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Answers
by Mir
Answers! When would they come? She wondered, her eyes wide open in
thoughtful appraisal of the heavy stones that surrounded the
courtyard of the manor house. She gazed up through the three stories
and then arched her neck to look right up to the tower, where the
ravens circled, cawing in a menacing yet protective way. She was
small, but not weak, even if she felt a little overwhelmed by the
sheer size of the turret above and the thick granite around her. The
walls seemed not to enclose her in their domination of her, but to
embrace her, drawing her in and welcoming her to new pleasures.
It had been a long day and she was alone for the first time. Now that
the banquet was over, the crowds had departed and 'He' had left her
going off like a grouchy bear, to rest in his chambers. Perhaps, she
imagined 'He' was seated at the foot of his bed, looking down at the
empty footstool that was her place, considering how well things had
gone. She began to make her way to her suite of rooms high on the
third floor, where a manservant had taken her after a light and
frugal supper, walking through the great hall where 'He' had collared
her. There had been discretion in that moment, a private intimacy in
the alcove of the main hall, but the experience had left her somewhat
embarrassed by the obscene, but finely crafted mimeograph of her pre-
orgasmic writhings that he had placed in her hand as she lay supine
on his lap.
In a daydream, she set foot onto the main stairway. A servant gasped
at her audacity, seizing her by the elbow and endeavouring to pull
her away. She struggled with him for a moment and then realized the
extent of her folly. Gazing down at her was a picture of the Master
and the brunette lady, in full finery. Both of them seemed to be
staring sorrowfully in rebuke at her precocious wickedness.
The lantern swinging in front of her, she had climbed the winding
stairway to the first floor, feeling a little chastened. Her
instincts led her along a dark corridor, passing two suites of rooms
and an open doorway, within which she glanced a library and a further
door leading perhaps to the Master's study. She trod silently along
the long corridor and then climbed another stairwell to the second
floor.
Now, she found herself passing polished oaken doors guarding the
secrets of closed rooms, or rather suites of rooms for she envisaged
that each must be much like her own. She had glanced at the little
brass plates on each of the doors --
"Princess", "Rosebud", "Precious", "Petal" and several other more
faded names and had wondered at their occupants or rather erstwhile
occupants. She would ask the Master of them one day she promised
herself.
Her own rooms were well furnished, comprising a neat little bedroom,
double bed of course, should the Master be wishing her to service him
in the night. There was a large bathroom, well equipped with her
favourite soaps, perfumes and scents. The walls were mirrored and the
shower seemed surprisingly modern and powerful for such an old
building. There was a small anteroom, which had obviously served as a
dressing room, given the variety of dresses that hung there for her,
all freshly cleaned and available to her. The drawers of the dressing
table near her bed were full of linen and underwear.
She buried her face in them to feel the silken softness against her
skin, before walking over to the window and gazing down. She enjoyed
these new surrounds and was looking forward to having fun, after
spending such an age in the towns of the county. She had travelled
far through wild and open countryside, making the best of things and
building her livelihood from whatever opportunities presented
themselves to her wily, yet friendly personality.
She looked at the two roads that wended their way passed the chateau
into the woodlands, beyond the large gardens. She thought she saw a
caravan of her own people climbing up towards the mountains in the
distance and, seized by a sudden impulse began waving frantically,
even though she knew that there would be no chance of them hearing
her so far away. She giggled at her folly and turned away from the
window, rushing to explore the wealth of silk dresses and velvet
gowns that he had seen fit to provide her with for the present,
losing herself with a squeal of delight in the finery that he had
bestowed upon her.
In the darkness of the dressing room, lifting the satins and silks to
her figure, she smiled, enjoying the shadows away from the windows.
She remembered the glimpses that she had caught of a more risqué side
to goings on in the chateau for she had her own dark side. The
whipping posts, the worn tables where some predecessor of hers had
obviously lain gave her hope that here she would be able to explore
with someone strong, yet gentle new avenues that would push her to
her limits while mentoring her.
She wanted that help to learn who she was and would bear with his
mischievous side to venture some time with him. She glanced down at
the attire that you had selected from the dressing room and prayed
that he would approve. She began to brush delicately at the soft
gown, attempting to soften and hardened lines that may have set in as
she slipped it on. With meticulous care she inspected every button
down the front of the gown, so not to reveal anything before she was
told so to do.
