Drama Fans

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A Master and his pet prepare for an evening at the theater.
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RisiaSkye
RisiaSkye
91 Followers

Tom sat forward on the black leather couch; Barbara knelt at her husband's feet. Having her hands cuffed behind her back put her off balance and forced her to rely on him to keep her upright; it also allowed Tom to position her body as he wanted it. One thick hand wound through her long blonde hair, steadying her with his strength and reminding her of his control. His other hand reached down between her slightly spread legs, and slid up between the thighs she could not close due to the spreader bar between her ankles. His touch made her moan; when he connected with her clit, it was sweet torture, and she pleaded with him.

"Please...please, Sir, can I come?" She didn't know if she could stop herself from having an orgasm, not if he kept touching her like this. Even untouched, just the weight of the chain connecting her nipples, the thin steel dangling from her piercings, was enough to make her crazy with need. She was far beyond silence and well into the pliable, responsive state she both craved and endured. She was his, as they both knew from the start she would be; the Barbara the world knew had now gone away, and in her place was a sex-driven animal that only her Sir really knew, a wantonly sexual creature that only Tom could tame.

He smiled in amusement, coupled with just a hint of annoyance. She was so attuned to him that even this tiny glimmer of disapproval from him hurt her somehow; it felt like failure. "No, pet. It's not time yet. I have a special plan for us tonight."

He'd been teasing her for more than an hour--bringing her to the edge of orgasm with a wide range of loving caresses: droplets off ice cubes rolled down her body, pinpoints of molten fire dripped from burning candles, needle-thin stripes from a freshly oiled rattan cane, the staccato rhythm of his hands on her ass, the electric heat of his voice in her ear, so in control, so aware of her every breath. Even for her inventive and patient Sir, this was a stretching of limits; in Barb, the craving for more sensations struggled against her body's ache for the completion it could only find with his cock buried deep inside her as they came together, the desire for orgasm fought against the need to submit. The intensity of their mutual pleasure was produced there, in the struggle between contradictory desires.

She nearly lost consciousness more than once from the exquisite agony of the edge, riding the teetering brink of orgasm. She had long since lost track of her inarticulate pleas for release, how many times she had begged for his cock in her mouth, or anywhere he wanted it so long as it was inside of her; once again she was hungry for more than he was willing to give. It was her job to push back against him, to reach him inside the wall of his control and convince him to fuck her with the wild ferocity they both craved, and the only way to do that was to surrender herself to his whims and become his living fantasy, his toy. He manipulated her body and emotions, but she lived his thoughts, was inside his mind just as much as he could ever penetrate her body.

It was an exchange of gifts, a very lasting and real intimacy based in negotiation and mutual acceptance. They called it play, but it wasn't an immature act, nor a diversion or game. In reality it was a play, like theater--Tom dressed the stage, they both knew their roles and yet, like the most inspired of actors, they found new life in their roles, their characters, every time they came together to perform. Sex was the stage on which they acted out their complementary natures, learned about each other's fears and fantasies and most private thoughts, and showed each other the purest of loves--that which is based in honesty, untempered by judgements. Tom typically set the scene, but it was a play they both knew well; husband and wife would work to draw the best possible performance from each other again tonight, as they did every night they came together on this stage.

Tom responded to her plaintive moans of hunger, always, with a hint of mockery in his voice. "Well, aren't you eager? Quite the little slut, aren't you?" The words were familiar, as though she'd been waiting for them all along.

And as always, she panted out the agreement they both wanted to hear. Even in her dazed state, the words came, automatic. "Yes, Sir. Yes. For you. Your little slut."

At this he smiled in satisfaction, the twin flares of lust and power burning right into her, she saw it--emanating light from his green eyes. "Well, my little slut, we are far from finished. We're going out tonight. Or have you forgotten?"

Barbara was nearly out of herself, she could barely keep hold of the details of their immediate surroundings; to her, there wasn't any world beyond the two of them. What could He mean? She tried to focus on the question, but his fingers pushed inside of her, stretching her inner walls and making it impossible to think, much less to respond.

"You *have* forgotten, I can see it." He tsk-tsked her, mocking her again with his voice. His tone made her feel even more exposed somehow--as though she was naked, trapped, and now judged to be unworthy. Barb's ego was suddenly paying attention again, and as she became self-conscious she could feel herself start to blush, the heat of her shame spread quickly up her neck and across her face. Her embarassment made her look away from him.

But Tom wouldn't let her break free so easily. He tugged sharply on the hair still wound around his hand. "Look at me, little slut."

She did. She always did, when told.

"You should be grateful to have me here to take care of you. Just let that slut cunt get a little wet, and suddenly you can't keep a few simple plans in your simple head. You'd be lost without me. Don't forget that."

The words pushed at her, almost daring her to withstand being humiliated further, and in that mental twist she could never understand, his arrogance only inflamed her lust more. His pride and strength made him radiant in her lust-soaked vision of him; she knew she would do most anything to satisfy his demands, although part of her longed for rebellion. But she didn't rebel; when he pushed her to go further in to her submission, she pulled back against him, drawing from him the strongest and most giving Dominant he could be. Tom was hers as much as she was his, even if neither of them acknowledged that flip-side often, and his mastery of her was more than her position, more too than the fact that he was fully clothed while she was naked before him. He was an idol, there to be worshipped by her, his humbled pet. He always did this to her, for her. It was magic, pure and simple, the way he got inside her head and manipulated her mind for their mutual pleasure.

