To capture her heart, he would have to free her from the spell of walking in the rain, he mused, considering the mythical possibilities of a short story around her desires. She was apparently bewitched, through turning her face upwards to watch the raindrops falling, all the while smiling and laughing, a wet equivalent of icarus, flying too close to the clouds. She was nevertheless scanning her surrounds and she had not sought shelter from the rain. And it was then that she saw his form and stopped her playful playing in the new puddles forming around her feet to smile a greeting, her mouth remaining half open in a precarious, ephemeral oval shape.
He looked up at that chirpy sound and gazing around idly, seemed to see in his mind's eye a flutter of movement. It almost seemed to him that she opened her arms and tilted her head back, as if trying to catch every drop. She might be swaying to some internal rhythm, undulating her hips and twining her arms above her head. He beckoned to her and she came a reluctant from her play. Eyes closed, he began to glide his hands down her body, smoothing the raindrops into her skin and dress, wondering if she expected mercy from him.
"Do have mercy,Sir," she murmured, pleadingly. He thought about it for a moment and slowly shook his head, closing his eyes again and remaining dreamily fascinated that his hands cupped her breasts and slid down over her thighs. She begged again and asked how to sway him from the more lurid twists and turns of his imagination as his continued reverie seemed to infuriate her. He smiled, knowing that she enjoyed his musings as much as he did himself as he tried to define her unseeing face and track a raindrop as it hit her bottom lip, then trickled over her chin, down her neck and slowly ran down her chest until it met the swell of her breast and disappeared into the dark shadow of her cleavage.
She whimpered for mercy: "My darling Sir..I will give you anything you want...if you will allow me just a few moments"
He leant forward to take her in more clearly and mused to himself as to whether to allow her the prerogative of dallying. Just then he took a quick look around, then in one quick movement grasped the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head.
"Ohhh, I dead," she surrendered, moaning in pigeon English. He cleverly managed to get the hem all caught up in typical male fashion, thus giving her a little time to gather her thoughts and smiled
"Nice moan."
"I'm in trouble here......Aren't I?"
He wondered whether to get out of trouble she could perhaps stretch her body, arching her back and clearly enjoying the feel of the rain on her skin. She reached up long arms and extended her body, allowing her breasts to perk as the dress rode up. His hands stroke over her body again but slower this time, and he was lingering more each time at her breasts. He could almost clearly see her nipples hardening and he began to tug and twist the hard nubs. Her hands moved down on his shoulders asking for a harder pinch, with those self same pleading eyed. Harder and harder he massaged her breasts and soon he could hear her gasping with each caress.
"Ah...Ohh.....yess....Oh..thank you..Sir.....," she groaned as she sank to her knees as if she could no longer stand, then he pushed her back to leave her sprawled on her back, writhing as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She turned her full attention to him and away from the gathering clouds, felled by this passionate act.
"Forgive my distraction at the seasons,Sir, " she begged.
"Forgive the wench - never," he would not be brooked by any contradiction in this and turned her over brusquely. He beat a sound tattoo on her exposed rump and then allowed... (Ahhhhh!...Ohhhh...Sir... Ooowwweeee!) ..."you will suffer more anon for that distraction pet".
He allowed one hand to drift down over her stomach and slid between her legs as she spread them wide. At the thought of that haven he groaned involuntarily, her bottom cheeks stinging and warm. She lay blissfully in the languorous pleasure of his touch, letting it rather than the rain wash away the pain.
"Thank you, Sir," she exhaled softly as his fingers slid between her thighs to recommence stroking. Her full head of hair fell around her head and her dark eyes gazed up at him. The fever of her skin, radiated against him.
"You are good to me you are, Sir"
"So...dear..."
Please bring the summer shower again...," she pleaded, "and with it...your thunder...and your torrent...Ohhh...to..."
"Make you scream in the stream?"
"Yes!"
"Squeak in the creek?"
"Yes!"
"Is my torrent that abhorrent?"
