tagBDSMGift of Order: His Dancer

Gift of Order: His Dancer

bynymphe delphique©

Cold winter breezed into the foyer as she stood poised in the open doorway, appraising the flock of men scattered about the room, artfully flaunting her seductiveness. She turned slightly to shut the door, and an usher in a tux appeared at her side. “Let me get the door for you, ma’am, and may I take your coat?” She smiled, removed the wool cloak and handed it to him. This holiday gathering was planned at the last minute, and she wasn’t sure if He would be able to attend – last year, after watching her tantalize other guests with her alluring performance, He escorted her off on a staging of His own creation. It was indeed a memorable occasion.

In the pale chandelier lighting, her soft, round curves were an embracing silhouette in indigo blue silk while generous bell sleeves draped from gentle arms and ruffled layers flounced from waist to ankles, pearly white high heels underneath. Brilliant strands of mocha and cinnamon spiced through dark hair, spilling over shoulders in fluffy waves. A straight, delicate nose centered between defined cheekbones, covered in fair complexion, accented with deep blue eyes. Smooth, perfectly formed lips.

His piercing stare commanded her attention, ignited desire from someplace deep inside and when she glanced up, saw directly into His eyes. There He stood, alone at the bar, politely accepting a cognac from the waiter. She paused, watching, pondering what secrets were concealed beyond the tailored suit and starched white cotton oxford shirt. Unequivocally drawn, she started a sensuous passing through the crowd toward Him.

In the assembly, many others sought something, someone, in this shared invisible space where impassioned souls gathered. Physical absence provoked spiritual interaction that stirred sensation beyond imagination and nurtured emotions otherwise left dormant. Intellectual and exhilarating communiqué carved paths into each unique journey.

He knew the tranquil submissive hidden inside the sultry vixen – she was genuine, unpretentious, and her smile radiated what mere words could not articulate.

Tender, alluring, pleasing – decadent.

He craved her – there was no interest in youthful amateurs whom walked in shallow streams of barren wisdom. She stepped lightly around the room, offering pleasant greetings and genteel kisses. His keen eyes followed every move. She was not the youngest, nor the oldest – her manner serene and natural. She swayed her hips and shoulders in eloquent expression of her interpretation of the music – the way she moved was not unlike a dance of surrender, humble servant whispering appreciation of honorable safe haven. The gift entrusted respectfully, affectionately… if deserved.

He caught scent of warm spicy perfume as she passed by – an earthy blend of patchouli, sandalwood, vanilla musk. He reached out impulsively to caress her silky straight hair; she turned to look, smiled and leaned toward him.

“One of my favorite things,” she said quietly, airy and sexy. “Is having a dominant man’s fingers caught in my hair.”

“Good,” He replied without hesitation. “Because I like twisting long tresses around my hands in a moment of passion.”

She smiled, and He gripped a length of fine hair between his fingers and pulled hard. The sudden yank sent tingling pulses from her scalp to her toes… and everywhere in between. He held the lock momentarily before letting it fall haphazardly back to her shoulder. It was as if they stood suddenly alone, amidst the crowd of strangers – in this single moment, He once again possessed her.

“You’ll come dance for me. A gift, for which to be thankful.” It was a calm, measured command – not a request. He glanced quickly at His watch, and continued, “I have an engagement and will return in three hours. Meet me at this address.”

He pressed a folded piece of textured stationary hard into her hand. “I expect you to be punctual,” he paused for about ten seconds, eyes studying the sultry figure before Him. “I trust you have appropriate attire for the occasion – in sheer silk, chiffon, something of the sort. You can be assured of mutual reward.”

She nodded, and He released her hand. “One last thing,” he breathed close to her face. “I like your dress.”

Intrigued, as always, by His imposing demeanor, she looked forward to dancing for Him. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered. “I will be there.”

December, mid-way to New Year’s Eve. Full moon lit up clouds, surrounded by darkness already at six o’clock. She went home, fed her cat, lit an array of candles, put classical piano music on the stereo. His persuasive voice rang in her head, “Come dance for me.”

Unzipped her dress, let it drop around her feet, stepped out of the silk material onto dove-colored carpet. Looking at her naked reflection in the mirror, she randomly danced red-tipped fingers light as feathers up and down… left hip circles, smooth transition of pelvis to right hip, circle… feet curl up and around, leg muscles following… stomach muscles tense as she turns, breasts sway like curved anchors.

