An Anquissette's Journey

"To Be Satisfied..."

This was my secret life, out from beneath the eye of the mundane. This was a place of solace and a certain sadistic peace. I entered quietly through the door as I had been instructed. The surroundings - the slight creak of a worn door, the scents of daily living, did nothing to betray this meeting's true purpose. I made my way cautiously down the carpeted stairs, difficult to maneuver in the high stiletto heels that had been chosen for me. My mind began to churn thoughts of our last meeting and the secret pleasures it held. It had been a long week and I was looking forward to the evening's activities, a means of release.

Opening the door to the basement, I was greeted with air a touch moist from the winter. I felt it upon the sheerness of my stockings and the bare skin I had exposed in numerous places. I had been told in exact detail how to attire myself – the top was a black leather corset, its elegant lines flattering my own natural curvature and clinging to my figure. I had marked with pleasure earlier the way my full breasts swelled, tempting above its low neckline. It had been explicitly put that I should wear little else - some stockings that stopped at the thigh, long vinyl gloves, a scant pair of panties, of course and the classical high-heeled shoes in a fine black velvet. There were a line of small silver buttons all down the back. I wondered if they would survive this encounter, probably not. Such were the insignificant things I took note of as I entered the room.

The lights were dim and I was bathed in the subtle shadows of the intimate room. I discreetly shut the door behind me and stepped forward, my shoes making a light clicking sound on the floor. Having placed my things in the upstairs hallway there was nothing for my hands to clutch, so I fidgeted with my garters, making sure they were taut.

Perhaps, if the situation had been a different one, I would not have noted his stealthy entrance, but I was trained to note such small things. With swift strides, He closed the distance between us. I could not help but cower a little in his presence. He stood before me, all power and confidence, his shadow cloaking my entire body in darkness. My stomach was tight with nerves and still I was drawn to him. Making a conscious effort not to sink into a kneeling position, I barely held back the flood of submission. It was too easy to surrender my dignity now. I mustered my courage, took a deep breath, and stood my unstable ground.

His hand rose casually in a gesture calling me to him, until he dashed it across my face. I staggered before him, the taste of blood blooming on my lips. "You will kneel in my presence, whore," he said nonchalantly. I immediately sank before him, my heels tucked under my exposed bottom. The pain was slight and I maintained my position with pose. "Master…" The word escaped my lips, I no longer knew if it was a statement, a question or a plea. Perhaps it was all these things. The floor was cold and hard beneath me. I watched as he paced around me in balanced and calculated steps.

"How do you dare show your face here? Is it to tempt my anger?" he asked, circling behind me. I felt his hand dig into my curls, wrenching my head backward, and I made an effort to keep my eyes downcast, despite the position of face. My throat felt vulnerable and exposed. "Look at me!" He pressed his firm thigh hard against the back of my head, sliding his hand down to encircle my throat, jerking my face towards him with painful precision. "Answer, slave."

"Master…I did not know… I had displeased you," I managed to say flustered by both the pain and the pleasure of my situation. My breath seemed to come hot and laboured. "Is that so?" He punctuated his cool words with a jerk of his hand. "Well, I will have to teach you to make a better note of the desires of your Master." Another spasm of his clutching fingers and then release. My pulse beat in my throat and spots of black danced in my vision. "As you wish, Master…" I whispered the words as a fog of languor invaded my consciousness. With an effort, I turned my head, feeling the muscles of his thigh move beneath my cheek.

"Prove it, then," he said, as his strong hand shoved me to the ground. "In the corner, now." His tone rang out strong and demanding, brushed with the faint hint of desire. I knew the corner well, equipped with rings and ropes for suspension. I had spent a great deal of time being punished there.

Such was my fate, to desire the perverse. I could no more help my body's addiction to suffering than I could work to prevent it with my words.

