her tense for orgasm. She wanted to squirm and her upper lip was trembling fighting the urge. When a drop of perspiration rolled from her matted hair, I stopped it and took her hands out of the cuffs. The dildo came out with a sucking sound and she was wracked with shudders. I thought she would surely cum then, but she held on my little piece of perfection.

Bathing her in the river, cooling water to her hot flesh, I revel in her beauty and strength. She is everything that is woman to me and I tell her this in whispered puffs of breath. When I can bear it no longer, I take her in my arms, settle her on the grass and enter her to our mutual cries. She squeezes me so tightly that thrills shoot through me and I can hardly stop from my own climax long enough to enjoy the feeling. Long, slow strokes I hold to until I can feel it building within both of us, then faster and harder. Somewhere along the way, I allow her hands to trace my back and mine roam over her. Our lips meet and remain touching.

We are released from torment together in a torrent of emotion. Cries, screams, ohs, and, as she tells me later, fireworks. She closes her eyes and on the lids there are rockets of color and pinwheels of electricity. And for me, there is stream after stream of molten eruption that make my body spasm to the rhythm of her.

It is afternoon before I can gather enough consciousness to lead her by the hand to our bath where she is showered. Lathered and rinsed and laid on the bed. She has oil massaged into her delicious skin and is loved sweetly and gently.

The next days will find her tamed. She will docilely call me "sir" or "dear" or even "master". She will allow me to cook for her and feed her. She will cook for me and do all I ask. Our lovemaking will be tender, marked with "please" and "thank you". I will take these days of lull to think of her next adventure. Because I will come home three or four days from now and she will give me mischievous grins and sly come ons. She will say "master" more often and with a sardonic twist of her luscious lips. It will be nearly sarcastic. Teasing. There will be incidents of insubordination that try my patience. They will increase in number until I am forced to do something about it.

It takes all of my intelligence, my creativity, my wit, my force de vivre, my patience, to handle my wicked little girl and tame her to the leash and collar. But I love every minute of it.