It is New Orleans, in a large, beautiful room near the water.
Gossamer curtains hang over the tall French windows, and the warm, soft
breeze from the river floats them into the air. It is near dark. The
flickering flames of seven vanilla candles struggle against the impending
darkness; their light, earthy scent is like a caress.
There is a huge canopied four-poster bed in the room. White cotton
sheets envelop the mattress; the white down comforter has been pushed onto
the floor. A handsome man, nude and tanned, is bound to the posts at the
wrists and ankles with white leather handcuffs. His dark eyes lurk behind
a white silk blindfold.
I emerge from the dressing room, resplendent in a supple black
leather bustier. It molds to my body like a second skin, pushing my breasts
up, revealing my charming cleavage. Garters with tiny black leather
bows dangle, catching and hugging black seamed stockings to my thighs.
A G-string, also in black leather, conceals my trimmed mons. On my feet
are black suede pumps, with a stylish yet comfortable two-inch heel. My
long dark hair is down. A hint of eyeliner encircles my dark eyes; a
subtle slash of light red lipstick highlights my mouth; my long fingernails
are dusted with a polish of a natural sheen.
In my right hand I wield a royal purple leather cat o' nine tails,
a flash of brilliant color in this duotone scene.
I walk slowly to the bed, brushing the soft, strong tails of the
cat against my thigh. I grow excited, wet.
"You're here," the man says. He struggles loosely against the
restraints. "Please, hurry."
I say nothing. I stand next to the bed and look down at him. His
member is partially erect, straining to become something more. I stroke
the cat lightly across his body, from head to toe: over the while silk that
hides his eyes, the delineation of his collarbones, through his blonde-brown
chest hair, over his stiffening cock, down over his thighs and calves and
feet. I do this again and again. He moans loudly, his hips arching and
bucking to meet the leather halfway. "Yes," he hisses. His cock is now
rock hard, bobbing and jutting at the juncture of this thighs.
"More, please." He's begging now. "Like that. Please. Please."
I smile. I imagine his eyes, soft and brown, behind the blindfold.
They have gazed into mine many a time: over succulent dinners, during long
airline flights, after making rough, sweet love in the darkness. He has
changed me, possessed me; transformed me into someone stronger and smarter
than anyone I was before.
I love him. I raise my arm high and bring the cat down, hard, onto
his flat stomach. The tails snap viciously against his tanned skin, and
he gasps in pain, in ecstasy.
The strands of the cat have left faint red welts across his torso.
My nipples harden, and I smile. But this is his reward; mine comes later.
Again, I raise my arm.
The End.
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