I crawled my way to the corner, the hard floor bruising my knees. I arrived in the familiar location and kneeled, obediently awaiting, my muscles tense with anticipation. I heard the too familiar sound of a drawer opening. Then a pause; its silence pregnant with the possibilities. I awaited his rough voice's issue. I was to be punished, that was clear, but how would he do it?

My skin shivered as I knelt. My hands were resting on my thighs, which were growing steadily warmer with every passing moment. I knew better than to give voice to my body's urgings, he had taught me as much last time. I was still nursing those welts on my back. A slave's duty was to her Master and mine did not look well upon his property speaking out of turn. And so I remained, reveling in a beautiful agony until I heard his footfall stalking towards me.

My head remained lowered, my eyes fixed on the hardwood below me. I noted its stained surface, small faded circles scattered in the corner. My blood no doubt. There had been times when he would strike me with force enough to draw my blood, but it was in those moments when I felt we had our most intimate connection - something primal, beyond words.

I waited for the burning fire of pain to illuminate my body. I already began to crave the exacting delicacy of his work. If I took my punishment well, my Master would be pleased. He would reward my behavior. But no scourge fell, no exquisite pain coursed across my skin.

"On your feet," he said, grinding out the words. "There," he added, pointing to a large wooden desk in the corner. I hadn't noticed when I entered, but the desk had been cleared of all of its contents. Once I was on my feet, he shoved me so that I stumbled, confused, towards the desk. "I have waited long enough," my Master said menacingly, advancing toward me. "Alright, slut. On your stomach." I leaned over the worn desk, its edge biting at my pelvis. Face pressed against the surface, the scents of polish and use filled my senses. I had assumed he was to paddle or spank me... I should have learned not to assume. I heard him moving behind me, the sound of a zipper, a belt being undone... I should have known. I felt his hands gently graze my buttocks, softly probing at the moisture already present. I felt him grab the nape of my top and tear it open, ripping the buttons all the way down my back. He spread my legs noting, I'm sure, how I was almost dripping with need.

Then with one smooth thrust, he pierced me to the core. I could not help but cry out in surprise and fear. He was violating our contract. We had agreed that nothing sexual could come of our arrangement. He clutched my hips and thrust himself into my too narrow passage, so hard I gasped with pleasure. "This... is what... you deserve, whore." I felt my body go pliant in his hands, submitting to the violation. "You brought this upon yourself," he said coldly, as he grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head to far back. Crying out, my body began to lean into his force, massaging him inside me, with a will to please my Master despite myself.

"Admit it!" Again he thrust into my depths, forcing his way even deeper by pulling me to him. Gasping with exhaustion and need I answered, "Yes... Master...I did ...this." "Did what...you filthy slut?" "I made you...I made you fuck me."

As a gesture of approval, he stroked the aching pearl of flesh that lay pulsing between my lips, urging my hips to grind against the solid desk. All this proved too much for me and my entire body exploded in a flood of lust. While he continued to ram himself into me, sheathing himself to the hilt, I felt wave after wave of passionate languor. My body shook with the intensity of my climax forcing me to claw at the grain of the wooden furniture. I heard him groan as he climaxed, his muscles straining against my flesh. Then as deftly as he entered he pulled himself from me, leaving an aching hollow place.

"I want you to wear me..." he said in a worn & deep tone, only then did I feel his warm juices drip onto my back and rear. "Turn over, slave." I did so, painfully noting the trauma my hips had received from the desk. I kept my eyes downcast as he spent himself on my body, his juice dripping down my legs. He had marked me as his own.

Gently he took hold of my chin, "Look at me, I want to see your face," his voice full of subdued desire. I looked up at him, large hazel eyes searching his features. There I found contentment in his eyes and intent in his smile.

