UNTIL THE GIFT DOES


 "You will not pass, Count, until..... the gift does. So, does it pass?" she asked spinning round once. He paused for a moment, listening to the whisper of silk.

"It passes young lady," he responded, eventually. " For now, it passes."

She turned towards him and then bent low in a mock bow, before turning away to the bedside table and sliding open the drawer. She pulled out a box and jerked slightly as a swift but loving spank on her mocking rump.

"Count!"

"Milady," he grinned, watching her tuck the box under her arm. He walked over to the door to hold it open for her and permitted her to slip quietly from her chamber. She glanced around at the pristine and polished hallway, remembering the mess that their last "game" had made of it - now a distant memory contained in the aching of servants and the empty tins of polish.

She arched a brow and murmured: "They have been busy."

"They have," came his reply," and whose fault was that?"

She remained silent as he eyed her warningly.

"Mine of course, Count," she finally giggled.

"Correct."

"I need correction, then, Count?"

She walked away down the hallway, raising her hand to play absentmindedly with an earring. Goose flesh raises on her arms in response to his honest approbation and a bright smile slips over her lips.

"You need to learn, m'dear."

She nodded.

"Educating the pet."

"Yes, M'lord."

"Driving me crazy ... educating the pet."

She laughed softly.

"Count, if you have other things to attend to I can amuse myself."

"No - hold hard - I am just thinking," he murmured waving out of the window.

"Truly it is fine by me, Sir."

"I am with you now. I was just waving farewell to a guest."

"Yes, Count."

"And now she has gone - she had a tough time with her husband recently."

"I am sorry to hear that, Milord."

"She confessed to an affair to him......."

"Oh."

.....and to squeezing my thigh.......," he grinned. "How far would you travel to have your thigh squeezed, pet?"

"Me, Count?"

Her eyes sparkled. She bit her lower lip. She winked.

"I would not travel at all to have my thigh squeezed. I'd find someone close."

"Look away then, lass. I shall not squeeze it then."

She laughed with a fresh intimacy, hinting of offerings and larceny on dark nights.

"Very well. I shan't beg Count. I promise "

"You shall, pet," he contradicted her immediately

"Shall I?" she looked confused.

"You have begged before and you will do so again," he grimaced, pulling her hair off her shoulder and scrunching it in his palm.

"Mmmm," she winced, enjoying the tug and the being obliged to twist under his forceful hand.

"Yet, even though you beg so very hard, there shall be no thigh squeezing."

"None?" she enquired saucily, twisting awkwardly against his side.

"None at all," he confirmed. " All other parts of your malleable body shall be tested but your thighs shall remain untouched."

"The malleability of the untouched is often more rewarding to the male," she teased.

"Indeed! I shall have to have patience then, for once. As will you."

"Make note, Milord."

"I have noted this with tender care and I will only catch the back of your thighs to tenderise you."

"Mmmm," she murmured as she felt his hands travelling down her side.

"For submissive meat requires a lot of beating."

"Perhaps I shall climb a tree and stay perched up there. I am not on the menu."

"I will not insist on you as dish of the day, given that in this bountiful land flora and fauna abound. I am not a maniac pet," he added with a grin:  "So you say, Milord, Count of the many nefarious titles."

"Nor a sadist........"

"But you would have me be the buffet so to speak? The whore d'oeuvres?" she smiled.

"You are too delicious with your double meanings young lady. How can you not be accompanied by a smacking ..........a smacking of lips?"

She nodded in agreement and indicated that she would attend to his needs, if only to see where they led through diverse twists and turns. She could see herself juggling with his requirements, dancing with his intentions and sprawling provocatively on a large table to accede to his wishes and her own desires. She wanted to be a challenge for him - albeit a little too provocative, a little too wild.........

"I wish only to please," she laughed, wondering if she might scare the Count for once. Yet she knew that he had no intimate fear of her. She was well aware that she would make him proud in a new test of control and her own submission to the lessons that were offered.

"You do, you do," he affirmed, confirming both her words and her thoughts. She observed him slowly nodding and considered that with each movement he was controlling......letting her out and reeling her back in again. Would he find the line cut for once or would he dare to cut it himself to see if she could come wriggling back.

"Aaaaaaaah, Milord. Control - it is all about that, but we shall see who controls who.........."

"You wait for the wicked laugh? And the unsullied echo of freedom in the distance?"

"Perhaps?" she challenged.

"Perhaps not," he responded and their conversation was suddenly broken off by her shriek and his silence. It was an overpowering silence as she shook her head at the potential of nothingness so complete, so dark and so eternal that it was broken only by her muffled squeals as he embraced her. She plucked at him almost desperately, looking up. She had suddenly realised that she was really afraid that he would not be there.

"Open your mind, pet and fear not."

"I promise not to hurt you, Count."

"You get above yourself, young lady," he intoned looking down at her stonily and reaching for her tunic in his hands.

"Noooo, Count," she wailed, turning quickly and endeavouring to slip out of reach. Her movement, however, just allowed him to tear the garment from her shoulders. She stood there feeling the fabric torn from her body and letting him draw her back until his finger rested lightly on her lips. The intimacy was brief for he soon turned away from her. Was this to give her space for meditation and repose? Was it but a brief interlude until she next heard the hiss of a whip against the hard wooden door, knowing that he would not pass again until........she, the gift, did.


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