One-thousand Words ASSTR ANNY
Little had changed since the days of cheerleading and home coming
queen. Though quick-witted, Dianna, like many of her ilk, lacked
self-esteem. High Maintenance to her equaled an implicit unhappiness
with one’s own image. Equipped with a similar physique and voice to
the legendary entertainer, it came as little surprise that her’s was a
Marilyn.Monroesque-sex kittenish sort of thing.
Clearly she dreamed on with exceptional looks and equally good genes.
An adult now, the bust line’s conservative estimate of 38 D-cup
dimensions outgrew any optimistic teen’s high school uniform or gown
dress size, yet daily workouts kept the 35-year old Californian trim
and fit. The very latest in glamour and fashion were coveted.
Talk had been made about someday getting a breast reduction, but
that’s all it had been to date: just talk. The subject too was
fashionable, occasionally sprinkled into vapid conversation.
“Hard. Bite them hard.” His teeth sunk deeper into the stout nipples
biting and sucking as she commanded, and his own lust demanded.
Thoughts of those earlier years flashed by. If anything, he thought,
Dianna’s body had matured splendidly with its curves, waspish waist,
and dancer’s legs now clinging around his trunk. Limber as ever. She
was one of the very few who looked good with her clothes off, rather
than on.
Lust and thought flash-flooded the synapses. His mind wandered to
other times, like the singular occasion of the characteristically
hawk-eyed casino crew looking up from their designated felted parcel,
distracted by high-heeled pulchritude striding by. He teased one
nipple with the tip of his tongue and thrust hips again. He felt the
body underneath him writhe. Long nails scoured his back. “Harder,” she
moaned. “Bite them harder.”
A cry sounded. The actress wannabe stiffened. Demonstrably kinkier
than he, decided to keep on biting into the fleshy warmth as its bulk
poked upward into his mouth. She wasn’t protesting.In fact, he bit
harder than before, this time using more teeth and less tongue.
His feasting was interrupted in the nicest of ways.
Dianna squirmed from underneath. Gazing at the blond bed hair and
glassy green eyes crawling from under him, the flushed throat
indicated that the foreplay chapter was about over, leaving only the
inevitable-the one about orgasms. He lay back as she positioned
herself above, sculpted thighs straddling his, the star in some
x-rated Olympics. Slowing sinking down upon the tautly muscled shining
piston her eyelids ecstatically closed. In an athletic move, no doubt
conceived during those more innocent cheerleading days and made
allowable to this day by exercise, her torso disappeared.
From where he lay all visible were the flexing quads straddling his
and the furry slit of a crown atop the head of the pumping pelvis. Out
of sight, but felt somewhere beyond, rubbed the shoulders and floral
scented mane brushing across his shins.
His arm stretched out. An index finger parted the gleaming curls,
above his own swallowed shaft. The digit stroked up and down, and then
from side to side. Another cry, this one much softer sounded at his
caress.
The most intimate of juices sloshed with a hydraulic imperative.
+++
“You won’t hurt me, will you?” From the sunny day room he looked down
upon the lovely Dianna as she mock-pleaded. Of course he would. And
that was exactly what both of them wished.
In his right palm he held two wooden clothespins. Selecting one, he
gripped her left nipple with index and thumb. Rolling the pinkish
tower as it’s prominence grew, he then opened the wooden jaws only to
then close them tightly over the proffered offering.
As expected, she gasped. Her back arched up, pressing further into his
touch.
The second was then applied, much like the first. Again, Dianna’s
reaction was predictable.
He raised Dianna upright, pulling her to a sitting position by the
pinned teats. Tears rolled down apple cheeks. He looked down at the
black fabric triangle he had earlier tied to its twin covering her
rear. The standing female rose to almost his 6-foot height.
Wrapping thick cloth around each of her wrists to prevent bruising, he
then attached the encircled wrists to rope hanging from the upper loft
and pulled. Long arms angled skyward. The tortured half-naked
cruciform moaned. More tears wet her countenance. Dianna managed to
speak and said, “It hurts.”
“That’s what you want so shut-up, or else you will be gagged.”
He uncurled the leather whip. Looking once at the stretched abdomen,
he swung.
Golden hair swung across bare shoulders. Full lips bared white teeth
as her mouth gaped. An angry gasp issued. Ligaments and muscles pulled
at the constricting rope. Green eyes flashed back with a mixture of
shock, pain and anger. She glared back.
He swung the whip again, this time aiming for one of the full breasts.
The leather stung with a wallop, bouncing flesh as it hit. The
clothespin held, but now there were two long red stripes across
Dianna’s front.
Stepping closer to his crucified slave, he ripped away the scant
fabric covering. She tried to cross her legs in a futile attempt of
modesty, though nudeness now was very apparent. Taking the protruding
ends of the clothespins, he twisted. Dianna’s head fell back in a
silent cry, exposing more of her throat. Fingering between her now
parted thighs he felt familiar syrup, heated to the touch.
Without further preamble, he plunged the whip handle inside, closely
followed by his own tool.
+++
That evening, his beauty knelt before him bathed only in candlelight.
Eyelids closed, hands behind her head, knees pointing outward, body
well oiled, she said, “I am your slave, Master.”
Considering the good fortune to know of one so lovely and yet so
submissive, he surmised that she was indeed the kinkier of them both.
It would be his folly not to take further advantage of their
relationship.