"What do you think I want you to do now?" My mind raced through the possibilities and came to settle on only one answer. I knelt gracefully before him and took him into my mouth. I savoured him with every pass I made. He shuttered and let out a soft moan. I continued to work my tongue around his shaft, at times flicking its surface, at others licking it broad firm strokes. As his moans grew more frequent and intense, he grew to an erection in my mouth. I accepted him eagerly, lips and tongue working in artful precision, putting to practice years of experience. Elated, I devoured him with a renewed intent. I toyed with him as person dining on a rare delicacy, for indeed that is what he was. He buried his hands in my long hair, guiding my head along his hard form, but I needed no guide in this pleasure. I forced his slick shaft deep within my throat, cutting off even air for his pleasure. Once deep within my throat I made as if to swallow repeatedly. He shuttered with his whole body and shoved me to the floor, "You fucking whore…" he shouted, back-handing me across the mouth. I licked my lips, tasting my blood mixed with his seed. I looked up through the mass of curls spilling over my eyes and saw his face take on that familiar look of amused distain, as he again let himself spill all over my body.

"Go clean yourself. I don't want a dirty slave." He motioned to the shower in the adjacent room. I rose obediently from the floor to cross to the room. He let me stand and make my way, watching my progress. Ever aware of his eyes following my exposed body, I carefully tread each step when a sudden fear overtook me. My heart pounding, I realized that he would not allow me to escape severe punishment if any of my filth was to drip on the clean floor. Now acutely aware of his wetness all over my skin, I strained not to let any fall. I reached the stall after what seemed an eternity. Letting go of the breath I hadn't know was held, I silently opened the beveled glass door. Reaching my hand into the shower, my flushed skin brushed the chill tiles. My body gave a slight involuntary shutter.

Having turned on the fall of steaming water, I stepped gingerly into the stall, closing the door behind me. I let the steam enfold me and the warmth of the water seep into my bones, soothing the aches of my flesh. I tilted my head back to submerge my hair – letting it grow water-logged and silken down the length of my back, maintaining only a shadow of its former ringlets.

"What makes you think a slave has the right to privacy?" he demanded, pulling open the door to the shower with his powerful form blocking the exit, allowing in a blast of frigid air and stealing my private revelry. Leaning forward, his heated fingers stroked my cheek allowing the sharpness of his nails to trail along my skin. My blood heated to his touch, my back arching forcing my breast towards his intimidating figure. With a faint smile he held my chin with his hand forcing me to look him in the face. With his other hand he held aloft a washcloth. "I want you clean. This should touch every inch of your body…slowly," he added with a mirthful smile. "And remember… I am watching." With that said, his hand forced the shower dial to the far left, turning the water from a delightful comfort to an icy torture. His smile twisted with a sadistic satisfaction as he took his seat in front of the shower, leaving the door open to view my suffering.

Well, if it was a show he desired, I would not be the one to disappoint, despite the cold. Ignoring the frozen sheets falling on my shocked skin, I began to slowly caress my arms with the cloth. I made the conscious effort to frame myself in the door – a proscenium of sorts for my private stage. Years of dancing had allowed me full knowledge of how to accent a certain line or curve of the flesh and I used every lesson to please my Master. So slowly did I have the fabric grace me, every motion contributing to a silent seduction. I tried to push the frozen stream's pelting from my mind, but I felt my skin grow textured with small bumps and I had to clench my jaw shut to keep it from chattering.

Still I continued on… massaging my legs; working from sculpted calves up over slender thighs to the one place that still held warmth. Suddenly the subtle texture of the cloth became intimately apparent. My eyes downcast, I chanced a secretive glance at my spectator, my full gaze falling upon the growing bulge straining within his trousers. A plan quickly budding, I turned my back to him under the pretense of washing it. I went to resume washing my legs, bending over, letting my hair cascade about my face, I used the dark and shining tendrils to hide my curious glance. Then, watching his expression, I slid my hand, covered in the terry between my legs. The cloth felt rough like a cat's tongue against my heated entrance, still swollen and aching from its earlier use.

