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From: Spoonbender <Theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk>
Subject: The Couple (bd, cons, rom)
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A Loving Couple (bd, cons, rom)

********************************************************************  

(c) 1998 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read
by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage
then don't read. Contains some bondage and consensual sex. Can be
freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this
heading. If it is to archived on a fee paying archive then please
email me first for permission.  
 I am trying out different styles and different subject matters to see
which one works for me (if any). So I would appreciate your comments
on this. It is the first consensual story I've ever written (now
there's a revelation for you!) so please be gentle with me.

Please email me with constructive criticism, fantasies you want put
into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you
don't like my style as I'm still learning the craft.
  Many thanks to KathyBxx for her comments on this one.
*********************************************************************  

"You'll think I'm weird."

I looked at her, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, as she fiddled
with her charm bracelet, eyes cast down in shame.

"Come on tell me. You can tell me anything. I love you Anna, you know
I do."

"You promise you won't go off me."

I folded her into my arms and dabbed kisses on the top of her golden
mane. "Don't be silly it would take all the power of a nuclear
cataclysm to tear me away from you."

She took a deep breath and looked up at me, her long, lustrous hair
framing an elfin face. Huge, blue eyes widening in alarm at the deep,
dark, secret that she was trying to wrest from her bosom to share with
me. She was my wife, I the husband of two years standing.

"Are you sure?"

It was as if her very life depended on me acceding to carry the burden
of her forthcoming revelation. I nodded. 

Another deep breath. "I er I...." She tailed off.

"Tell me, I'm not just your lover I am your friend. I made an oath to
share my life with you. So nothing should stand between us."

"I want to be dominated." It came out in a rush as if, by blurting it,
she was able to soften the impact or to deflect the blow from my
incredulity.

"Dominated? How?"

"You know.....I want to be at the mercy of a powerful man. To be
totally at his whim. To do what he wants. To provide him with pleasure
and to take my personal pleasures in small sips from the pool of his
desire."

I stood back and held her shoulders, she hung her head in
mortification. The secret was out, the rubicon had been crossed, now
she must await my verdict. I could no longer see her breathing, she
was holding her breath, as she stood in my thrall.

"How far do you want to go?" I asked, gently.

"As far as you desire........Master." A tingle ran up and down my
spine and my genitals gripped tightly. Master! One little word, one
huge new world.

"Would you agree to be my slave? To serve me in all ways of the
flesh?"

"If my master desires."

"Would you keep your body as the temple of my lust, to forego all
personal pleasures in pursuit of my happiness?"

"I am at the pleasure of my master."

"Would you allow yourself to be constrained in coarse hempen ropes?"

"I am already constrained by my master's benevolence."

"Would you be prepared to be aroused to the point of distraction and
only able to fulfil your desires when it pleases your master?"

"My master commands my body. My pleasure is only within his gift."

"Would you offer yourself to others at the whim of your master?"

"If my master commands."

I pulled down my fly and prized my solidly erect penis out from its
constraining lair. I swear I had never had so powerful an erection,
nor such an overarching need for consummation.

"Suck me slave."

Anna dropped to her knees before me and, doing something she had never
done before in two years of blissful marriage, she took me in her
mouth.

---------------------------------------------------

Its strange how you can live with someone, at one but apart, if you
understand my meaning. Anna had lived a dream, now it was to be made
flesh. I was the master, she my slave. I was giddy with the thought of
it. I thought I knew her, now I was to get to know her in totally
unexplored new ways. The comfortable Anna I had known all my life, had
suddenly become a vast new continent, lush and breathtakingly
beautiful, laid out at my feet and awaiting my exploration. It was
like a Russian Babushka doll, you open one layer and explore it only
to find another hidden, but equally exquisite, layer beneath.

Our trysts became timeless, medieval if you will. Our thoughts and
articulations were locked firmly in the past ages, where damsels
quivered at their master's powerful urges. Even now, as I write about
it, I cannot help but put it into words that I wouldn't use in a
normal day. It was if I, both of us, were encapsulating our world into
a private shell in which two people dwelt in blissful awareness only
of each other.

I sit before my computer, trying to express my thoughts while Anna
lays, bound wide and lovingly gagged, a vibrator caressing her velvet
cave, awaiting her master's attentions. She has been ordered not to
surrender to her orgasm, her desire must be at its peak when I am
finally minded to enter her portal. She must envelop me in hot,
wanton, desire, her body a temple of overwhelming lust. She will not
orgasm. She will not give in to her desires. I have ordained it, she
accedes. It is the way of our love. I may leave her like that for
hours, although I know she has other tasks she must perform. She is an
office manager for a major industrial corporation in her other life
and she is required to peruse stultifying reports at home. I see a
pile of these awaiting her comments. Like she is awaiting me. Her
whole being locked into my manhood. The reports belong to another
world.