Would her choreography please Him? “It is just another dance,” she lied to the reflection… but the seductress looking back would not be fooled. This was a client with raison d'être – His actions were well considered and deliberate. This was not just a dance.

At the dressing table, subtle nuances applied to flawless complexion. Smooth flesh lightly blushed with soft peach, blue eyes traced in thin black liner, dark lashes curled. Lips glossed in deep velvet red. Long hair swept up, held by a glittering amethyst hairpin.

Ivory breasts, peaked by large rose-hued nipples, set an exquisite stage for the center of her soft belly, to the round, shallow navel. She dabbed cotton inside, smiled upon inspection of the white, fluffy puff. She was especially attentive to her belly button – almost to obsession. She used peach-scented water, astringent toner, fragrant lotion, pure white talc and a spritz of woodsy perfume. Four tiny amethyst and diamond stones adorned the flesh around the circumference, held fast with removable body adhesive.

Crocheted lace bra fitted to enhance already-deep cleavage, and matching crocheted lace panties… string bikini, covering her shaven pubis and little else. White lace stockings fastened to a white lace garter.

She selected the violet-purple silk sarong skirt, twisting triangular layers into ends tied scarf-like at her waist. Black silk swathed creamy bosom and hooked in back, shoulder bare until she draped them in stark black, red and purple chiffon scarves. Black satin ballet slippers. Long strands of freshwater pearls poured into and over firm breasts. Silver bangles in abundance on each wrist – some with turquoise and onyx stones. Two silver ankle chains with monogrammed coins. Shimmering liquid silver earrings rained down to her shoulders – and a single diamond stud sparkled from the outside edge of her left ear.

She blew out the candles with a hint of breath, turned down the stereo, deciding to leave it on for the cat, wrapped her wool cloak around her, and left the studio apartment – locking the door securely behind her.

He finished the meeting early – another demanding client, insisting on project completion a full week prior to the contracted deadline. He greeted the doorman to his building, breathed in the scent of the decorated fir tree in the entry. He stopped at the Concierge desk, had a brief discussion, was provided a pen to sign for the request, and passed over folded green currency with the brushed gold ink pen. The younger man, slick dark hair, wearing a generic gray suit, navy tie – probably a student at the university – smiled widely, nodded in assurance, and called out holiday greetings as the distinguished building resident walked toward the elevator.

Not even a difficult client could cast dark shadows on this evening – there are other days to satisfy those who didn’t appreciate his efforts anyway. In less than an hour, His chosen one will dance to display her gratitude for his attention – there will be nothing else on His mind, or hers.

He turned on the stereo, adjusted the thermostat and took off his jacket, sprinkled flakes into the aquarium. Poured a drink, assessed the work of the maid – made a conscious effort to see a job well done, regardless of imperfections. He had learned that few humans could meet his expectations, and even fewer still understood his intentions. He preferred fish – pretty to look at, basic needs easily met and required little attention.

Unclothed, stepped into the steamy shower. Stark white porcelain surrounded him, hot water beat against flesh, penetrated his muscles. Wet dark hair glistened on his chest, down the center of his belly, water dripped from coarse tuffs around his cock. He washed diligently, attentively.

Shaved in front of the mirror, pearl-handled razor she had given him on another occasion. The memories made him smile – though rare, every encounter with her was unforgettable.

Splash of cologne, black silk bikini briefs under black silk lounge pants and short robe, a sash tied at his waist. He looked at the clock on his dresser: less than fifteen minutes. Just enough time to prepare the room…

She could not forget his building, with the beautiful entry, marble columns inset with astrological symbols. She smiled at the Christmas tree – topped by a silvery angel with white feather wings, decorated in hundreds of miniature snow-lights and silver icicles, its tips dipped in frost as if it were outdoors in the blowing cold. She could see her own breath even now – the temperature had dropped below twenty plus wind chill, and snowflakes were still melting on her wool coat.

Nervous anticipation made her heart pound, and for a minute that was all she could hear. The clock above the elevator said ten ‘til… she took a deep breath and pressed the button. The door opened almost immediately, she stepped in, turned around and watched the floor lights as the car traveled up to his floor.

