Snowflakes

I had a brief impression of hundreds of candles, in every color of the rainbow, scattered like constellations on almost every surface in the room. They flickered in the mirror near the bed, which was a vast pool of dark silken sheets, before he tied the blindfold behind my head. He stepped away before I could protest, leaving me standing there in the center of the room, alone in the dark behind my eyelids. The cool air made me shiver, my shoulders bared in the midnight velvet dress that hugged every curve like a second skin and puddled on the floor at my feet.

He stalked around me silently, the plush carpet muffling every footstep, and I stood still as a mouse when the cat was circling, wondering when he would pounce. The heady scents of roses, candle wax, and his cologne greeted me as the silence stretched out and I tried to be still and unflinching under his inspection. I could almost feel his dark eyes burning into the skin of my back.

"Shhhhh," he said, closing the distance between us as if it had never existed. His fingertip brushed my lips, closing them. He slid his finger down over my chin, wrapping his hand around the thin choker of diamonds that encircled my neck like a glittering collar, his ownership subtly declared in ostentatious display.

His other hand traced the upper swell of my breasts just over the top of my dress, rubbing along the velvety edge with his fingertips. The buttons of his dress shirt were cool against the bare skin of my upper back and the hardness of his cock ground into my ass as he stroked himself against me.

"All mine tonight, slut," he murmured in my ear, before his lips pressed a swift kiss just along my jawline, just before taking a bite of the sensitive skin and making me shudder helplessly. He stepped back just enough to unzip my dress, allowing it to fall in a velvet pool around my feet. A midnight blue corset encircled my waist tightly, cupping each breast snugly and curving gently over my hips. He tugged on the laces, briefly pulling them tight enough to make my breath catch in my chest before he slanted his lips over mine.

He kissed like he was drowning and needed me to breathe, licking and biting and sucking until my lips were swollen and I gasped his name desperately. He released the corset laces and I panted for air, his chuckle rumbling against my back. He nudged the inside of my ankle with the toe of his shoe, urging me to spread my legs for him as he slid one hand up my thigh, toying with the lacy top of my stockings before cupping my pussy against his palm. His fingers slid easily through my wetness, parting my lips and sinking deeply inside.

The dark, fluid pleasure of the caress caught me by surprise and I covered his hand with my own, unthinkingly, torn between begging him to stop teasing and pleading for him to continue. He let me clutch at his wrist, but refused to be swayed or slowed by my touch. He stroked me, rubbing his fingertips over that sweet spot that made my pussy squeeze his fingers tightly and my knees weak with sudden ecstasy.

"Cum," he demanded insistently, his fingers tightening around my throat as he fingered me roughly, relentlessly. I moaned as the orgasm built low in my body, tightening every nerve until I was quivering like a plucked string.

"Now," he insisted, "Cum for me now, slut. I want to feel it. Cum - now." His words were like scissors, snipping the taut thread of orgasm until it rose up from within me like bubbles in a pond, bursting from my lips in gasping, sobbing cries.

He held me tightly against him when my knees would have given way under the bubbling pleasure, swallowing my cries with soft, intoxicating kisses. He let me ride out the orgasm, rocking and grinding against his palm, then slowly withdrew his sticky-wet fingers and brought them to my lips, painting over my red lipstick with my own juices.

"Suck," he murmured, sliding his fingers between my lips so that I could taste my own musky sweetness. I licked every digit clean, wrapping my tongue around each one and sucking strongly until my cheeks hollowed. I felt him groan against my neck, his erection rock hard against my ass through the pants of his suit.

Eventually he pulled his fingers away, and took a brief hard kiss that stole my breath. The leather cuffs were cool against my skin as he wrapped one around each of my wrists and ankles. He took his time unlacing the corset, smoothing over the faint ripples and indentations in my fair skin from the boning and snug lacing. He peeled off my lace-topped stockings, stroking his fingertips down each leg lightly, teasing and arousing all at once.

"On the bed," he said quietly, guiding me over to it until the silky sheets brushed against my thighs. "Cross position." I moved to comply, my body still trembling from the earlier orgasm, but always eager to please him. I heard the faint rustle of discarded clothing as he undressed, and wished I could have lifted the blindfold and watched, but I knew he would be watching me, to see how promptly I followed his directions.

I crawled onto the bed and found the headboard with blind, fumbling fingers, lying face down with my arms and legs spread towards the corners of the bed. I waited while the sounds of his undressing quieted, knowing he was close by but anxious as the moments of silence stretched out. I could hear my heartbeat racing and I forced myself to slow my breathing, reaching for that inner calm that lets me feel most connected to him and most submissive to his desires.

