Crying Not Allowed

He has been gone too long. The girl, His girl, idly looks out the window at the darkening sky, wondering where He is now on His journey. she says a quiet prayer to His health, as one palm presses to the cool glass. Water slowly streaks from under the warmth of her hand as the frost beneath it melts. she blows lightly and watches the ice magically make way for her eye to peer out into the night. Idly, she scratches His name with her nail among the frost paintings, then leans forward, breathing softly as she inhales her memory of Him. He has been gone too long.

The quiet absorbs her until she is one with the small room she is in. He made a small house, compact and air tight against the cold winter winds that bluster and boast of their strength. she made it cozy, with furs shining on the floor, around the hearth, near the pot of coffee that brews always for Him. Even when He is gone. The rich aroma dances around her, melding with the rich smell of spices and herbs dried and hanging from the beam in the cooking area. One room with a small alcove is the Home He built and the Home she tends. Usually, there is the music of her chatter, His quiet voice responding, and laughter that bounces off the walls. Tonight, the quiet absorbs her.

A longing fills the girl, aziza is her name. she thinks of His hands, calloused from the tools He uses, the wood He builds with ~ those hands stroking and taking what He owns. There is no greater feeling than looking into His eyes, ice blue burning with a passionate heat, as He touches the softness of her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the heated cleft between her thighs. There is no greater giving than that which a slave gives her Master. she had been owned before, but never had she known how to give until this Master took her. Warily, she had approached Him, offering Him what she had offered All before. she had a haughty air, and a detachment as she served Him in His furs and out of them. Slowly, He took down her wall. He is a Builder and walls are no mystery to Him. He named her aziza. aziza. The name is part of her now, not because she holds it dear because it is the handle to the cup she has become for Him. His vessel to fill and drink from ~ she slowly became His. Now, a longing fills her as she waits.

He told her not to cry while He was away. He forbade it. His fingers stroked her cheek as His words of instruction were committed to memory. No crying, no release until the need to cry is too great. Then, and only then, bring herself pleasure with her mind on Him, pushing the tears away. Then she was to know He was the One stroking and forcing her to climb higher to reach what she so desires. His fingers were the ones pinching, tugging, twisting, marking her pale flesh. she was to remember those words, to do what He always instructs her, to keep His Home warm and safe, to tend to His property. Above all else, He reminded her not to cry while He was away.

her breath caught in her throat as she was reminded of His words ~ His order. One tear, lonely as she was, slid down her face as she peered into the darkness. His voice resonated inside her, "NO! Do as I instructed, aziza!" she swallowed the sob that threatened to fly from her throat as she pulled the shirt from her body, pressing her breasts to the cold ice of the window. her arms slid high above her head as fingers and palms pressed again to the glass. she remained still, feeling the chill enter her nipples, making them throb for His touch of fingers and lips. The cold penetrated to make a throb in the nubs that matched the throb of her heart. A dull ache filled her as her breath caught in her throat.

A need for Him fills her and over powers her. Fingers clumsily opened the jeans that encased rounded hips, she pushed them to her knees. Feeling them constrain her as she spread her legs wide, wider, wider then pushing her ass out as if in invitation to Him. her hand moved down the cold window, fingertips pressing to the glass, chilling them then moving to the juncture between her legs. They pushed into her heated cunt. The contrast of temperatures making her gasp out loud. His hand was the one reaching, His fingers now the ones stroking. aziza's head fell back as deep green eyes closed, full lips part in the wonder of His touch. she inhales Him as He consumes her. The jeans fall to the floor as she stands, pushing at them, shunning them in the need to feel Him over her. The need over powers her.

Gasping for air, she falls to His furs as the fine hairs sensuously stroke the sensitive skin of her back. her body arches as legs fall wide open. Long strands of hair tangle about her shoulders and face. Tears are forgotten as she pushes into His pussy, fingers pressing deep, filling the tight heat, stretching the tightness. Deeper she plunges them, hips lifting and rocking as she matches the thrusts. The fire joins the movement of her body, casting shadows and heating her further. Sheer need fills her as she sucks air, fucks body and exists for the moment. His cock slams her, pounds the tender flesh. His fingers hold the body tightly, bruising creamy thighs, breasts and arms as His mouth feeds on her flesh. Nips and bites drive her higher. No brand needed, His mark distinctive to show Ownership. she gasps for air as He fucks her on His furs.

Thoughts of Him overwhelm her, bringing Him to her to use as He so often does. she rides on Him, climbing His pole with the liquid vortex He drives into. she sears Him, burning His flesh with molten desire. Screams fill the small Home, red fills her mind, His cock fills her cunt, pleasure fills her senses. Arms lift to cradle Him, to stroke His face, touch the pulse of His neck, slide over His back to His ass, stroking and touching, feeling Him rut above her. His breath is hot in her mouth, tongues clashing, drinking from each other, deep moans exchanged. Faster they move, faster His body thrusts into her, cream covering Him, the scent filling the air. she is more than His slave ~ she is His bitch, His whore, His slut, His entertaining toy. Tears, again, slide down her face, but now tears of being overcome by physical pleasure. she pants as if in heat as thoughts of Him overwhelm her.

Moving toward a crescendo, her body dances the primal dance of need. It worms over the furs, thrashing under Him, joined to Him by His pole ~ His cock. And she arches one last time, trembling as she remains otherwise still, lifted under Him. Crashing through a barrier of feeling, riding high on the wings of pure decadance, she releases under His bellowing command. Whimpering as the feelings course through her and her body is cleansed by the eruption of the climax. she cums. she moves beyond the crescendo, the dance stilling as she falls to the furs.

aziza lies still, breasts moving as she gulps for air. The green eyes open and look to the fire as He slips away into the shadows. she pulls her cream covered fingers free and cleans them as she would her Master. Thoughtfully, she gazes to the dancing flames until she drifts to sleep. she lies still.