I sit at one with my power, knowing that it is consensual power,
mutually shared and powerfully just. I the master, she the slave. It
seems to be so right, so ordinary, yet so sublime. I rise to look at
her, my emotions gripping my chest as she murmurs faintly behind her
mask. Small muscles with unknown names ripple along the delicate
curvature of her downy thighs as the lust settles deeply within her
psyche. Tunnelling its way under her consciousness to find hidden
layers of raw desire which are teased and delved like a potters clay
until they find expression in the wild abandonment of body and soul as
I plunder the depths of her riches. I see her proud breasts, her
nipples like sentinels craving my touch, the delicate caress of a
lover's hand. They thrust towards me in wild abandon, firm, dark,
erect. I see the alabaster of her skin, her heart fluttering like a
captive bird trapped in the cage of her ribs. Ready to soar and swoop,
delighting in its freedom, powerful in its urges, bright, clean,
wholesome and fresh. My Anna, my love.

Teasingly I run my finger along the length of her body, her skin
erupting into paroxysms of yearning abandonment. Her desire a dark,
velvet curtain waiting to be torn asunder to reveal the bubbling pit
of unleashed passion that lurks beneath the surface. Like a volcano
smouldering in fitful slumber ready to erupt cataclysmicly into
expressions of joyful surrender with the suddenness and glory of the
sunrise over the African savannah. I can make the earth move for her.
I can turn it on its head and make it dance to my tune. Such is my
power, such is my joy. We are at one. The Ying and the Yang, two
halves of an identical puzzle. Dependant on each other, glorying in
each other, knowing no other, not wanting another. She is I, I am her.
Identical and opposite. Bound together with ties that surpass the
strongest chain.

I the master, she the slave.

My fingers trace a meandering pattern across her breasts, her chest
rising in glory trying to push the bulk of her pillowed mounds into
the warm tenderness of my caress. Playfully I dodge her thrusts and
wend a delicate trail across the warm silkiness of her belly, from
which my seed shall bring forth my fruit. I reach the tangled thicket
of her bush, my fingers weaving patterns of desire as fine as that
cast by an Astrakhan carpet seamstress. Soft and yielding eagerly to
my touch, yet springing to erect attention as my fingers pass on their
way towards the sultry moistness of her womanhood. 

I feel the shudder of surrender as my finger touches the bud of her
femininity. I am poised at the centre of her being, her whole universe
is now honed in and whitely focussed upon my attentions. I draw
patterns on her button, silently declaring my attentions in loving
Braille as her body tenses and her breathing echoes the sighs of
ecstasy. Now my fingers again take up their fateful march, I touch the
plastic rod, I feel it buzzing insistently upon my skin. She draws her
womanhood around it in a gentle, but urgent, persistence as I start to
draw it from her. It is as if I am drawing the very life from inside
her, as her body yields up the instrument that is so gently tormenting
her. I draw it out and coax it back in. Always watching, feeling,
trying to get at one with the tumultuous feelings that are enveloping
her body like a warm, dark, rising maelstrom. Tossing her in helpless
subjugation as my ministrations yield bountiful pleasures, her muted
murmurs caressing the air like the whisper of the wind through the
forest.

Now I must, as I know I must, drink at the fountain of her well. I
must taste her and revel in her warm saltiness. I must open her,
explore her, conquer her, subjugate her. My tongue must be my weapon,
my lips my shield and buckler. I must storm the gates of her citadel.
With my ministrations I must entice her surrender, her portals must
open and her wetness must overwhelm my senses as her desire becomes
manifest upon my tongue. Now I, too, am a slave, we are at one.  She
the slave of my desire, me the slave of hers. I must garner the
sweetness of her juices, her taste, her very essence, drenching my
tongue as it dances at the humid warmth of her. Now her moans have
become little cries, like the far off call of a hunting bird, they
carry to me on the wings of her passion.

I the master, she the slave.

It is time to reassert my mastery of her, as my mouth traces the
delicate journey up the delicate contours of her body.  My tongue
traces a silvery trail across the delicate parchment of her belly,
retracing the journey of exploration that my fingers had forged a
while before. In helplessness she awaits me. The true slave, at her
masters bidding, tightly constrained with limbs drawn to the points of
the compass. Each time I make this journey there are new paths to
find, new pleasures to reach out for.

Finally my mouth captures the heights of her thrusting breasts, my
tongue fencing gently with the chewy nub of her engorged nipple.
Dancing in the blunt grip of my maw then skipping cocquettishly away
like a playful maiden before a lustful swain. My mouth now draws down
on its twin, enveloping it in the gulping cavern. Teasing, nipping,
caressing, the tongue and the nipple duelled playfully before the
nipple surrendered to the urge of my lips.

My manhood was at rapt attention and was sensing the end of my quest.
It nodded, seemingly in agreement, with the lustful voices in my head
that demanded that I sink within her comforting embrace.

I sank home. My whole length being swallowed up. Now it was her turn
to play and tease as her inner muscles danced and squeezed at my
rampant manhood.

I the Master. She the Slave. We were at one in our universe.

****************************************************************

A bit too treacly perhaps?

I'm looking for a lady who likes my stories who would like to
collaborate with me in future. You will get equal recognition (for
what its worth), possibly even a tiny amount of fame. 

Please email me at Theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk

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