The Captive
by KyrieLeis and Tristrem
He remembered this much: that his Mistress had required him to join two things together and thereby make something from such joining that would be of higher value than the constituent parts.
But he had failed. Nothing had been joined and, as a result, he was now himself split, figuratively speaking, as his Mistress had told him the night she had shackled him there. His legs were spread perpendicular to his torso, his ankles and wrists tied to four posts. His genitals were exposed, accessible, vulnerable. He was nude.
He lay on his back, spread-eagled in the dark, awaiting her return. His body hadn't seen the sun since the day two months ago when he had offended his Mistress and she had bound him to this bed, directing him to contemplate his failure. So his skin was untanned, jasmine white, shimmering with the reflected luminance of any meager light source that might find its way into his room.
His muscles stayed toned from the discipline of the daily routines that his Mistress imposed when she unshackled him for an hour or so morning and night to stretch and exercise . She wanted him lean, she told him. She wanted him lithe and muscular. During these breaks he would eat the small meals she permitted him to make for himself and and tend to his grooming under her watchful scrutiny. He had learned the hard way that to touch his cock would earn him a furious lashing, and worse, immediate curtailment of his break.
He mused fitfully over his failures as a slave. He knew his Mistress was angry with him and that she would eventually devise some learning experience in which it would be made clear to him the manner in which he had erred. But although he had given a great deal of thought to the nature of the transgression for which he was currently being punished, he still could not put his finger on the precise way in which he had failed to please his Mistress. He fretted over this, for he knew her to have a mischievous and energetic imagination that found expression through the discipline she meted out.
Meanwhile, he waited in this limbo, both anticipating and dreading her presence. Since the time of his error, she had treated him coldly, seldom speaking or looking into his pleading eyes. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that if he spoke to her, she would leave the room abruptly. This was the worst punishment of all, because what he wanted most was to be in her presence, even if it meant enduring her disdain.
Most often he would spend the long hours between his breaks lying there alone with his thoughts. But sometimes his Mistress would enter the room. He could never anticipate exactly what she would do. There had been times when she would attach vicious little clamps to his nipples and tie his cock and balls in constricting loops of the silky cord she liked to use for that purpose. She would suspend dangling weights from his balls and toy with his cock, calmly oblivious of his moaning and writhing. She always stopped when he was still short of that state when ecstasy would overcome pain. Abruptly untying his livid cock and balls, yanking off the clamps, she would turn and stride out of the room, leaving him gasping and teary-eyed.
And sometimes she would stand by the side of his bed, running her hands over his torso and limbs. She seemed to be admiring him as she might a statue or some beautifully made artifact. Repeatedly, she passed her fingers over the tattoo on his shoulder, her symbol, a single lotus flower. He imagined he could detect some element of longing in those cold black eyes as she traced the features of his face, caressing his eyelids and lips with a delicate fingertip. He invariably developed a throbbing erection so hard as to be painful. This she blithely ignored.
It was on these occasions that she would change his position, stretching his legs back and shackling them to the posts where his wrists were attached. She would inspect his ass, checking to see that he had kept it smooth and hairless the way she preferred it. It always made him gasp for breath and stiffen when she drew her finger negligently across his anus. How he longed for her to penetrate him as she would have before this damned misunderstanding!
Then she would begin to smack, light taps at first, pausing in between, then caressing. Suddenly, her hand would come down on his ass again and again, sharp and stinging. He endured it in silence as long as he could. He could feel his buttocks growing hot, beginning to glow. She stopped and he knew she was admiring the red marks her hands made on his pale white skin. Then she would begin again. She would continue to beat him until he began to sob, at which point she would return his legs to their usual position and walk quickly out of the room.
He heard now the sounds of her return. She was in the house, and he could trace her movements by the clatter of her black pumps striking the hardwood floors. He could tell she was in the bedroom, and he pictured her removing her businesswoman's conservative outfit, hanging it in the closet, and moving into the bathroom where the sounds of water through the pipes told him she was showering.
He closed his eyes and imagined her body under the spray of water, the rivulets running down the voluptuous breasts crowned with large, prominent nipples and luscious pink areolae. He pictured her firm belly and triangle of dark brown pubic hair at her crotch. He remembered the times he had joined her in the shower and shampooed her long silky hair. He calmed his anxiety with the memories of tending faithfully to his Mistress. And he waited.
Now he could hear the reverberation of boot heels on the floor, and he knew she'd donned her thigh-highs. Her footfalls told him she was approaching his room. Suddenly the door was thrown open. He blinked at the light that spilled into the room and he saw her silhouetted in the doorway. She moved across the threshold and, with the flick of a lighter, proceeded to light the candles that were placed throughout the room. Gradually, he could see her in the candlelight.
She indeed wore her thigh-highs, magificent black boots of soft lamb's leather that laced up the side and formed a second skin over her calves and thighs. Her torso was wrapped in a black bustier that was cut out at the bosom, so that her magnificent white breasts were laid bare in two cups that cradled them. Her bottom was nude and he admired her smooth round buttocks as she walked around the room lighting the candles.
Then she approached him, and moved some pillows underneath his head, giving him a view of the part of the room in front of his bed. Then, to his vast surprise, she undid his bonds. He flexed his limbs hesitantly, and decided against taking the risk of provoking her anger by making any further movements.
