"May I come in?" The dulcet tones of a soft female voice asked, breaking his reverie. The Master smiled to see the pretty woman standing in the doorway. She was wearing a beautiful robe of velvet and taffeta. He beckoned her over to him, his eyes calling to her in the ensuing silence - Come to me, beautiful submissive.
As he first divined the scent of her seductive perfume, he mused to himself. He was wondering how sweet the soft cushions of flesh between her thighs; how savoury the taste of her diverse secretions. Creamy, sticky, womanly. He gazed at the long hair that cascaded over the swell of her breasts. What wonderful possibilities she presented him with.
"Of course you can come in, dear girl!" He eventually intoned as he took her small hand in his own, raising her arm to wards his face. He planted a gentle kiss on her nectarous skin, imagining all the time her soft vaginal lips against his warmth, against his hardness.
"Well, young lady, what can I do for you?" He asked, begrudgingly releasing her hand. Her fingers rested in the folds of her gown. Her fingers were bunched into little fists that seemed to want to claw at her femininity. He looked into her eyes, imagining her warmth, her tightness, her receptiveness between those lovely soft thighs - inviting and damp with seeping moisture.
Lowering his eyes, he gazed angrily at those rounded thighs - firm, unblemished and shapely in their womanhood. Transfixed by the apex of her thighs, he remained still as she settled, kneeling on the hard wooden floor by his side. He would have torn away the skirts of her robe there and then sought a glimpse of her undergarments - bulging, stretched with her full, fleshy mons- a glimpse. a look and then a taste of those flavours percolating through the cloth of her silken slips.
"Forgive me, Sir," she began hesitantly, following his gaze and crossing her legs.
"Forgive me, Master, for - I - I have been very naughty," she finally stammered. raising his head towards the tapestry on the wall that hid the ornate stonework of the palace.
"Naughty?" he looked into the filly's deep, dreamy eyes and smiled encouragingly. Forgive me too! He thought, grinning inside, imagining the wonderful sins he could commit with the sweet beauty's body as she returned his gaze, anticipation in her wide eyes.
"Come creature, come and tell me of all your many, sundry wickednesses?" He teased gently, thinking - yes you can come my beauty - come over my face!
"It's taken a lot of courage to come to confess to you, Milord."
"Indeed!"
"Yes, Sir."
"Oh ye-es, I understand. I always have a little time to spare for your confessions, my love.Tell me all about it?" His voice, paternal and demanding was at the same time suppressed, intimating, conspiratorial and inviting her to open up to reveal her innermost woman-secrets.
"I - I've been so very bad, Milord!" She stuttered through the incipient tears, welling up in her eyes.
He wondered at those words, speculating if she'd been laid by the young lieutenant again. Had she had her swirling robe, her fragrant slips and her moist panties crudely stripped there during a secret tryst.
"And what pray is nature of your confession, Mistress Mischief?" He enquired evenly, despite his state of nascent arousal. His imagination was running wild with images of careless cracks, of vaginal chasms, of lusty damp heavens for his mastering. "Come on - spit it out."
"I have been enjoying myself!"
He wanted to laugh, but restrained himself. Shifting uneasily to conceal the bulge in his breeches, his thoughts drifted. He could imagine the wicked slut's hands and tender fingers wandering over the contours of her naked body, seeking out the tight groove between her thighs, stroking the treacherous mons as she lay in her bed at night. His erection was now menacing. It taunted his concentration.
He cleared his throat.
"Without permission! Tell me more, m'dear?" He tempted her onwards persuasively and pervasively, as she wiped her eyes on the back of her clenched hand.
"Milord, I am sorry, so sorry, I could not resist," she whispered. The bejewelled submissive's cheeks reddened as she dropped her head in shame. Sitting before him, on the footstool that he had kindly pushed in her direction, she inadvertently allowed her thighs to spread apart, answering by default this Master's secret desires. Now he sat stock still, gazing at the triangular patch of pink material wrapping her warm mons so snuggly. Again, he imagined her fingers there, massaging the warm, soft flesh - so lovely - her knickers would certainly be absorbing a lot of moisture.
She glanced up at him with her oh so innocent and oh so inviting eyes. He smiled again, wondering when he would get his fingers inside her underclothes and himself inside her warmth - tight, hot, wet warmth - all mulchy with unfulfilled need.