"Good girl," he said softly, stroking one hand over the skin of my back as I felt his knees cause the mattress to dip between my spread thighs. He fastened my ankles and wrists to tethers he'd probably arranged earlier. I couldn't help but squirm a little, absently testing the slack in the ropes binding me to the bed. There was almost none, which sent my heartbeat racing again, and I felt his eyes on me, watching me struggle for calm. When I was still again, his hands smoothed something cool into my back, which felt like oil, warming quickly to the temperature of my skin as his strong hands lightly massaged it into my tense muscles.

The first drips of wax painted a line of fire down my back, drawing a surprised yelp from my lips. His fingers stroked along the cooling wax, as he murmured, "Shhh, pet. Still and quiet. Take this for me, and let me paint you."

I nodded dimly, as he brushed a few tendrils of hair off the nape of my neck, just above the diamond collar. "Be still," he said firmly, and gave my ass a light swat.

He didn't warn me again, just moved around the bed, stroking here, dripping the wax in lines and pools and splatters over my skin. He paused infrequently, touching my skin to gauge the effect of the wax, and I felt myself start to drift away from my body, which quivered without my direction or intention as he took his time coating my skin in swirls and streaks of wax. He worked his way up and down my back, over the curves of my ass, each pass of the candle another line of burning flame followed by cocooning warmth.

I didn't notice at first when he unfastened my wrists and ankles from the tethers, and was only dimly aware of rolling over and allowing him to fasten my hands over my head this time. This time his hands massaged the oil into my breasts, taking the time to teasingly pinch and flick each nipple before smoothing over the plane of my stomach and down to my pussy. He stroked the weeping folds of my sex, teasing me until I arched up, silently begging for more.

The wax was no hotter than before, but the first drops on my nipples burned like drops of acid. He painted my breasts and belly the same way he did my back, in sudden drips and hot rivers of wax. I could feel his breath on my skin as he leaned in close to watch each drip race down the slopes of my breasts, stroking the ridges of wax as they hardened into my skin.

He sat back between my thighs and played the wax lower, making me hyper aware that he was avoiding letting any of the splashes and drips hit my pussy too directly. He circled in close, then backed away, and I realized that the faint whimpering sound I was hearing was me, trying not to beg. This wasn't like the wax on my back -- a slow spread of blooming warmth -- it was a taunting, inflaming spiral, designed to lift me higher with each pass of the candle.

When I was trembling, lips parted to beg him to please, please stop teasing, he slipped two fingers inside me, slowly circling my clit with his thumb as he drizzled wax along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, just at the crease of my leg.

"Please." I know my lips formed the words, over and over again, but I couldn't hear myself over the pounding of my pulse in my ears. The fire he'd ignited inside me was eating me alive, and it was agony to be still as he teased wax over all my secret, sensitive spots.

He paused for a second, just as I felt my orgasm swelling up inside me, and poured the candle wax he'd been allowing to melt and pool directly over my clit. I screamed, silently, mouth open, eyes squinched closed under the blindfold, body bowed as the brilliant pain blossomed into a shattering orgasm.

His fingers lightly stroked the inside of my thighs while I arched and writhed on the bed, the uncontrollable tremors slowly subsiding to faint shivers, his touch soothing me. When I was finally quiet, he released my wrists from the tether and carefully drew me to my feet. I could feel his hot eyes on me, watching, assessing. He took the time to rub my arms gently before reattaching the wrist cuffs to a rope that pulled my hands high above my head, my feet barely touching the floor. I didn't quite have to stand on tiptoe, but it made the pull of the rope on my shoulders easier to bear.

He removed the blindfold and the flickering candlelight blinded me for only a moment before I saw myself, like a rainbow splattered statue, and realized he'd positioned me in front of the mirror. Some of the wax had flaked or broken off when I stood, but I still looked exotic and strange, like a bright tropical bird. I was so stunned with my reflection that I didn't notice the crop he'd picked up until he popped it lightly against one breast, dislodging a bit of the cooled wax. In the mirror, I saw my eyes widen and mouth open in a silent "O" of stinging pain chased by a flush of pleasure. And then my eyes met his, and he smiled.

I love his smile -- it's a little crooked and a lot devilish -- full of wicked intent and blatant desire. He knows how to use it, to wrap every woman he meets around his little finger, and it makes my pussy gush a little every time he turns it on me. He stroked the leather slapper lightly against one of my nipples, teasing it back into a tight knot of nerves and need. I couldn't look away from his eyes in the mirror as he stroked the crop down my stomach.

"Do you see?" he asked. "That woman in the mirror, pet -- she is mine. I made her. I painted her with wax and her own desire. I brought those shakes to her knees, those little panting breaths. I own all that skin I decorated. I own the pussy creaming between her thighs. I own every orgasm she's had tonight -- and those yet to come."

He brought the crop down a little harder this time, on the gentle slope of flesh just above my pussy, and dried wax shattered and fell to the floor. I whimpered as he slowly slid the crop between my thighs, slapping each one until I parted my legs for him. The wax there glistened from my wetness and he smiled even wider.

