Author: David Williams
She knelt before him, awaiting his pleasure. Her nude body covered with a fine layer of scented oils so that she glowed in the candlelight; her head bowed in respect, her back arched to press her breasts out for greater display. She waited, and enjoyed knowing he was drinking her in with his eyes.
Her long dark hair was held back with a single leather strap tying it away from her face, her dark eyes emphasized with eyeliner until she had a stark, gothic look to her. This contrasted with the naturally angelic beauty she had, the innocence and serenity her face exuded.
Her breasts were adorned with shining jewels hanging from each nipple, carefully dangled in place with golden plated nipple clamps. Her shaved pussy lips were likewise adorned, the jewels hanging down between her legs and catching the candlelight, they seemed to shimmer.
As he walked towards her, his hard-soled boots clicking on the stone floor, he toyed with a whip in his hands. She could only see his feet and the tail of the whip switching back and forth, like a cat’s tail as it gets ready to pounce on prey. Her entire body was tingling with excitement and anticipation. She had no idea what he would do to her, and that made the wait delicious.
He paused before her, feet set shoulder-width apart and gazed down at her. She felt so terribly small kneeling before him, so fragile in his presence. She trembled with excitement and fought hard to keep her breath measured and even.
She heard him breathe in deeply, smelling her, the oils aromatic, sensual, like spices from some far away market place, her own scent mixing with that and her arousal obvious in the air. She smelled like exotic sex and he was savoring her. He enjoyed every aspect of her, and for that she was so grateful to him, to be devoured by him, piece by piece, each morsel coveted and desired in turn.
Reaching his hand out, he allowed the harsh leather tail of the bullwhip to caress her back gently, toying it over her sensitive skin. It was like a long leather tongue licking her all over. She shivered, but held her stance for him.
The whip’s tongue slipped over her shoulder and licked across her breast. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. The rough leather tasted her, savoring her flesh. She was trying not to shake from the thrill. She was not doing a good job. Her body went through periodic spasms of excitement at its touch. At his touch.
The leather pulled away, and again she calmed. He had not moved an inch through all of this, his feet, like stone planted before her. Now his fingers touched her hair gently. He tasted how she felt, and she wanted so badly to just push into his light touch. He caressed her silken strands and then sighed. He loved the feel of her. He devoured another bite.
Music slowly lifted to the air and he tossed the remote to the couch many feet away. The music was rhythmic drumbeats and cascading tunes. It was exotic and powerful and seemed to penetrate her. He stepped back a step and waited again for the music to sink in to her soul and capture her.
She felt it in her soul, and he always somehow knew when it had finally gotten to her. She was Kajira, meant to dance for his pleasure. It was for this purpose she was made. She was pleasure . . . His pleasure.
He watched, and when the music was in her blood, coursing through her veins, he stepped back again and tapped one foot lightly. There was no need for anything grander. That was her beckoning to begin. She rose up gracefully, almost like she floated to her feet and she raised her eyes to him. He was smiling, she had pleased him. Her heart was about to explode in pride and that power swept through her, it was time to dance.
She let the music take her and her body swayed and then turned. Muscles strained and pulled and she seemed to flow from one stance to the next. As she danced he waited and measured. At the perfect moment, his whip swung back and then flicked out like a viper’s tongue, lancing her ass with pain. The pain becoming part of the dance, she swirled and leapt in the air in joy.
She landed gracefully, and her body moved on, never stopping, always in perfect fluid motion. The whip snaked out and cracked again near her feet, making her leap high over it, then above her head and she collapsed and writhed on the floor. The whip and she rose and fell and danced, perfect partners, both so fluid that they held no form for long.
The whip licked her other ass cheek, and her cry of pain melded with the music and became a greater chorus. She spun and faced him for a split second and then dropped and leaned back as the whip cracked an inch above her belly. The two moved with such unison that they were in fact one.
She was on one foot; her body twisted and paused in mid air when the whip cracked between her legs. She could feel its power course through her pussy, her sexuality released and aroused, it joined the dance.
As she moved one hand found her slit and she bent, displaying herself, spread open for him. She knew that he would see how aroused she was by him. She displayed sex for his pleasure, so that he would know she was always ready to please him. Then she spun and moved to the next pose. Her body tensing and relaxing as she did.
She was, by sheer force of the dance, close to orgasm. The power of being his, of the dance, of the seduction of the whip brought her to the edge of cumming but she held back. That energy added to the dance and made her more passionate. She danced on and the whip licked across her back, the searing pain making her flesh burn for him.
She danced and danced and the whip licked her all over. Legs, ass, breasts, back, all felt it’s kiss as she danced. She was pure fire now dancing for him. She was in fact pure sex. As she was meant to be for him.
Then the whip shot past her and cracked, the long leather tongue snapping back and grabbing her arm. The force of his muscles pulled her in a spin that ended with her kneeling before him. With a flick of his wrist he looped the tongue around her other hand. She was bound by his whip before him. She looked up, trembling, almost unable to contain her sexuality any more.
He dropped quickly in front of her, crouching like a tiger over her. He slid the handle of the whip back between her legs and grabbed it and pulled the tongue up her ass crack and across her clit. She cried out in pleasure.
Grabbing her hair, he worked the tongue back and forth across her pussy, the rough leather licking her raw and forcing her bound hands into the act, pulling them down between her legs.
He pulled her hair hard and she arched her back in response, her ass cheeks clenching slightly and increasing the friction. He rubbed her with his leather tongue, her own fingers playing with her dripping wet clit. She cried out . . . begged. . . . pleaded . . . Finally he gave her what she needed.
“cum.” Was all he said.
Her body convulsed and shook uncontrollably. She felt the fire of pain and passion exploding from her, the leather tongue not allowing her to simply collapse; it kept licking her and licking her until she was screaming out incoherently. She screamed and opened her eyes again, saw his smiling face and then collapsed on the cold stone floor. He released her hair an allowed her to slump into a pile.
With a gentle flip of his wrist he pulled the whip free of her pussy and ass, then another and her one hand was free. He leaned down and kissed her and freed the other hand. Caressing her for long minutes until she knew where she was again, he smiled at her. Giving her a last kiss, he stood and walked away again. His boots clicking on the stone.
She lay there and shook and trembled. She was fulfilled. She was his pleasure. She had danced for him, and in so doing, fulfilled all she was meant to be. She was Kajira. She was made for his pleasure. In this, was she complete.