"I enjoyed myself down there, Sir - between my legs," she confessed as she raced ahead in her thoughts.
"And why pray?" he asked with mock concern, adjusting his stance again.
"Because it's - it's nice, and because....." she hesitated
"Because.......?"
"Because I found your secret collection of tales, Sir," she blushed furiously. She paused. Having freed herself of this evident burden, she seemed able to relax a little.
"The thoughts that lie behind those tales ......make me tremble,"she murmured as if to herself. She leaned back on the footstool, allowing her thighs to fall furtherapart, unwittingly indulging the Master's bulging eyes. He ached. He imagined the submissive woman lying on her bed, her legs spread wide, her fingers between her swollen mound, bringing herself to a peak of pleasure. A sight to behold! He wondered if stating her sins alloud excited her....and instantly knew the answer.
Having a submissive willing to expose her innermost thoughts was a new occurrence. The potential was endless and he was determined to nurture the relationship, to coax her thoughts out gently, to win her confidence - and then to...slip the vestiges of her morality off along with her garments. She glanced down at the book that she carried under her arm. He nodded his permission as she raised it in her hands and began to read a passage that she had inscribed there to remind her of the excitement of her recent discovery:
"My whole body shakes uncontrollably. I moan as the wonderful fluttering sensations grow. It's as if my entire body is alive and vibrant and I rub... Master, faster and harder, random associations wash through my mind, a sea of pleasure. They engulf the inner self. Faster, ever faster I work myself as I lay open-legged until, my body twitching, I squeeze myself...."
Her thighs parted more as she touched her secret world. Her eyes remained wide open in a residual innocence counteracted by the dark wet patch of material growing as her excitement oozed from her tight sheath.
".......The feeling comes. Rising from somewhere deep inside me, it grips me, taking me to that beautiful place where I feel as if I 'm swimming, floating, drifting over the sheltered waters, away from the storm of desire. This place is my secret haven and I visit it often. When recall subsides, like the sea at low tide, it leaves me, jettsom, exhausted on sandy beach, and my whole being fluttering between my fingers, torn between violence on the surface and the pounding within."
"That's very good, Mistress Story Devourer. Very good indeed."
"It is, Master Story Teller," she agreed. He could barely contain himself. He would certainly coax her onwards. He would have her submit to him - that perfume - feeling her, touching her and tasting her uniquely womanly fragrances.
"Is there anything else, Sir?" She enquired archly, closing her note book, repositioning her slender legs in front of her.
"Yes, my sweet, there is much else," he responded laconically. He exhaled heavily and stood up. Gazing down at the filly once again he watched as she placed her hands behind her and leaned back to look up at him. She extended her legs further for balance. The firm, rounded breasts in the tight bodice of that robe, perked up at him. They pointed skywards as if begging to be sucked. Looking at her full lips, her reddish golden hair spread a over her face - this pet was ripe - ripe for an eternity of excitement.
"Turn over, young lady."
She looked bemused, puzzling silently what punishment the Master of the Chateau would inflict upon her for her sinning.
"Well......?" she heard him mutter impatiently, tapping his thigh.
She knew that she must obey promptly this time or lose something of untold value. She rolled over. Resting her stomach on the footstool, she found herself looking down at the knotted floorboard and the toe of shiny brown leather boots, at the edge of her vision. She puckered her lips into a kiss as he took a step closer to her, wondering if he would appreciate the gesture as much as she appreciated offering it.
It seemed quite natural to kneel before him and to prepare to kiss the shiny footwear, there in the dust on the wooden floor. Her back was arched upwards towards the crown of her extended rump. A pert backside lay offered to him. When, he reached out to touch her flanks, however, she had lost the pouting kissy lipped look . She was completely focused on the touch of his hand.
She held her breath. The digits seemed to wander slowly over her tactile flesh, pausing diligently on the elevated crown of her hind quarters. She was intimately aware that he loved the sight she presented to him. Was he delighted at the prospect of being able to enjoy this lovely pet again... and again... and again?
She wanted to be his! His forever! His to treat and his to restrict! His to take as he chose and as she needed. She had begun with her first confession. She had commenced the long winding path towards the collar that she craved and the achievement of her overwhelming need for him to own her.
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