Somewhere, somewhere close by, I can feel it. My Mistress is preparing her latest victim; visiting torments on her earthly body they could not have conceived possible. And soon, soon it shall be my turn, my time, soon I shall be brought forth into the light once more.
I can feel her, my Mistress, so close now I can almost see through her eyes as she works on her conquest. Her excitement, her pride, her passion, her energy and desire flicker like a flame in the cold dark, luring me closer as a moth to a candle. Her mind normally so dark shines like the sun, a joy in her work calling to me.
I can feel her, my Mistress’s victim, and soon my victim too. A vague shape in the world now, but soon, ah, soon to be so much more. Her panic, her desperation, her helplessness and her anger pulsing, calling through the night to me. And as always, underneath it all, a sense of joy, of excitement that mirrors that of my Mistress, a confusion at her body’s betrayal of her mind that can only be resolved with acceptance. Over it all, her laughter, clear and pure even through the black velvet that surrounds me, a small piece of heaven that must experience hell if it is to thrive.
Finally I feel my prison, this suffocating blackness that I embrace willingly for her, shift around me, light streaming in and bathing my soul as she stands above me, terrible and beautiful, granting me respite, granting me life and purpose once more. Her hands caress me gently and pull me upwards, bringing me to her face as I trace her exquisite features, gently moving over her perfection as she sighs at my touch. A moment shared, a need that can never be answered before she turns to the task at hand, offering to others what she cannot experience herself.
I feel the girl below, her spirit at war with itself as she seeks balance between the sins of the flesh and purity of the soul, a balance she will discover only with our help. Her body is outlined clear below me, the flow of her blood strong and clear to me as I see her outlined in silver, her very skin burning with the force of the conflict within her.
No words, never words once I am drawn, nothing to interfere with the solemnity of this moment. Down, down, ever closer I am moved, held securely between her fingers as I approach, starting at the head as I run a touch so delicate she barely recognises it’s existence over her skin, something else that will soon change. A flick of the wrist and I skitter over the neck, right, left, right, left, taping out a marching song for her body to learn, a song that will turn to symphony by evenings end. Already she adds the first aria, a gentle lilt as she twists and turns, fighting the inevitable with commendable determination.
Of course it does not matter, she can fight all she likes but her surrender is inevitable. Like the rising tide it builds, every moment, every motion, every caress I place against her bringing that one all-encompassing instant ever closer. As with all those before her, she starts the dance, a dance I know intimately, every step every breath a familiar, comforting presence as I sweep over her bare ribs and chest. My Mistresses touch is, as ever, exquisite, her timing perfect as she moves her victim onwards and upwards. So practiced is she I simply drift at her command, no need yet to add anything further as I drift down over hips and thighs. The girl’s heart soars for a moment as the thing she at once desires and fears is offered to her for the briefest of instants, a taste only for now she must wait and endure.
From the delicate touch that holds me I feel the shift, the change in purpose and intent as she fires me over a knee and shin, coming to rest against bare sole. All gentleness vanishes like the morning mist as I’m slid between toes, and I react as my Mistress desires. Flaring up and out, a cobra poised to strike, my points slipping around and in every ticklish place as slowly, oh so slowly, I start to slide in and out of those untouched spots. My world narrows, view shifting as I become trapped between the two of them: my Mistress on one side, a sheet of flame to me now as her own desire flairs, her victim on the other, a shinning silver beacon so bright it hurts to be so close.
Faster and faster I move, shifting my own tips as fast as I can, each touch radiating a fresh pulse of sensation through her body, ripples spreading out and up as if a stone had been dropped in a pool of mercury. It is a beautiful sight and I wish I could share it with my Mistress, but that is one thing I know cannot be.
She turns me round, trapping my fronds between her fingers as she scratches a design so intricate even I cannot follow it’s lines on the girl’s soles. For now I can do nothing but wait, my own talents held in check by the fingers around me, and so I watch. Watch as this latest victim builds quickly towards her limit, her heart pounding, blood rushing through her as she gasps for air. Watch as her body shifts in its bonds, her movements becoming less those of escape and more those of desire. Watch as she begins the final journey, the same journey they all take that can only have one destination. Acceptance.
Her body stretches, becoming an unpainted canvas for me to decorate, and I find myself twisted around, racing over her stomach, flying up over her breasts to her neck, swirling round her throat and shoulders, around her armpits then down her sides, across her ribs and stomach, dipping low into her navel and down again. Walking over her hips, then starting the cycle over, pushing her closer and closer with every stroke. Her heart races, her breathing goes shallow and I see her every detail outlined in silver, pulsing, needing what we can offer her.
Mistress, as always, is as aware of this as I and now, instead of sweeping up her stomach once more, I find myself heading down, brushing gently over her mound, and now I feel my own weakness come up once more. Just as the need, the desire and eventually longing of her victims seems to be inevitable, so is this. I know I should prolong this moment, when they’re caught between two world, punishment and pleasure so deliciously intertwined, but I can’t. I try, every time I try, and every time I fail. Their need calls to me and almost involuntarily I caress their skin, teasing and tantalising their cores while reaching, reaching out and up with a single probing tip, waiting.
There, Mistress sweeps me up and the tip I’d extended comes into contact with her victim’s nub. It is as if molten metal has been poured on her as a great wave of gold breaks and washes over the silver outline of her body, a beauty beyond description, beyond imagination.
I feel my Mistress pull me up, the body receding below me into the darkness, fading from a vision of indescribable beauty to a dim gleam of gold, and then even that is lost to me. The soft folds of my prison wrap around me once more, a single touch from her my reward as she runs a finger along my length, brushing my fronds back into position with the same care and affection she always grants me after such a session. Just as the final wrap of fabric descends I hear a voice, the victim’s voice echoing through my Mistress to me, the words the same as they all use and words that will stay with me as I sleep.
