Appetite of Desire

"Dinner's ready," she said quietly, as she appeared behind him and carefully ran her fingertips over his temple and down his cheek.

He glanced up from his reading and reached out to tug gently on the o-ring of the collar she always wore in his presence. Pulling her down to him, he reached up and caressed her face, then cupped her neck and kissed her small, perfect lips. He bit them—hard—and smiled with delight at her startled gasp. "What are we waiting for, then?" he asked, as he got up and motioned for her to follow.

He walked in to the dining room and was instantly pleased with her attention to detail: candles flickered, silverware sparkled, linen looked crisp and his best crystal was partially filled with what looked to be some very fine wine. The table was set for one.

She trailed behind him and helped him into his seat, and bent provocatively—and just this side of flirtatiously—over his lap to smooth his napkin for him. She poured a small glass of Italian sparking water and then lifted the covers off the plates before him.

His appreciative gaze swept over the table once more. She had, without consultation, arranged the perfect meal for the bitterly cold night that raged outside. In the finest French tradition, she had carefully prepared the best available ingredients with not even a nod to fashion or fad. There lay before him a salad of tender romaine lettuce hearts, unbroken and arranged to remind him of the St. Andrew's cross he had placed her on just the night before, then drizzled with a dressing worthy of entire empires. Large, paper-thin shreds of fine Italian cheese rested about the plate, and coarsely broken peppercorns decorated the rim. He noted he needn't even use a fork—his preference—but rather would be able to enjoy the spears of delicately tinted lettuce by simply holding them in his long fingers.

He also took in the main course. It was a meal designed to tempt him, and indeed, the scents wafting from the kitchen all afternoon had very nearly—but not quite—driven the image of her corseted kneeling form from his mind. A rich, deep sauce covered large chunks of the finest organic beef. Perfect little pearl onions glistened beneath the rounded flesh of waxy young potatoes, and a mound of torn country bread tumbled over itself on a plate to his left, as if in a hurry to mate with the deep, purple glace.

He nodded to her, once, and she gratefully sunk to her knees at his feet. She rested, but in an attentive pose, in this position throughout the meal. Whenever his glass needed replenishing she would gracefully stand and retrieve the bottle of fine French wine on the sideboard and fill it. Anticipating his needs, she had crushed more pepper and laid out a small silver bowl with the finest coarse French sea-salt and a tiny spoon. Once or twice she smeared the freshly whipped butter over the artisanal bread and quietly licked the glistening oil from her fingers after handing it to him.

She was not hungry. Sitting at his feet, she reveled in his distracted attention. She loved that something she had created would bring him such pleasure. He stroked her head, often, and in between mouthfuls, asked her to tell him of her day, her dreams, her desires. And he told her of the things he planned for her in the coming weeks...and often, he would hold a piece of dripping meat between his fingers and motion her close. She would rise up on her knees and put her face close to his, and he would gently nudge her teeth apart with the morsel in his hand and she would bite into it with a thankfulness apparent in her entire pose. He did this for her with every part of the meal, even allowing her to sip on the delicious red nectar filling his glass. He smeared his fingers with the aggressive dressing clinging to the salad leaves and watched with pleasure as she licked them clean. He held out a perfect spear, a delicate heart-leaf and had her nibble on it like a bunny until she was literally eating out of his hand. He sopped the bread in the abundant juices and made her tremble while he held it just out of her reach, bidding her still and silent, until he finally allowed her to plunge her lips around this favoured treat and swallow it greedily.

Finally, sated, he leaned back and, tipping the wine glass to his lips, drained it. "Little one," he crooned, catching her face in his and twisting her gaze to his: "that was delicious."

"Thank you," she murmured, demurely trying to avert her eyes. He held her tight, though, and she tried to steady herself for whatever it was he was about to say.

He began caressing her cheek again, each time pulling his hand back a bit more firmly, and starting his stroke with a bit more force. She didn't flinch—he wouldn't have liked that—but finally, his caresses turned to harsh slaps and with one forceful blow, she was knocked off her heels and against his knees. She struggled to right herself but her stumble disappointed him. He looked down at her and said, sadly, " I suppose we'll have to wait for dessert."

He rose, and reached back to tug her up by her collar. This time, she preceded him out of the room, guided by his strong hands on her pretty hips.

He guided his cherished whore down the hallway and into the opulent bedroom. It was a place they spent much of their time, and the importance of a feeling of comfort in the room was obvious: the bedspread was made of the softest brushed cotton and the colour of ripe plums, the walls were painted a pale green and simple golden lights shone down, softly illuminating the room. He dimmed the lights now, though, and with the sharp admonition to "Stay there," left her standing in the middle of the floor, head bowed, hands clasped behind her back as she had been taught when waiting for his instructions.

He went from candlestick to perfectly placed candlestick and filled the room with the soft glow of firelight. She knew she shouldn't look at him, she should be gazing at the floor, contemplating her mistakes and awaiting her punishment. But she couldn't help it. He had the most amazing body: full, stocky, powerful, but she almost preferred him as he was now, fully dressed in a crisp suit and looking so strong and handsome. She lowered her gaze just as she sensed him turning to her and escaped detection, this time.

He strode forward, shaking out the last match, and cupped her chin to bring her eyes to his, and lowered his mouth over hers. She shuddered and sighed against him, and made the little mewing noises she couldn't help whenever he touched her softly like this. As he kissed her, she pressed her corseted form against him and rubbed herself up and down against his hard, strong body, as if she wanted to crawl inside him, to become part of him. He unclasped her hands from behind her back and placed them around his own face, and allowed her to kiss him like the most vanilla lover would ever kiss her mate--for a moment. Then, he grasped her wrists and stepped out of their embrace, reached behind him and grabbed the soft leather wrist restraints always handy in this room. She stood perfectly still as he fastened the buckles, and then gasped as he pulled her hands up over her head and said," Hold that."