In the dark hallway outside the cumbrous oaken door, she stopped. She
touched, ever lingeringly at the key around her neck and the little
badge of ownership. The ornamental crossed canes, the trademark for
Miramur and the fine etched lines declaiming her as his pet. Her
thoughts think back to time by the lake when she was presented with
the gift. A gift signifying that she was inevitably his, even as she
had taken him. No matter, she thought, clutching at the key, she was
there now.
Closing her eyes she breathed in one last gulp of air before rushing
to the stairway and remembering herself, slowed to descend the
stairway in a more appropriate and dignified fashion. She turned back
along the much wider corridor of the first floor and pushed gently at
the door of the library, that door that she had previously seen ajar,
thinking the Master may be within. As she reached out for the heavy
wooden door, it began to creak, almost a welcoming song to announce
her arrival.
He turned to see her standing in the doorway. She had thought of him
that evening while she was dressing. She had taken care to gather her
hair atop of her head in a loose knot, so that her entire neck would
be gracefully exposed and that she would glimpse his collar around
her neck should she chance to come across a mirror. Much to her
dismay her run down the corridor had blown loose many of the soft
hairs, so that now she looked slightly dishevelled.
Judging by the look of scrutiny on his face, however, her appearance
had met with his approval. Only the near transparent gown hanging
loosely on her shoulders protected her body from his full view.
Knowing that the candelabras on the bright sunlit library would give
away all her body's secrets; she hesitated - but, lingered only for a
moment. Raising her hand to brush away the stray wisps of hair from
around her face she stepped into the room.
She could see the sun setting in the distance, causing the light in
the room to diminish. As she crossed the room, her bare feet creaked
on the floor breaking the stillness of the room. He is settled in to
his armchair after lighting the candle on a nearby table. Glancing
down at the pillows that have been tossed for her, she knew her place
and did due obeisance before him.
She knelt with her back straight and her head held high for her
spirit would always remain strong. She was not naive and had entered
into the chateau of her own volition, although tempted by its master,
now her lord. Yes, the Master was her owner now, she thought as she
reached up instinctively to touch the leather collar that she had
chosen in such a strange ceremony.
Soon, she would be lying over his knee at his mercy and for his
pleasure. The recollection of those precious instants made her
squeeze her thighs together, wishing that he was still invading her
person, even as he moves his hands to the sides of the chair
acknowledging her demure nature.
He turned sharply as the door clicked in and a vision in a silk
decolletee gown seemed to slide into the room. He remained twisted
round looking up at her as she slipped across his chambers. He
quietly admired the fine feature of her cheekbone and the china
fragility of her exposed collar bone. She was a lovely woman and
exquisitely dressed, a refreshing bloom who had flowered throughout
the evening.
He deliberately inflicted a torture of embarrassment on her, forcing
her to remain before him, with only her thin gown to hide her. The
gossamer white gown was unforgiving, allowing the Master to view her
excitement, the nipples peaking against it, creating little points
under the material. With a wave of his hand and a slight glimmer deep
within his green eyes, he gestured her next move.
Like a small obedient child, she immediately lifted her arms to do
his bidding. Slowly she fiddled to release the first button from its
prison, watching to see how many he wishes released. The second, the
third, the fourth, and then stop. Pulling back the folds of silk that
she has undone, she revealed a gentle valley nested between two full
mounds, heaving generously from the excitement of the escapade.
"Well, my dear, the gown becomes you so well," he smiled, looking up
at her and holding out his hand to the woman standing by the side of
the bed. She blushed and folded her hands together, looking down at
the floor modestly.
"Nakedness might become you better," he added. He tugged at her and
she bent forward her knees pressing under the silk against the
bedframe.
"Thank you," she whispered. She let her fingers run across his palm
as she leant further forward in a respectful genuflection. He tugged
again at her hand and she slipped down to sit besides him, crossing
her legs discretely. She let her hand slide underneath her thigh to
adjust a stocking that had caught on the bedspread.
"Touching yourself again," he chided. "And no permission yet. Such
impatience should be punished or perhaps rewarded?"
"Or perhaps both, Master," she giggled. "I have been rewarded by this
lovely gown."
"As lovely as the charming woman who wears it," he smiled and fiddled
with the catches in the back of her gown, " or rather - who wore it."