His voice was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. "We have theater tickets, little pet. I'm taking you out for the evening. It's time to get dressed."

Suddenly, Barbara was pulled--no, snapped--back to earth. She couldn't have heard him properly, she knew it. They were done? Even through his jeans and his arrogant air, she knew he was aroused; it was in his voice as much as it was there before her eyes, pressed against denim. He couldn't really mean...

Tom saw her confusion and silently congratulated himself. It was going to be a long night indeed, for both of them. Stopping himself from touching her pliant and totally receptive body was difficult, more difficult than he could ever let her know. The struggle for him was against his own desire. Mastering Barb meant controlling his own lust as well as hers, and in truth it was often tougher to control his own passions than it was to push her toward the deepest levels of her sensuality. But this unvoiced struggle was well worth it; he was as confident of that as he was of her submission to his will.

While his little one stammered weak glimmers of protest, he knelt to unfasten the spreader and free her legs. In practiced motions, he also removed the anklets and unlocked the handcuffs; the actions enticed him to appreciate the erotic sight of Barb's pale skin against black leather and chrome, inflaming him with resumed lust. It had only taken fifteen seconds and her body was now free from his control; her chains had been unlocked, but Tom knew that her mind would take longer to free itself. Right now, she was his slave in her own heart and would have done most anything for him, and the sadist in him wanted to his power to push her further down in every way. This was his struggle; he appreciated the great gift that she gave him in her submission and loved her deeply, but when she was naked and helplessly ensnared in her body's responses to his control, it took every shred of his willpower to reign in his desire to fuck her in every way he could imagine, at that very second.

They needed to get ready, and he had big plans for their evening. But it wasn't easy to pull himself back at the same time that he had to carefully maintain the sex-hazed emotional state he'd created in Barb. The urgency of his own suppressed lust fought against his desire to bring her the greatest pleasure possible--the longer the tension built, the greater the release would be. His total empowerment triggered a series of contradictions as he was tempted to use her selfishly and grow drunk on his own power, but the very temptation made him feel strangely guilty--it was as if he became a self-critical god.

Seeing her now-released body still kneeling, her stiff nipples linked by a thin chain between them, thighs slightly damp with the musk of her overheated pussy, the struggle for self-control pulled him further into the web of Dominant headspace--it was his mindfuck to know that while he could have her any and every way he wanted, his love for the woman actually made him want to humiliate, violate, and manipulate her. Because he wanted to give pleasure to the woman he loved and needed to truly know that he'd done so, he sought the reassurance of seeing her writhing in the throes of orgasm; the more she was turned on, the more certain he was of himself and the more he played her body and mind joyfully. But the sight of her arousal and pleasure stoked his own body to frenzy as well, and he could only control the animal need to fuck by spreading some of his frustration out onto her.

He wanted, craved, the opportunity to touch her any way he desired or even considered, and he could well have done it--but he wanted it while she begged and pleaded for more. Barbara's Master needed to hear her loving it when he fucked her pussy and ass, see her desire coupled with guilty glints of humiliation when he looked into her eyes while telling her what a beautiful, perfect little slut she was. Tonight, he was going to tease her into a sexual frenzy and keep her self-conscious the whole time, feeding her an endless stream of contradictory feelings. She'd be his, completely his.

This was their dance, their performance, and their secret. Tonight he would take her out in public, where only the two of them would--or could--know what passed between them; why the air was charged with sexual tension; why Barbara would blush when he whispered in her ear. Mustering his will-power, he calmed his body's raging lust enough to help his pet into her loveliest dress. She was starting to come back to herself, but he wasn't letting her go so easily.

She was forbidden to wear panties on most occasions, but on this night he wanted her teased further, so he had her stand still as he knelt at her feet and slid the tiniest scrap of lace he could find up her smooth legs. The soft drape of her gown bunched around his wrists as he slid them up over her hips as he rose to his feet.

As he slid the thin strings into place, his deep voice lowered to a hot whisper in her ear. "Every time you feel this," he tugged at the V where the material came together at the top of her ass, "you'll think of me. You'll wish it was me touching you, that you could feel my hands on you instead of this. And you'll remember who you belong to, won't you, little slut?"

Her breathing grew shallower as his words inflamed her again. "Yes, Sir."

"And whose are you, pet?"

"Yours, Sir. Always yours."

He pulled back from her slightly to look into her eyes. One hand still under her dress and on her still-exposed ass, he moved the other up to gently cup her chin and tilt her face up to him. "Good girl." His voice was tender and full of love. "Such a good girl." He kissed her gently. "Now, go finish getting ready. We don't want to be late, do we?"

To be continued?...

RisiaSkye
RisiaSkye
91 Followers
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  • COMMENTS
2 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 15 years ago
Very well written

Loved it. Made so much sense between the connection of Dom and sub. Keep writing!

Salvor-HardonSalvor-Hardonover 17 years ago
Yes Continue!

I'm surprised you even asked if it should. You have set such a remarkable stage it would be a shame not to let your players act there.

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