Friday, April 13, 2007

My Master's Rainbow (pt3)

Those words, on his breath, on my skin, are enough to let me come again, but Master is not quite that kind. As the heat from his breath fades, and my body warms toward the second wave of orgasm I feel the coin drop against the same spot my Master’s lips had just caressed. The cold metal burns into my skin and relieves me of any pleasure. The coin is larger than a silver dollar and twice as heavy, I have never seen it, but it’s liberal use is Master’s favorite way to draw out the sensation he has placed in me. He keeps it in a freezer, I’m sure, and there have been times its echo has been found upon my skin the next morning.

My body tries to move, spasming, and jerking against the restraints, no allowed enough freedom to shake the coin from my body, and I hear his amused chuckle from the corner of my ear. As it warms, and my body stills, he removes the coin, and leaves me a twitching mass of raw nerves.

“Sweetheart” The word seems to rain down on me from above. In everyday speech this is a term of endearment, but on Master’s tongue there is no sugar implied, not for pink. His accent drops the ‘R’ and twists the word giving it a much more sinister implication. The tone he applies expresses his distain for the honeyed terms that disguise lust.

“My Dear.” On anyone else’s breath ‘dear’ is a single syllable word; Master’s use brings out a second. I feel a chill in the air that tells me, from experience, he is just beginning. I know I will be treated to a litany of the sweetest words ever spoken, delivered in a way that sends images of poison dripping from a serpent’s fangs. Each word he gives me leaves its mark on my soul just as the accompanying scissor stroke creates a signature of destruction upon the fabric. Soon the dress will be a tattered collection of strips clinging hopelessly to my body.

“Cup Cake” The abrupt delivery of each hard consonant cuts into me. The ring of the twin blades meeting each other enters my ears and echoes through my mind like ripples in a pond. With each opening he creates in my clothing he places a kiss upon the newly exposed flesh beneath and bestows another of his poisoned words. This causes a storm of goose flesh to travel from one spot on my skin to another, a writhing cloud of tightening and relaxing flesh sending me reeling into my second orgasm. His attack comes at me from all sides, I have images running through my mind of him, spinning, crazily, pirouetting like some sex driven ballet dancer. At my hip. Snip. Kiss. “Sugar.” Against my sternum. Snip. Kiss. “Baby.” Along my ribcage. Snip. Kiss. “My Love.”

His voice like an electric shock upon my flesh, bringing the same kind of presence an actual touch could. Had my hips any freedom of movement they would be bucking uncontrollably. My stomach muscles contract, my thighs tighten, knees lock, I feel sweat break out across my body. Master brings the blade to the center of my panties; the cold steel against my labia is too much. I come so strong I can actually feel my lower lips kissing the blades as the walls of my cunt tighten within me. Snip. Kiss. “Sweetness.”

The sensations overcome me, and I am lost to them. It’s like an orgasm induced blackout, the pleasures mixing with each other, painting a mural of lust inspired moments on my most vulnerable flesh. Penetration is never an option for pink, the essence of the color demands it. Master’s artistry is demonstrated in his exactness, the lack of something inside me is of no consequence. The way he expresses his control, never fails to leave me awe inspired.

~x~

In the glow of the porch light, I gather my things; the yellow glass casts a sickly glow upon my bare flesh. All of my apparel, having been sacrificed to suit his needs I shiver, standing naked in the snow, in my patent leather flats. My, hair, long since released from its pigtails, falls across my eyes as I reach into the bag beside me, collecting the symbols of my outside life. I retrieve my heels, stepping lightly into them, leaving the flats at the doorstep, a calling card of sorts.

Next to return is my skirt, the expensive black silk now seeming somehow rough against my bare thighs. On with my blouse, the fabric nearly frozen from the countless hours in the cold, immediately crisping my nipples as the cloth embraces my shoulders. Giving my jacket a snap as I remove it from the bag, before I place my arms into the sleeves, the sensation created by the lining rushing against my skin brings me for a moment back into the cellar. Each time I leave, my heart breaks a little, and I find myself looking for anything that can bring me there again, even for a moment.

The weight of my necklace brings me the memory of Master’s hands. The earrings give me a sense of womanhood, an outward decoration to remind me of the beauty I am made to feel through him. Placing the bracelet across my left wrist brings me to my past, and the dire need to feel controlled. The return of my wedding band cuts my mind with joy to think of how much this man must love me to allow me to make a gift of myself, each month, to another man. Watch on my right wrist tells me that our time has ended, and each glance will mark the time until my glorious return.

Pulling my hair back, twisting it, and using the tortoise shell clips to fasten it I turn, spinning on one heel. I sling my bag across my shoulder and walk to the curb; I raise my hand to the street, calling for a taxi to steal me away into the fog. I brush another tear from the corner of my eye as I slip away into the night, the thought of the weeks ahead until I hear his voice on my answering machine again, a single word message naming his next color.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Another excellent piece of writing, B. Words do have that sort of power, used in the right way, and can induce all sorts of erotic feelings.

I would love to read about the Masters other colours in the future.

Keep up the good work - I LOVE your writing :)

Breathing said...

I'm particularly proud of this experiment, I'm glad to hear it well received, it's still working a bit, but there is more to come.