Since I could not use my voice to make my plea, I begged him for release using my body. I toyed with myself, imaging it was him touching me so gently. A fantasy of his caresses, so precise and poignant, guided me along. Chancing his displeasure, I let the cloth fall and continued my desperate performance with my own hands. Through my dark curtain of hair, I watched the lines of his face become pained with need. It was only fair that he should suffer somewhat for having violated me so…

I withdrew my hand from its pulsing orifice and returned to just showering. Taking my hair in my hands, letting a few strands dangle artfully, I began my previous temptation anew. I sculpted my form, letting the graceful streams of water highlight my curvature. I slid my back against the smooth tile and guided the water to let a small trickle of its icy liquid trail over my breast, tumbling over my hardened nipple. Shifting my weight, I let one slender hip raise just so to emphasize a slender waist.

I wanted him to take me in completely, to realize the full worth of his devoted pet. After all, I had worked to perfect my figure for him, countless hours of sweat and pain working towards an ideal.

A hint of a smirk crossed my face as I realized that must appear as one of those erotic statues on an Indian temple. How appropriate then that I should be as a devadasi serving her god. With my spirits lifted and my body near hypothermic, I ended my performance. I looked at him repentantly, hands folded in front of me.

With just a nod, he silently released me from my arctic prison. I immediately shut off the horrible fall of cold and stepped from the shower. He stood, tall and utterly masculine, welcoming me into his strong arms; greeting me with the soft comfort of a rich towel. How I adored him in these moments of closeness. He held me willingly captive, against his broad chest, as he tenderly wiped all trace of moisture from my chilled skin. After I was dry he led me to a couch where he had several blankets already prepared. Wrapping me tightly he softly commanded me to sit and recover. Taking the place next to me, he sat with a single agile motion. I noted how it seemed his presence had lost none of its power, I still felt so small next to him, but now it felt as if he could shelter me with his will alone. The remainder of the evening was a haze of pleasant rewards and niceties. There had been some steaming cocoa, a massage returning life and heat back to stiff extremities and when I began slipping into a comfortable languor – a container of whipped cream to revive me.

An Anquissette's Journey

This was my secret life, out from beneath the eye of the mundane. This was a place of solace and a certain sadistic peace. I entered quietly through the door as I had been instructed. The surroundings - the slight creak of a worn door, the scents of daily living, did nothing to betray this meeting's true purpose. I made my way cautiously down the carpeted stairs, difficult to maneuver in the high stiletto heels that had been chosen for me. My mind began to churn thoughts of our last meeting and the secret pleasures it held. It had been a long week and I was looking forward to the evening's activities, a means of release.

Opening the door to the basement, I was greeted with air a touch moist from the winter. I felt it upon the sheerness of my stockings and the bare skin I had exposed in numerous places. I had been told in exact detail how to attire myself – the top was a black leather corset, its elegant lines flattering my own natural curvature and clinging to my figure. I had marked with pleasure earlier the way my full breasts swelled, tempting above its low neckline. It had been explicitly put that I should wear little else - some stockings that stopped at the thigh, long vinyl gloves, a scant pair of panties, of course and the classical high-heeled shoes in a fine black velvet. There were a line of small silver buttons all down the back. I wondered if they would survive this encounter, probably not. Such were the insignificant things I took note of as I entered the room.

The lights were dim and I was bathed in the subtle shadows of the intimate room. I discreetly shut the door behind me and stepped forward, my shoes making a light clicking sound on the floor. Having placed my things in the upstairs hallway there was nothing for my hands to clutch, so I fidgeted with my garters, making sure they were taut.

Perhaps, if the situation had been a different one, I would not have noted his stealthy entrance, but I was trained to note such small things. With swift strides, He closed the distance between us. I could not help but cower in his presence. He stood before me, all power and confidence, his shadow cloaking me in darkness. My stomach tight w/ nerves and still I was drawn to him. Making a conscious effort not to sink into a kneeling position, I barely held back the flood of submission. It was too easy to surrender my dignity now. I mustered my courage, took a deep breath, and stood my unstable ground.