He stood waiting, door open, watching from across the darkened room.

“Come in, there is a drink for you on the table.” He was always so formal – she was conversely casual. She tempted his senses; he prompted hers.

She took off her coat and hung it in the closet, crossed over to the table and sipped Merlot from the crystal goblet. She looked around, listening to His music selections coming from speakers concealed in the room. She noticed a new sculpture on a black granite pillar, glanced back at Him for permission to look closer. He smiled, pleased she had noticed the figurine. She slid across the white marble flooring, layers of silk and chiffon flowing behind and around her. Sipping the wine, she examined the candid expression of the molded woman. Bronzed figure curved on her side upon a wooden bench, wrists bound by straw reeds above her head, ankles bound by grape vines. Her nipples were pierced with rose thorns, the petals trailed down her belly to the slit between her thighs, visible only where her left knee raised poised, expectantly. Her eyes were closed, mouth open, wanton aching portrayed in her silent emergence between the closed lids and open lips.

Irrefutable desire. She reached out with right fingers, tracing the lines of the sculpture – he watched as she transitioned, her own eyes closed, touching every curve in the bronze woman, breasts heaving as if experiencing what she imagined… what she heard… what became her.

Suddenly, she turned to Him. “May I change the music, Sir?”

He had been so intrigued with observing, He was caught off guard for a brief second. “Yes, of course. The dance.”

She smiled, slid across the floor, and inserted a cd… immediately, the soothing melody of the flute began… wood-crafted instruments spilled forth soulful, seductive songs meant to charm and enchant.

“Would You like to move to a more comfortable chair, Sir?” she whispered, her hips beginning to turn in large circles with each step she took.

“Yes, I would. In fact, I have a room prepared for you, little dancer. Follow me,“ he spoke evenly, almost too casually, and it made her a little nervous. He turned at the hall entrance. “On your knees, dancer. You may crawl to my room.”

She blinked, but knew better than to hesitate. She slithered to her knees, drew her arms in close, slid wrists down and forward until she was on all fours, and began to crawl… left palm, right knee… right palm, left knee. Her hair fell forward into the layers of red, black and purple chiffon scarves. Breasts were heavy, spilling forth into the black silk top. Pearls draped to the floor… tapping along the marble as she crawled closer to His room.

He leaned against the doorframe, waiting, watching – feigning impatience. The girl was too damn sexy for her own good – certainly for His good. On the other hand, she was a good girl… and good for Him.

As she approached the door, she rose to her knees, placed wrists at the small of her back, kept her head lowered, and whispered, “May I dance for You now, Sir?”

“Look up at me,” he commanded quietly. Lifting her head, she saw His eyes penetrate hers – she thought of other times that His mind bore into her soul and evoked an orgasm when she was forced to maintain composure.

“I will make myself comfortable across the room. When I light the candle, show me your fiery passion, little dancer.”

She held her breath, remaining on knees, back straight, silk and chiffon falling about her onto the cold stone floor. He carried his drink to a black leather wing chair, sat down and placed his feet on a small stool. Setting down the crystal glass, He picked up the lighter and gave flame to the tall white taper candle.

She rose to her feet slowly, gracefully… femininely. From where He sat, she was a dark silhouette in the doorway. She began to cross over to Him – her eyes scanned the dim environment. He had changed the room.

In the center was a black leather bench that appeared to have several adjustments – shiny chrome chains were attached to wide leather cuffs for restraints at all angles. Along the wall, cleverly designed leather floggers, fur-covered paddles, feather-tipped dowels, and a closed glass cabinet displaying a sexually stimulating collection of devices.

She took a deep breath, knowing this would be a night when He would ultimately have the control. By hiring her as dancer, He was only granting her the right to entertain.

Otherwise, He ruled, and she obeyed. Her reward was based on performance.

She closed her eyes, reaching for the music to control her body… feeling the flute and the song it illustrated in her mind. Turning in circles about the room, slowly… dropping the chiffon scarves one at a time… somehow unhooking the silk top… her breasts concealed only by webs of crocheted lace.