There was a broad loveseat against the wall opposite his bed. He watched as she moved catlike to it, and sat, heels hooked over the edge of the seat, thighs spread far apart. She relaxed back onto the heaped cushions of the loveseat. He could hear her breathing slowly and deeply.
Her eyes on him, she began to fondle her breasts, moving her palms slowly across the nipples so tantalizingly offered by the bustier she wore. He could see her nipples slowly change from the relaxed pink buds they had been to dark, crisp berries. He stared, transfixed, remembering the feel of them grazing his cheek, their rough resilience in his mouth as he sucked them the way she enjoyed.
She was lifting her breasts now, looking down at her fingers kneading the sumptuous white flesh. She glanced up at him, an unfathomable expression on her face. By the candlelight, he could see her fingers pressing into the deep flesh and his own fingers curled involuntarily.
He could hear her breathing more deeply now in the silence of the room, hear the occasional tiny moan escape her throat. Her lips were parted, mobile, he saw her watching him from under lowered eyelids. With his whole being, he longed to leap from the bed and throw himself to his knees at her feet, but he knew better than to move an inch. But his blood began to race, and as though it had a mind of its own, his cock began to thicken, twitching slightly with each heartbeat.
He watched as she parted the lips of her pussy, its coral interior glistening amidst the dark curls. He could see her fingers moving over the frilly inner lips, sliding easily in her abundant moisture. Was it his imagination, or was her rich, tantalizing scent reaching his nostrils? He became conscious of tension building in his balls. His cock now heaved itself erect, pointing straight upward like a gunsight in his line of vision. He raised himself up on his elbows to get a view of her unobstructed by his rigid cock.
He gazed raptly as his Mistress caressed herself, toying with her clit which he saw peeping out from beneath its hood. He thought of the many ecstatic hours he had spent pleasuring her, when she had permitted him to tongue and suck that sweet jewel. He could almost feel her pussy like wet silk on his lips; he could feel his tongue curled around her swollen clit, and taste the complex flavor of her juices in his mouth. He longed to feel her body tense under his hands as he brought her closer and closer to a seismic climax.
She was moaning steadily now, her breathing was rapid. His cock was like something carved from stone. It was beginning to throb. Almost without realizing how he had gotten there, he found himself standing at the foot of the bed, a few steps away from his panting, undulating Mistress.
He sank to his knees, struggling with the impulse to bury his face in her fragrant pussy. How could he possibly do this without an order from his Mistress? But he realized wanted more than that, despite his years of training in the passiveness of submission. He wanted to plunge his cock deep inside her, hold her down, and fuck her. The mind boggled!
And then it hit him...out of the testosterone charged vapors in his brain emerged the clear memory of exactly what it was that had put him in such disfavor with his Mistress!
He sprang forward and took her in his arms, almost lifting her from the cushions as he pressed her against himself. He kissed her deeply, opening her lips with his tongue and exploring her mouth. He had been trembling, but his shaking soon ceased when he felt her responding to his kiss, caressing his tongue with hers and arching her body to meet his. The head of his cock slid along her warm, wet pussy and slid deep into her. He could feel her muscles tighten around his shaft, the warmth and exquisite texture were driving him to the very edges of his self control.
With a grimace lile a mask of pain, he paused, trying to hold back the orgasm that quivered on the brink within him. As he undid the dozen little hooks up the back of her leather bustier, he tried to gather his thoughts.
He remembered how she had asked, not ordered, but asked very sweetly, that he make love to her, not as a pet, and not as a slave, but as a lover bent on her pleasure and his own. He remembered how he had stood stock still, openmouthed, aghast, not unwilling, but actually unable to comply with her request. It had been years since he had so much as touched his Mistress, or any woman, without her explicit direction. His years of sub training had so thoroughly countered his instincts that he had fallen to his knees and covered his face. It was then that his furious Mistress had hauled him into this room and shackled his compliant limbs to the bedstead.
He felt the pressure of her legs clasping his waist and he felt her bootheels goading him to resume the sensuous rhythm of his thrusts. He positioned himself so that his shaft would pass over her clit as they moved. He could see her dark eyes on him, dazed with lust and pleasure. He felt an oceanic churning begin inside her, her pussy seemed to be grasping and sucking at his cock with an incredible strength and insistence. Her moans had crescendoed to full throated cries and her nails were raking his back.
He felt the last wisps of his self-control evaporate and he began thrusting deep into her. Her breasts jiggled voluptuously with every impact of his body on hers. He could feel the rush and flood of her orgasm. He cradled her in his arms as the waves of pleasure rocked her, and as they began to subside, he let himself be swept along in his own headlong race towards climax. He felt hot cum boil up from within his balls and spurt out of him. He was startled by the sound of his own triumphant shout as he came in shuddering spasms. His pleasure was indescribable!
He lay collapsed and panting on his Mistress' breasts. He had never felt so close to her, nor so completely devoted. He could hear her voice murmuring in his ear. "And now, pet, you've earned your absolution. You've finally found the answer to my riddle. We two have joined as one, and our love is greater than anything that was there before."
Mistress Kyrie's SubCulture
copyright 1998 by KyrieLeis and Tristrem
[All rights reserved - copy/duplication prohibited without prior authorization]