She stood up again and he knelt on the bed as the garment fell open
to reveal the malleable flesh below her collar bone. He leant forward
and gently kissed her spine. She shivered and twisted her head to
look at him, before closing her eyes and enjoying the touch of his
finger tips on her receptive contours. The gown slid to the floor and
she stepped out of it, kneeling on the bed in front of him, dress in
a silk pastel basque, flesh coloured stockings and the little tiara
that he had permitted her to wear throughout the evening.
She ran her hand through his hair, caressing his face and then
pausing at the knot in his tie. With both hands she loosened it,
looking into his eyes, her face suffused with the warmth of the
earlier blush. She pulled the tongue of the tie out of his waistcoat
and let the end flick playfully in his face as she finished undoing
it. He leant back as she slid the tie out of his collar, like a
sinuous snake, wrapping itself around her arm and then slithering
down to the floor.
It was soon joined by the dark jacket of his tuxedo, that slid from
his arms as she thought back to the way they had danced together that
evening. It had been so proper, so formal and so reassuring to be
swirled round the room by him, to be led at a brusque pace, as
onlookers applauded their skill. And now she would show him a few
other skills she mused, spurred on by the earlier reception of the
County hierarchy.
She slipped down and knelt on the floor before him, looking up coyly
and smiling. He did not react and so she reached up and began to
unbutton his waistcoat. His hands hung limply by his sides confirming
that this was her moment of power and decision. She felt that this
was her chance to reward him for the earlier pleasures of the
evening. Carefully, working her way upwards she let each button slip
through the holes in the velvet, feeling the softness of the fabric
as it parted to reveal a white shirt.
She let her hand wander playfully up the silk sheen of this final
garment to caress his face and to fiddle with the collar stud, that
popped away in her hand. She giggled and deciding that the sound was
most satisfying slipped her hand into the opening of his shirt to tug
gently at his chest hair. She stole a glance up at him again and with
a mischievous smile, allowed her palm to slice down through the
opening of his shirt so that the buttons popped and flew everywhere.
"I think that you may be needing a new shirt, Sir," she giggled.
"Yes," he responded dryly. "You seem to add to my tailor's bills with
great equanimity."
"I could darn them if you insist?" she responded. "That might make my
hands less soft on your skin though Sir?"
"Yes," he reiterated. "and there are of course other ways of
punishing your excitability, my dear."
"There are, Sir?" she murmured, squeezing his thigh. "Is a change of
demeanour required on my part?"
"You, my dear, are the slut whose demeanour will determine the order
of courses of this intimate little banquet a deux?"
"Would you like to begin with the whore d'oeuvres, Sir, then?" she
laughed bending down and kissing the incipient hardness under his
trouser cloth. "I see that Sir is ready for a moist appetiser."
"You are most observant," he replied and leant back, supporting
himself by resting his arms on the bed. She seemed to crawl up his
leg and opened the flap of his trousers.
"Oooooooh, more buttons," she giggled, "what fun!"
"You be careful there, young lady," he warned, stirring at the sound
of her giggling in more ways than one. He held his breath as she
pressed down on his thigh, feeling the hardness, eager to escape. She
would assist this stirring by unbuttoning him she decided. She
reached in to caress the one 'eyed' creature, taking it firmly in her
hand and letting the flesh fold into her palm.
"What a lovely fellow," she cooed, "I love releasing the little
monster from his incarceration. He is so pert that I could almost
kiss him, Master."
"You have permission, now that you have introduced yourself so
forcefully to him."
"Was I too forward, Sir?" she giggled again. "I think just a little
kiss on the side of his alert head would suffice for now?"
And so saying she bent down to reward the erect subject of discussion
with an insinuating kiss. Boldly, she let her tongue linger against
the salty flesh and looked up at him, her mouth open and ready to
engulf that hardness. He nodded and she proceeded to let the fat
little head slide in between her lips.
Her tongue slid avariciously around the bared member and she nibbled
the skin bunched at the top of the stout member, pulling it away from
the head as her fingers reached up to stroke the damp flesh that slid
in and out of her open lips. She would have reached down to touch the
twin sacs that, as she swallowed more of the fleshy creature, rubbed
against her chin, but a hand stayed hers, holding her wrist, in a
firm grasp.