His hand rose casually in a gesture calling me to him until he dashed it across my face. I staggered before him, the taste blood blooming on my lips. "You will kneel in my presence, whore," he said nonchalantly. I immediately sank before him, my heels tucked under my exposed bottom. The pain was slight and I maintained my position with pose. "Master…" The word escaped my lips, I no longer knew if it was a statement, a question or a plea. Perhaps it was all these things. The floor was cold and hard beneath me. I watched as he paced around me in balanced and calculated steps.

"Why do you dare show your face here? Is it to tempt my anger?" he asked, circling behind me. I felt his hand dig into my curls, wrenching my head backward, and I made an effort to keep my eyes downcast, despite the position of face. My throat felt vulnerable and exposed. "Look at me!" He pressed his firm thigh hard against the back of my head, sliding his hand down to encircle my throat, jerking my face towards him with painful precision. "Answer, slave."

"Master…I did not know… I had displeased you," I managed to say flustered by both the pain and the pleasure of my situation. My breath seemed to come hot and laboured. "Is that so?" He punctuated his cool words with a jerk of his hand. "Well, I will have to teach you to make a better note of the desires of your master." Another spasm of his clutching fingers and then release. My pulse beat in my throat and spots of black danced in my vision. "As you wish, Master…" I whispered the words as a fog of languor invaded my consciousness. With an effort, I turned my head, feeling the muscles of his thigh move beneath my cheek.

"Prove it, then," he said, as his strong hand shoved me to the ground. "In the corner, now." His tone rang out strong and demanding, brushed with the faint hint of desire. I knew the corner well, equipped with rings and ropes for suspension. I had spent a great deal of time being punished there.

Such was my fate, to desire the perverse. I could no more help my body's addiction to suffering than I could work to prevent it with my words. I crawled my way to the corner, the hard floor bruising my knees. I arrived in the familiar location and kneeled, obediently awaiting, my muscles tense with anticipation. I heard the too familiar sound of a drawer opening. Then a pause; its silence pregnant with the possibilities. I awaited his rough voice's issue. I was to be punished, that was clear, but how would he do it?

My skin shivered as I knelt. My hands were resting on my thighs, which were growing steadily warmer with every passing moment. I knew better than to give voice to my body's urgings, he had taught me as much last time. I was still nursing those welts on my back. A slave's duty was to her master and mine did not look well upon his property speaking out of turn. And so I remained, reveling in a beautiful agony until I heard his footfall stalking towards me.

My head remained lowered, my eyes fixed on the hardwood below me. I noted its stained surface, small faded circles scattered in the corner. My blood no doubt. There had been times when he would strike me with force enough to draw my blood, but it was in those moments when I felt we had our most intimate connection - something primal, beyond words.

I waited for the burning fire of pain to illuminate my body. I already began to crave the exacting delicacy of his work. If I took my punishment well, my Master would be pleased. He would reward my behavior. But no scourge fell, no exquisite pain coursed across my skin.

"On your feet," he said, grinding out the words. "There," he added, pointing to a large wooden desk in the corner. I hadn't noticed when I entered, but the desk had been cleared of all of its contents. Once I was on my feet, he shoved me so that I stumbled, confused, towards the desk. "I have waited long enough," my Master said menacingly, advancing toward me. "Alright, slut. On your stomach." I leaned over the edge of the worn desk, its edge biting at my pelvis. Face pressed against the surface, the scents of polish and use filled my senses. I had assumed he was to paddle or spank me. I should have learned not to assume. I heard him moving behind me, the sound of a zipper, a belt being undone... I should have known. I felt his hands gently graze my buttocks, softly probing at the moisture already present. I felt him grab the nape of my top and tear it open, ripping the buttons all the way down my back. He spread my legs; I'm sure noting how I was almost dripping with need.