She turns to the side, presenting her left hip… hair pulled behind her ear so that the diamond stud glitters in the candlelight. Circle round, the skirt falls lower to her hips… turn, presenting right hip, raise foot, slide and circle… until the skirt is just above her panties… so low, the silk pours about her feet.

He feels his cock thicken, straighten erect, aroused by His dancer. He sits still, knowing there will come a moment when He can wait no more.

The bangles and chains jingle as she moves, and as if by magic, she suddenly has cymbals on her forefinger and thumb…she adds these sounds to the flute instrumentals, spontaneous accompaniments to entice Him even more. He watches her belly move as she circles hips, amethyst and diamond stones glittering like purple and white stars around her navel. She tapped to the rhythm in her head, surreptitiously unhooking the lace bra, releasing heavy breasts that bounced gently as she danced. She arched her stomach toward Him, getting closer to where He sat, letting the rest of the silk skirt fall to the floor, so that she wore only panties, garter, lace hosiery… and pearls.

She was so near Him now, their breath almost touched in the faint light. She leaned forward, still grinding her hips, the flesh of her belly twisting in the dance, until her nipples just barely touched his thighs and her lips were close enough to kiss.


“Would You like to inspect my belly button, Master?” she whispered, in the most inviting voice He had ever heard. It made his cock throb – she noticed, and smiled.

“Yes, indeed I would.” He managed to say it clearly, in spite of his aching erection.

She rose up from the waist, spread her thighs slightly and stood straight in front of Him.

Placing her splayed fingers either side of her belly button, she pressed forward, arching her back… presenting her navel for His inspection.

He reached forward with one forefinger, probed inside the shallow orifice and twisted hard, pulling it away just as abruptly. She winced, but only slightly – it did not go unnoticed. She dared not complain about His scrutiny – and she was thorough when it involved pleasing Him, so she did not fear His disappointment. He looked carefully at his finger, smiled approvingly, and lifted it to her nostrils, painting the soft skin just below with the scent lifted from inside her navel.

“You are such a good little dancer, always on her toes,” He whispered. She inhaled the heady fragrance from his fingers… her clit throbbed in anticipation. She shuddered. His voice was tense, almost ominous.

But then, that was part of the excitement. The unknown, the unexpected.

“May I caress Your handsome cock, Sir? May I taste You with my lips?” she was beginning to sound far away, in another place, rising above reality.

Slipping into the fantasy that He crafted, she was obsessed with Him already.

“To your knees, my little delphi,” He commanded, and ran His long fingers through her hair as she kissed the purple knob of his thick cock, wetting her lips before swallowing Him inside… scraping teeth along the deep ridges… along the edge of her mouth, into the deep warmth of her throat, faced pressed against his groin… and she swallowed slowly, contracting muscles around his cock… then moved up, slowly, slowly… and started all over again…

He had designed this soundproof room over the past year, carefully choosing lighting and architecture. As their encounters had escalated, he recognized the need to introduce the feisty vixen to some intense new adventures. Tonight would be a kind of initiation… the leather bench would allow Him access to all of her at once.

His balls hurt – he held his hands against her head so that her face was pressed hard against Him… it felt so good, her chin massaging His swollen sac, her tongue swirling around His hard cock.

He wanted to sweep His alluring dancer right off her feet… deliver her into the sizzling fire of ecstasy. Swallowing hard, He pushed her away… He would not allow impulsive hunger to dilute His determination – devouring her required patience and impeccable timing. He owned both, among other admirable traits, but nothing had more significance to Him than possessing her.

She slithered lower, tongue lapping along the smooth tender stretch of thin flesh just under His balls… teasing His anus with the very tip of her wet lingual muscle, encircling, probing. She held His heavy, engorged column in her piano fingers, tapping up and down the length in sensuous tempo. He watched her face soften even more, as she submerged deeper into sweet submission.

He felt blood rush through bulging vessels, heightening His lust – and He stopped her. “Such a good little dancer,” he whispered, grasping her hair as He pulled her away from Him, and to her feet. Glancing with His eyes to the custom-crafted leather bench, He turned her toward it.

“Lay down on Your back, arms above Your head, so that I may enjoy that which I possess.”

“Yes, Master. It is a beautiful gift. Thank You for making it for me.” Her voice was melodic – near and distant at once. Affectionately sexy and tender, appreciation and anticipation purred in her voice.

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