"There," he said, when my breath stuttered. "You look like some fantastic modern art brought to life." He used the pressure of the crop under my chin to raise my eyes to meet his in the mirror yet again.

"I think I should hang you in a gallery, pet, and let everyone look at you and see what I have created. Let them see that you are mine. Would you like that?"

I blushed, but he would not let me look away. I'm not much of an exhibitionist, but in that instant I felt as beautiful and sexy as he described me, and I would not have denied him anything.

"You would," he said. "It turns you on to think of it, in spite of your shyness, because you know it would please me to show you off, and because, deep down, you want to be seen. You want everyone to see and know you are mine,"

I nodded in agreement, whispering, "Yes, Master."

"You were very fun to paint, pet." He stroked his fingertips along the dried rivulets of wax that had dripped down my arm. "But I think I am going to enjoy the clean-up even more." His eyes met mine, more seriously this time. "Do you want the blindfold, or can you be a good girl and be still for me while I remove all this wax?"

It would have been easier, with the blindfold, to retreat into myself and not worry about the next slap of the crop and where it would land. But in that moment, I was his creature, and I could not bring myself to take the easy way out.

"I can be still." My voice was the merest of whispers, but his smile of approval was all I needed.

He took my lips briefly, tasting my mouth with all the slow sweetness of a first kiss and the knowledge of a man who knows my body almost better than I do. When he stepped back, I watched the mirror with hungry eyes, drinking in the animal movement of muscle under his skin, the intensity in his eyes with which he studied my body, as he brought the crop sharply against the skin of my ass.

I eventually did lose track of the smacks of the crop slapping the wax from my skin, and the scrape of his fingernails chafing little bits from delicate places, as he worked me over until arousal was an inferno in the pit of my stomach. I didn't notice the steady drip of wetness from my pussy, or the faint tremors that shook my knees. I only saw him, seeing me.

When he put the crop aside, I didn't move. I heard the sliding of the glass door opening, but I didn't think anything of the chill breeze that whispered over my skin, until he returned to my side, releasing my wrists from the cuffs and chaffing my arms with his hands. My normally pale skin was a rosy pink from the wax and the crop, but I didn't see any bruises, yet. I felt wrapped in cotton wool, numbly warm and hazily aroused when he guided me out onto the balcony to watch the first snowfall of winter lazily drifting down.

"Do you think the neighbors are out there watching, pet?" he asked. Our balcony was covered, but the metal railing had accumulated a fluffy line of fresh snow. He stood behind me, arms wrapped around my hips warmly. The night was dark, the streetlights hazy in the snowfall, and the street outside deserted. "Do you think they will mind if I help you cool off out here?"

Without warning, he bent me over, so that my puckered nipples brushed the snow from the railing. I gripped the cold metal tightly, suddenly aware of the insistent hardness of his cock rubbing against the curves of my ass. He had the nerve to chuckle when I stifled a shriek at the sudden shock of cold, pressing his upper body against mine to hold me down.

He grabbed my hips and nudged my feet wider apart, pushing himself inside me in one long, deep thrust. I didn't have time to protest or resist; his hands guided, pulled, stroked until I moved with him, rolling my hips against his in a slow, sinuous dance. Wickedly, he leaned down and licked the melting snowflakes from the nape of my neck, his tongue hot against my chilling skin.

"Take it," he insisted, using his hands on my shoulders to pull me back harder into each thrust, pounding me harder until I heard our skin slapping together. I whimpered and he said darkly, "Beg."

It took me a moment to find my voice, lost between panting breaths and moans. "Beg?"

He didn't stop.

"If you want to cum, slut, then I want to hear you beg. Now."

"Please." The word was instinctive, the first thing he taught me. "Please, Master. Please let me cum."

He was silent, which was not permission.

"Please..." Orgasm hovered close, just out of reach, bowing my back as my pussy clutched at him. "Please, Master. I need you. I want you. Please..."

He switched his grip from my shoulders to my hair, pulling me roughly against him. His breath was hot against my ear. "Mine," he demanded, and I nodded, moaning. "Say it."

"Yours," I agreed breathlessly. "Master, please..."

"Cum," he said abruptly. "Milk my cock with your hot little pussy and cum for me, slut."

His words released my orgasm, tearing it from me in a low desperate moan. I felt him spill inside me in a scalding rush, dripping down the insides of my thighs as his thrusts slowed to a gentle rocking, riding the wave of my orgasm for his pleasure. He withdrew gently, leaving me bent over the railing in the snow, panting for breath.

And then he pressed a handful of fresh wet snow against my still-spasming pussy, the contrast of hot and cold pulling another orgasm from me, along with a startled scream. He held me when I bucked and cried, held me while his cum and mine gushed from my pussy, held me until I stopped shaking, and then he picked me up, wrapping me in his arms.

"I love making you cum," he said, pressing a kiss against my forehead. "Good girl."