Then with one smooth thrust, he pierced me to the core. I could not help but cry out in surprise and fear. He was violating our contract. We had agreed that nothing sexual could come of our arrangement. He clutched my hips and thrust himself into my too narrow passage, so hard I gasped with pleasure. "This... is what... you deserve, whore." I felt my body go pliant in his hands, submitting to the violation. "You brought this upon yourself," he said coldly, as he grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling my head to far back. Crying out, my body began to lean into his force, massaging him inside me, with a will to please my Master despite myself.

"Admit it!" Again he thrust into my depths, forcing his way even deeper by pulling me to him. Gasping with exhaustion and need I answered, "Yes... Master...I did ...this." "Did what...you filthy slut?" "I made you...I made you fuck me."

As a gesture of approval, he stroked the aching pearl of flesh that lay pulsing between my lips, urging my hips to grind against the solid desk. All this proved too much for me and my entire body exploded in a flood of lust. While he continued to ram himself into me, sheathing himself to the hilt, I felt wave after wave of passionate languor. My body shook with the intensity of my climax forcing me to claw at the working muscles in his back. I heard him groan as he climaxed, his muscles straining against my flesh. Then as deftly as he entered he pulled himself from me, leaving an aching hollow place.

"I want you to wear me..." he said in a worn & deep tone, and then I felt his warm juices drip onto my back and rear. "Turn over, slave. "I did so, painfully noting the trauma my hips had received from the desk. I kept my eyes downcast as he spent himself on my body, his juice dripping down my legs. He had marked me as his own.

Gently he took hold of my chin, "Look at me, I want to see your face," his voice full of subdued desire. I looked up at him, large hazel eyes searching his features. There I found contentment in his eyes and intent in his smile.

"What do you think I want you to do now?" My mind raced through the possibilities and came to settle on only one answer. I knelt gracefully before him and took him into my mouth. I savoured him with every pass I made. He shuttered and let out a soft moan. I continued to work my tongue around his shaft, at times flicking its surface, at others licking it broad firm strokes. As his moans grew more frequent and intense, he grew to an erection in my mouth. I accepted him eagerly, lips and tongue working in artful precision, putting to practice years of experience. Elated, I devoured him with a renewed intent. I toyed with him as person dining on a rare delicacy, for indeed that is what he was. He buried his hands in my long hair, guiding my head along his hard form, but I needed no guide in this pleasure. I forced his slick shaft deep within my throat, cutting off even air for his pleasure. Once deep within my throat I made as if to swallow repeatedly. He shuttered with his whole body and shoved me to the floor, "You fucking whore…" he shouted, back-handing me across the mouth. I licked my lips, tasting blood mixed with his seed. I looked up through the mass of hair spilling over my eyes and saw his face take on that familiar look of amused distain, as he again let himself spill all over my body.

"Go clean yourself. I don't want a dirty slave." He motioned to the shower in the adjacent room. I rose obediently from the floor to cross to the room. He let me stand and make my way, watching my progress. Ever aware of his eyes following my exposed body, I carefully tread each step when a sudden fear overtook me. My heart pounding, I realized that he would not allow me to escape severe punishment if any of my filth was to drip on the clean floor. Now acutely aware of his wetness all over my skin, I strained not to let any fall. I reached the stall after what seemed an eternity. Letting go of the breath I hadn't know was held, I silently opened the beveled glass door. Reaching my hand into the shower, my flushed skin brushed the chill tiles. My body gave a slight involuntary shutter.

Having turned on the fall of steaming water, I stepped gingerly into the stall, closing the door behind me. I let the steam enfold me and the warmth of the water seep into my bones, soothing the aches of my flesh. I tilted my head back to submerge my hair – letting it grow water-logged and silken down the length of my back, maintaining only a shadow of its former ringlets.