She glanced up and was startled to see the rope and bar affixed to a new o-hook in the ceiling, just tall enough for her to reach for. She held the handles and he reached up and weaved some more rope through the D-rings on her restraints and fastened her tightly to the bar. She was now completely at his mercy, and he helped her to this realization by gently swinging the bar in a slow arc so she rotated on the balls of her feet beneath it. He grabbed her hips and steadied her, then reached down to kiss her again.

As he kissed her, his hands raced up and down the length of her body. He loved the look of her bound tightly in a corset, but wanted to feel her skin against him. He unlaced her as he kissed her in moments had her naked before him. He traced the marks the tights stays had made and continued stroking her, with the firm touch she loved, making her crazy with desire. She wiggled beneath his hands and mewed some more, but felt his hand over her mouth, silencing her.

He stepped back and finally shook himself out of his jacket, loosened his tie and generally divested himself of his clothes. She was always allowed to look at him while he undressed, he knew she loved it and he loved the feeling he got that she was worshipping him with her eyes. Her obvious desire only made him feel more manly, stronger, harder. He grasped her around the waist again and pressed her body against his so they could feel the heat their joy created. He continued stroking her, and then brought his hands to her front and began pinching her nipples, none too gently. She moaned, threw her head back and begged for his harsh touch with her entire being. Her automatic supplication made him feel so powerful that he had little trouble becoming even rougher in his touch, and he pinched and twisted her nipples almost savagely. He crushed her breasts in his hands, then when he couldn't wait another second brought his mouth to her nipple and bit gently until she nearly fainted with pleasure. He never left one unattended, and he knew she could very nearly climax from just having her nipples stimulated, so he played with her this way, whispering sweet obscenities the whole time, calling attention to how wet she was, how she was completely at his mercy, how she belonged to him, she was his to do whatever he desired with, she was his toy, his plaything, his whore, his treasure.

He reached down and felt her ripe, dripping sex, and brought his fingers up to her lips, then kissed her hard over his own wet fingers. She loved it when he held her face, it made her feel so owned, so desired, in such perfect service to him. He once again stepped back and this time, when he gently turned her around, she felt the strong tap of smoothly polished wood against her pretty ass. Her knees buckled but her hands were still tied over her head, and she couldn't fall. He used the large, flat paddle that looked almost like a cheese-board, and slowly, but very methodically, began to beat it against her ass. He alternated cheeks and started low, on that spot of firm flesh where her thighs and ass met so beautifully. Each stroke made her stand up on her tiptoes and expel the air she gasped into her lungs between each strike, and she threw her head back in abandon as she realized she couldn't stop the glorious pain she so craved.

No other woman had ever bought out in him the fierce power he harnessed so effectively all day, none had ever craved anything other than the softest touches. He loved the raw animal power she unleashed in him. And although he couldn't figure it out (and she had long stopped trying) she clearly became overwhelmingly aroused when being beaten soundly.

He continued his blows, gaining strength as she leaned back into them, again murmuring to her how she would never be anything but his perfect servant, a slave to his desires, his wishes, his wants. Her ass turned rosy and then red, and her body began to shake as he really wound up to strike her, and he knew it was time to bring her down gently. He slowly lowered the pace and strength of his still-measured blows and finally dropped the paddle from his tensed hand. He turned her around roughly and grasped her burning ass firmly in his hands, causing her to cry out louder than she had during the entire beating. He laughed out loud with an unbridled joy as he looked into her tear-stained face and bent to kiss her again, stroking her hair, her face, her flanks as he did so.

In one smooth movement, he reached up and unlaced the rope and her arms fell to her sides. He grasped her forearms and pushed her--hard--onto the bed and quickly straddled her. He began pinching her nipples again which made her writhe beneath him in a way that drove him to the edge of his desire. He slid down her body and parted her legs, then brought his tongue to her perfect wetness and stroked her hard clit, just on the very top of her hood, all the while pinching and turning her nipples. She started shaking, and cried out, begging to be given release: she never came without permission. Although he was almost disappointed he had only been able to touch her like that for less than a minute, he knew she couldn't hold back, and he was not a cruel man, no matter how soundly he beat her. He assented and as she was still pulsing with the orgasmic contractions, he pulled himself up her body again and plunged the length of his cock into her eager shining wetness.

She cried out again at the force of his entry and went momentarily limp as he began to push himself in to the hilt. He held her tightly and moved so perfectly within her that she was soon barely more than a puddle of mewing cries beneath him. He loved to take her long and hard...and long...but knew she could never take as much as he could give. Using her was one thing: keeping her fit for use another. He reached down and grabbed her hair on either side of her head, pinioning her to the bed with her curls. He thrust ever harder and growled out: "You're mine, Little one, be ready for me," and as she strained forward to meet his animal lust, he reached the top of his climb and tumbled in ecstacy into her waiting abyss. He collapsed on top of her and breathed in the mingled scent of their powerful love, nearly nodding off until he felt the tiniest nudge from her long fingers and heard her hoarse whisper, "What's for dessert?"

He roared with laughter and kissed her again, snuggling in beside her and mock wrestling her down the length of his body till her face was pressed into his crotch. "Careful, what you ask for, Little one..."