"Shut up,Sir! Just carry me down with that wash. Take away my reason...to expedite your pleasure Sir."
Soon her gasps developed into moans as he rubbed her himself, his other hand still busy with her breasts. Obviously needing more she spread her legs wider and he slid a finger deep inside. He knew her heart and she heard his voice rise up in herald of pleasure's release. In no time at all (Ahhh....Ohh) her hips were bucking and pressing, her juices were flowing and her need was growing. He watched the fingers sliding in and out, observing calmly that she was wet with more than rain now.
She tossed her head in silent pleading, her face flushed and tense with orgasm teetering deep in her loins. He slid another finger in - then another - his thumb stroking between her bottom cleft, teasing her bud as she lay there balanced between heaven and hell. She waited for his word, the shrill cries growing high pitched as he played with her while she bucked her hips.
"Now you may stiffen, sweet slut," he allowed, letting her back arch up off the ground and envisage her tightness clenching around his fingers and the flood of moisture trickling down her thighs. She opened her legs wide, reigning her pleasurable release in, knowing better than to ride that wave of elation without permission. He watched her sprawled on the grass his permission in his words and she realising this allowed her breathing to become ragged, followed by a silence and a tight tense stop. In the pause he took another long look at that lovely body, watching her stare, followed by the slow closure of eyes as she entered sub space.
He lifted his hands to her shoulders to hold her trembling form, listening to her heart pounding in my chest, holding to him tightly, eyes glazed. His lips curve into a smile as he watches and waits for her release to fade away, watching the pert tongue licking dry lips, dried by hot breathing as arms relax and fall to the earth. Having accomplished that satisfaction she craved, her eyes are misty in the afterglow. She regards him lovingly as he feels the palpitations of her soft breast, allowing her mind to clear a little with the pumping of her life blood through that tender heart...
...And now, later, she sighs in his arms, recovered again as he holds her, such a light burden, such a delightful sweet soft form of unimaginable grace. She lies still, a fallen dove not wanting to disappoint. Her lips quiver a bit, her eyes are downcast. He sees in her a gentle trusting package with such wide eyes and such kissable lips and lays her down on a quilted bed, spreading her limbs to prepare her for future delights.
Now that the dream of raindrops that swept her into his arms is forgiven, she lets him take her down, and lie there, pressed in the coverlet soft. The mirrors are her eyes but the arrow of self retribution is still lodged in her heart. He traces the blemishes on her naked skin, finding no blood, just mere scratches from the gentle whipping her Master has just inflicted on her. The pain can be kissed away by his soft lips, as her eyes fall closed and a single silent tear, traces to the far ear, and hides in its bowl.
She blinks her eyes open, and on her face she pulls the still, quiet, soft surface, determined to shelve this now, and be as he wishes -perfection from this moment on. He sees a prickle or two from the rose switch he cut specially for his love and now he has other devices to make her squeal gently into his thrusting chest as he lays half upon her and slowly eases open the blue gown. She feels his weight upon her, and the secure strong place it denotes, where she can hide her soul. Quiet now are her arms, and legs as the bows of an elm, silent in a breezelessstill and morn.
He pulls back her silks to reveal those soft peaks of desire, those proud pink turrets of endless erotic prospect, those rounded hills to be traced and plowed by the furrow of his fingers. The light of his gaze, dawn upon her now, his warmth is as the rays of the sun on a still sea, for she does not move. He watches the rise and fall of that lustrous bosom, so eminently desirable, such an attainment to have achieved, on this breezeless immobile captive wench of his.
His sunny desire throws a pink hue across the clouds that hide her cheeks, hide her chest and in the valley of each breast's rise. But the valley lays practically still, that he may take to his good pleasure. He lays his palm across that exposed bosom to shield her from sun's harsh rays and watches the brightness of her pleading eyes. Her heart wants only to give. Her need to provide has raised itself up and is known to him, oh yes he has certainly captured her heart...
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