"What makes you think a slave has the right to privacy?" he demanded, his powerful form blocking the exit, while pulling open the door to the shower, allowing in a blast of frigid air and stealing my private revelry. Leaning forward, his heated fingers stroked my cheek allowing the sharpness of his nails to trail along my skin. My blood heated to his touch, my back arching forcing my breast towards his intimidating figure. With a faint smile he held my chin with his hand forcing me to look him in the face. With his other hand he held aloft a washcloth. "I want you clean. This should touch every inch of your body…slowly," he added with a mirthful smile. "And remember… I am watching." With that said, his hand forced the shower dial to the far left, turning the water from a delightful comfort to an icy torture. His smile twisted with a sadistic satisfaction as he took his seat in front of the shower, leaving the door open to view my suffering.

Well, if it was a show he desired, I would not be the one to disappoint, despite the cold. Ignoring the frozen sheets falling on my shocked skin, I began to slowly caress my arms with the cloth. I made the conscious effort to frame myself in the door – a proscenium of sorts for my private stage. Years of dancing had allowed me full knowledge of how to accent a certain line or curve of the flesh and I used every lesson to please my Master. So slowly did I have the fabric grace me, every motion contributing to a silent seduction. I tried to push the frozen stream's pelting from my mind, but I felt my skin grow textured with small bumps and I had to clench my jaw shut to keep it from chattering.

Still I continued on… massaging my legs; working from sculpted calves up over slender thighs to the one place that still held warmth. Suddenly the subtle texture of the cloth became intimately apparent. My eyes downcast, I chanced a secretive glance at my spectator, my full gaze falling upon the growing bulge straining within his trousers. A plan quickly budding, I turned my back to him under the pretense of washing it. I went to resume washing my legs, bending over, letting my hair cascade about my face, I used the dark and shining tendrils to hide my curious glance. Then, watching his expression, I slid my hand, covered in the terry between my legs. The cloth felt rough like a cat's tongue against my heated entrance, still swollen and aching from its earlier use.

Since I could not use my voice to make my plea, I begged him for release using my body. I toyed with myself, imaging it was him touching me so gently. A fantasy of his caresses, so precise and poignant, guided me along. Chancing his displeasure, I let the cloth fall and continued my desperate performance with my own hands. Through my dark curtain of hair, I watched the lines of his face become pained with need. It was only fair that he should suffer somewhat for having violated me so…

I withdrew my hand from its pulsing orifice and returned to just showering. Taking my hair in my hands, letting a few strands dangle artfully, I began my previous temptation anew. I sculpted my form, letting the graceful streams of water highlight my curvature. I slid my back against the smooth tile and guided the water to let a small trickle of its icy liquid trail over my breast, tumbling over my hardened nipple. Shifting my weight, I let one slender hip raise just so to emphasize a slender waist.

I wanted him to take me in completely, to realize the full worth of his devoted pet. After all, I had worked to perfect my figure for him, countless hours of sweat and pain working towards an ideal.

A hint of a smirk crossed my face as I realized that must appear as one of those erotic statues on an Indian temple. How appropriate then that I should be as a devadasi serving her god. With my spirits lifted and my body near hypothermic, I ended my performance. I looked at him repentantly, hands folded in front of me.

With just a nod, he silently released me from my arctic prison. I immediately shut off the horrible fall of cold and stepped from the shower. He stood, tall and utterly masculine, welcoming me into his strong arms; greeting me with the soft comfort of a rich towel. How I adored him in these moments of closeness. He held me willingly captive, against his broad chest, as he tenderly wiped all trace of moisture from my chilled skin. After I was dry he led me to a couch where he had several blankets already prepared. Wrapping me tightly he softly commanded me to sit and recover. Taking the place next to me, he sat with a single agile motion. I noted how it seemed his presence had lost none of its power, I still felt so small next to him, but now it felt as if he could shelter me with his will alone. The remainder of the evening was a haze of pleasant rewards and niceties. There had been some steaming cocoa, a massage returning life and heat back to stiff extremities and when I began slipping into a comfortable languor – a container of whipped cream to revive me.