“Thank you…”
I can feel her, my Mistress, so close now I can almost see through her eyes as she works on her conquest. Her excitement, her pride, her passion, her energy and desire flicker like a flame in the cold dark, luring me closer as a moth to a candle. Her mind normally so dark shines like the sun, a joy in her work calling to me.
I can feel her, my Mistress’s victim, and soon my victim too. A vague shape in the world now, but soon, ah, soon to be so much more. Her panic, her desperation, her helplessness and her anger pulsing, calling through the night to me. And as always, underneath it all, a sense of joy, of excitement that mirrors that of my Mistress, a confusion at her body’s betrayal of her mind that can only be resolved with acceptance. Over it all, her laughter, clear and pure even through the black velvet that surrounds me, a small piece of heaven that must experience hell if it is to thrive.
Finally I feel my prison, this suffocating blackness that I embrace willingly for her, shift around me, light streaming in and bathing my soul as she stands above me, terrible and beautiful, granting me respite, granting me life and purpose once more. Her hands caress me gently and pull me upwards, bringing me to her face as I trace her exquisite features, gently moving over her perfection as she sighs at my touch. A moment shared, a need that can never be answered before she turns to the task at hand, offering to others what she cannot experience herself.
I feel the girl below, her spirit at war with itself as she seeks balance between the sins of the flesh and purity of the soul, a balance she will discover only with our help. Her body is outlined clear below me, the flow of her blood strong and clear to me as I see her outlined in silver, her very skin burning with the force of the conflict within her.
No words, never words once I am drawn, nothing to interfere with the solemnity of this moment. Down, down, ever closer I am moved, held securely between her fingers as I approach, starting at the head as I run a touch so delicate she barely recognises it’s existence over her skin, something else that will soon change. A flick of the wrist and I skitter over the neck, right, left, right, left, taping out a marching song for her body to learn, a song that will turn to symphony by evenings end. Already she adds the first aria, a gentle lilt as she twists and turns, fighting the inevitable with commendable determination.
Of course it does not matter, she can fight all she likes but her surrender is inevitable. Like the rising tide it builds, every moment, every motion, every caress I place against her bringing that one all-encompassing instant ever closer. As with all those before her, she starts the dance, a dance I know intimately, every step every breath a familiar, comforting presence as I sweep over her bare ribs and chest. My Mistresses touch is, as ever, exquisite, her timing perfect as she moves her victim onwards and upwards. So practiced is she I simply drift at her command, no need yet to add anything further as I drift down over hips and thighs. The girl’s heart soars for a moment as the thing she at once desires and fears is offered to her for the briefest of instants, a taste only for now she must wait and endure.
From the delicate touch that holds me I feel the shift, the change in purpose and intent as she fires me over a knee and shin, coming to rest against bare sole. All gentleness vanishes like the morning mist as I’m slid between toes, and I react as my Mistress desires. Flaring up and out, a cobra poised to strike, my points slipping around and in every ticklish place as slowly, oh so slowly, I start to slide in and out of those untouched spots. My world narrows, view shifting as I become trapped between the two of them: my Mistress on one side, a sheet of flame to me now as her own desire flairs, her victim on the other, a shinning silver beacon so bright it hurts to be so close.
Faster and faster I move, shifting my own tips as fast as I can, each touch radiating a fresh pulse of sensation through her body, ripples spreading out and up as if a stone had been dropped in a pool of mercury. It is a beautiful sight and I wish I could share it with my Mistress, but that is one thing I know cannot be.
She turns me round, trapping my fronds between her fingers as she scratches a design so intricate even I cannot follow it’s lines on the girl’s soles. For now I can do nothing but wait, my own talents held in check by the fingers around me, and so I watch. Watch as this latest victim builds quickly towards her limit, her heart pounding, blood rushing through her as she gasps for air. Watch as her body shifts in its bonds, her movements becoming less those of escape and more those of desire. Watch as she begins the final journey, the same journey they all take that can only have one destination. Acceptance.
Her body stretches, becoming an unpainted canvas for me to decorate, and I find myself twisted around, racing over her stomach, flying up over her breasts to her neck, swirling round her throat and shoulders, around her armpits then down her sides, across her ribs and stomach, dipping low into her navel and down again. Walking over her hips, then starting the cycle over, pushing her closer and closer with every stroke. Her heart races, her breathing goes shallow and I see her every detail outlined in silver, pulsing, needing what we can offer her.
Mistress, as always, is as aware of this as I and now, instead of sweeping up her stomach once more, I find myself heading down, brushing gently over her mound, and now I feel my own weakness come up once more. Just as the need, the desire and eventually longing of her victims seems to be inevitable, so is this. I know I should prolong this moment, when they’re caught between two world, punishment and pleasure so deliciously intertwined, but I can’t. I try, every time I try, and every time I fail. Their need calls to me and almost involuntarily I caress their skin, teasing and tantalising their cores while reaching, reaching out and up with a single probing tip, waiting.
There, Mistress sweeps me up and the tip I’d extended comes into contact with her victim’s nub. It is as if molten metal has been poured on her as a great wave of gold breaks and washes over the silver outline of her body, a beauty beyond description, beyond imagination.
I feel my Mistress pull me up, the body receding below me into the darkness, fading from a vision of indescribable beauty to a dim gleam of gold, and then even that is lost to me. The soft folds of my prison wrap around me once more, a single touch from her my reward as she runs a finger along my length, brushing my fronds back into position with the same care and affection she always grants me after such a session. Just as the final wrap of fabric descends I hear a voice, the victim’s voice echoing through my Mistress to me, the words the same as they all use and words that will stay with me as I sleep.
“Thank you…”