She looked up and again she read in her Master's eyes what is to come
next. She moved abruptly away from him, so as not to disturb the
silence with a verbal reprimand. She stood and proceeded to the glass
cabinet on the far side of the room. The Master has placed this in
her full view knowing how much she feared and yet desired that which
it held. She opened the door and the switch that she cut for him that
day by the lake fell into her hands.
Perfect in every way, from length to thickness, she had selected it
quickly, yet with an instinctive knowledge of his requirements and
her own needs. She walked back admiring the definition of the
instrument. Wondering silently how she can love and hate something so
passionately. Loving the soft intimate feel of the wood. Hating, yet
craving the sternness of it when it is struck across her backside.
She offered it like a sacrifice back to her Master, with outstretched
arms and open palms. As her Owner took it from her grasp, she knew
not to remove her hands to quickly. The Master was still agile even
when displaying stern rectitude.
"Leave them there," he commanded.
Her palms remained open for his inspection. The kiss of the switch
thwapped down into her palm and she can see the red swelling begin on
the insides of her palms. She felt like a chastised schoolgirl as she
bit her lip to keep from squealing at the burning sensation, a
feeling that reflected both the pleasure and the pain of his most
recent attention.
"A lesson for you," he stated softly. His eyes seemed to soften. Her
own responded. She returned to her position before him upon the
cushions, waiting. He rose to stand before her, his masculinity
pronouncing itself before her full lips. She could not resist wetting
her lips with a wicked tongue, sluicing across the dry lips. There
she knelt obedient, thinking of him in her mouth, waiting to quench
her thirst. She leant forward opening her mouth just a little in
offering.
In her mind her heartbeat became so loud and powerful that it seemed
to her to overwhelm every other sound in the room, even the ponderous
ticking of the large clock in the corner. She feared that the sound
of her palpitating breast would fill the room.
He moved away from her own of sight. She looked ahead, obediently,
knowing that her curiosity, her need for answers must be satisfied
later. She could sense him behind her, with his hand on her shoulder.
Grasping and massaging her collar bone, he pushed her forward into
his chair. She raised her hands to cushion her body from sinking into
the seat. She can feel her Master's hand on the back of her shift,
tracing the outline of her body through the remains of her clothing.
Finding every contour, his hand traveled under her backside.
Inevitably, he could not resist slapping that rondeur, even though
the ensuing blow was casual, almost absent-minded.
She gasped and let her fingers dig into his Master's chair, trying to
avoid a panic feeling, knowing what is soon to come. She felt her
Master's hand, caressing the swelling lines across her bottom. As he
used her shoulder to move her back into position his gentle hand
swipes across her cheek to feel her damp cheek.
"A precious gift, pet for the owner," he smiled. " A precious gift,
indeed."
"Thank you, Sir," she whispered. He leant forward to take her head in
his hands and raised her head. Seeing him staring into her eyes, as
if seeking out her innermost thoughts, she could only smile, like a
child on Christmas morning. She kept her head turned over her
shoulder and observed his eyes boring into her. As he tenderly
brushed her hair from her face, off her forehead, she could feel her
body growing hotter from his stare.
Her light gown was cool, but the cold air still chilled her legs as
he slid her stockings to the floor. He followed their flow to the
floor until he allowed the cloth to rest around her ankles. Above she
was virtually fully exposed, the basque being distinctly immodest.
Not only to the chill air of the room, but to him and the switch she
had so caringly and so daringly provided for him. Softly his hand
began to caress her neck. The cool switch slid across her backside.
It traced the pattern that is a figment of their imaginations now,
but which will sting her through the night forcing her to sleep on
her belly.
She could only whimper, but never too loudly. Fearing the
consequences if she cried out before given reason, she bit her lip
again. The Master's hand began to mark an invisible trail down her
back, stopping just before her bottom.
She cannot help but shake partly from the cool night air that has set
in and partly from the anticipation of what is to surely come. She
cannot help but smile silently to herself, thinking of the first
strike soon to come down so forcefully on her exposed flesh. In time,
her Lord might, with a look or a touch convey his wants, his needs
and his desires to her. She wanted to learn to be the best submissive
that she could by pleasing him to the best of her ability.
"Count," he instructed, as he traced the line with his switch
followed by his hand. The evening flowed into night and, with the
darkness, the answers that she craved began to come. But not, of
course, before she came with an echoing moan herself.
Mir
©9/00
revised 4/01
Romantic, Exotic or
simply Vanity
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