The Dance

Outside the lightning splits the sky, the thunder rumbling on its heels. The rain pounds on the roof and an unearthly darkness has fallen. Inside is almost just as dark. The lamps on the wall glow only slightly. Despite the wind howling outside the room is quiet and warm.

At the corner of the four poster bed, he watches her. He's tied her hands up and around the pillar, stretching her arms high. The bar between her legs keeps them spread, her lips glistening with the rush of her predicament. The slight fear in her movements is sustenance he feeds on. Her breathing shallow and rough, trying to turn to find his presence despite the sash covering her eyes and stealing her sight. She raises up on tiptoes in a weak attempt to swing the rope above the bed free. Her squirming and restlessness only fuels his desires more. How much longer will she struggle? How much longer can he watch but not touch? He allows her mind to take her away, to do all the hardest work for him. By the time he emerges from the dark shadows she will be unable to resist him. Too frantic is her inner self, fighting to be free yet yearning to be taken.

Noiselessly he approaches her from behind. As usual she is too stirred to notice. The crop lands loudly on her buttock and she yelps in surprise, her whole body tensing against the smooth, carved wood she cannot escape from. He drinks in every detail of her. The soft pink mark rising from her milky skin. The parting of her lips as she breathes heavily. The slight sheen of sweat making her skin shimmer from her exertions. She turns her head in his direction, sightless yet wanting. Waiting. Silently pleading with him to do more, to take more.

The lightning flashes, brightening the room for a moment. And he bides his time. Enjoying the debauched sight of her, naked and at his will. Her soft and sensuous curves alluring, delicate female features crying out for torment. Oh, he knows just how to play her tune.

The crop slides up and down her sides raising goosebumps in its wake. She breathes more heavily and tiny moans escape her pouting lips. Purposefully keeping his distance from her, not allowing her the intimacy of his bodily presence, he lightly taps the crop along the delicate skin of her inner thighs. Then the leather tip strokes her full pussy lips and she thrusts her hips back, wanton. Immediately he lands his bare hand on her ass hard, the sound echoing through the room followed by her cry.

"Only when I want you to feel pleasure will you have it, girl," he rasps into her ear. She whimpers and writhes, wishing for his body pressed against hers.
"Please Sir, please..." she begs almost imperceptibly.

He strikes her ass again, harder than before as he growls at her impertinence. The loud "smack" repeats several times, his hand alternating sides. She cries out as the intensity and continuous pain resonates into her. Hearing her near the edge of her tolerance, he hits each cheek one extra time even more severely. Sobbing once, she collapses herself against the pillar.

Cruelly, he strokes her wetness once, fingers teasing her entrance briefly. Just as quickly his touch is gone from her skin. He retreats to the shadows once again, to watch and wait. All night he will lead this dance until she truly surrenders herself. Until she accepts her fate as his, again.