Wednesday 6 March 2013

#ThursdayThrills - Do You Trust Your Master?

Apologies for pushing the limits with this one. It's almost exactly 1000 words. Unfortunately, once it started, it didn't want to stop. Be sure to read the other, likely shorter, Thursday Thrills!

With shaking hands she turned the card over. The first had been of the Fishermans Wharf and ordered her to appear in the afternoon wearing a red skirt. Her Master had come up behind her, directed her around the district while his hands moved over and under her clothing. The second had been a streetcar, instructing her what time and stop she should board. Again, he made his way behind her, telling her when to get off and then leading her, blindfolded.

This was of the bridge.

Be at Vista Point at 9PM tonight. Pack a bag with one item of apparel, one toy, and something that defines you.

A toy. What should she choose?

Would he finally fuck her? It had been delicious to be touched, undressed, teased to within an inch of climax, and never reach it. He had never restricted her orgasm, and she'd finished herself off after both encounters, but he knew exactly when to stop, when to shift, to drag it out.

Perhaps the most efficient. She grabbed her rabbit, turning it on to be sure the batteries were still good. Her kegels flexed when the vibrator whined, imagining clamping on the rotating pearls, the vibrating head. She flicked it off and dropped it into her bag. She chose a simply nightie to wear.

Something that defined her? She smiled at the photographs lining her walls and chose her SLR camera, using her decades old lenses. Which one? She fixed the macro in place, stood on her doorstep, and zoomed in on the moss growing in the cracks. The tiny sprigs of life bloomed to spiky green miniature trees. She could admire the smallest of things.

She stepped off the bus at 8:30 with plenty of time to spare. Taking her camera from the bag, she went in search of tiny life around the park. She focused on one colorful bloom and the bee over it when a hand rested on her shoulder.

"Don't move," he told her. "Finish your shot."

Trying to hold her breath, she pressed the shutter. The bee flew off and her photo was blurry. She frowned in disappointment. She turned slowly and the man was gone before she circled. She stood, putting her hands on her hips. He came behind her as he had at the Wharf and put his hands on her hips. He walked her down to the water's edge. Once away from the lights, he allowed her to turn and face him, but the shadows only made him dark. She had a flash on the camera, maybe she could...

He took the bag from her and the camera with it. "Undress, slowly. I want you to stop and feel each breeze against the exposed skin."

Her lips parted and she obeyed, beginning by unbuttoning her shirt. After each button, she paused to feel the wind catch her blouse, slide along her breasts. She dropped it off her shoulders and felt it swirl through the hair that brushed her collar. She dropped it and watched him.

The flash startled her.

"An excellent choice," he said. "Although I seem to have trouble with focus."

She started to step toward him, but he stopped her. "Continue."

She licked her lips and unfastened her shorts. "It's intended for pictures of small things. It wouldn't be able to focus on me."

The flash went off again. "Yes... Perfect." She inched her shorts down, feeling the wind on her lower back, her belly, then the inside of her thighs as she bent.

Another flash. "How are you like this camera?" he wondered aloud. "You take joy in living beauty?"

"Yes!" she said, excited. She took a step toward him and he backed away again.

"Continue. After, you may don what you have brought."

She unfastened her bra and gasped as the wind caressed her hardened nipples. Flash. She hooked her fingers in her panties and pulled them down. Flash.

"A lovely choice," he said in approval as she pulled the simple nightie over her head. Flash.

"Now show me your toy. Let me get a good look at it."

She held it in her outstretched palms, offering it to him.

"Show me how you use it."

Her lips compressed. It wasn't that she didn't want to masturbate for him, but she'd come hoping for so much more. She still hadn't laid eyes on him.

The longer she hesitated, the angrier she became. Why was she doing this? What had he done to deserve her obedience? Her submission?

There was another flash.

"It seems I have misjudged you, Miss Anderson. Would you like us to stop here?"

Did she? "What more do you have planned?" she asked. "I...I'm wanting more."

"You want," he said, scoffing. "I think this is about what I want, isn't it?" He came closer and she looked up into his dark eyes, his shadowed face. He came close enough that his hard cock, still encased in his pants, touched her thigh. There was one damp spot that felt cold on her skin. "I want to take some more pictures, Miss Anderson. So please, show me how you use your toy."

His voice. His air of command. All hesitation left her and she sat on the ground, spreading her legs.

He encouraged her, urged her, told her how to move the toy, what setting he wanted. Only after she had cried out, grunting and convulsing on the toy, did the flashes cease.

His lips were warm and gentle on her cheek and lips. "Expect another card, Miss Anderson."

When she gathered herself and changed back into her clothes, she started looking through the pictures he had taken. Each one focused on a different part of her body, her navel, a mole, the tiny scar on her lip, her hairline. It was exactly the sort of photo she appreciated, just the type of contrasts and textures she sought, but they were all her. She had never felt more beautiful.

The next card came; it was a photo of her house.

I'll be there at 5.