No Compunction

"I have no compunction in telling you that whatever else you owe, silk, you are indebted to the tune of five hundred words," he determined, sitting down on the garden bench.

"I love the feel of the damp grass," she intimated, as she walked across the lawn and onto the patio, her arms full of freshly cut flowers. "You know that sensation -- the cool, moist blades springing up underneath bare soles. Can the five hundred words not wait?"

"It isn't damp anymore," he commented. The sun had been shining for several hours that morning. As a result the ground had dried out and he could no longer see the squashed grass that marked out her footprints. "And the words can wait for now."

"Thank you, sir. And that's what makes the patio a delicious contrast," she smiled, reaching down to pick up a couple of the cut flowers that had spilled from her arms. The sandstone paving slabs seemed warmer to the touch of her hand and coarser than when she felt the heat on the ball of her foot.

"You shouldn't wander around barefoot like that," he criticised, putting the paper down and staring at the assortment of multi-coloured buds that she deposited before him on the conservatory table. He picked up a yellow rose and twirled it in his hand.

"Why? Do you find it undignified?"

"You are hardly a child of nature and you never know what is lurking in the long grass."

"I'll take my chances, if you don't mind."

"I do mind."

"You worry too much; even so, it's terribly sweet of you. Look: now that the mist has cleared today at last, can we go somewhere today? I've been so looking forward to some decent weather."

"As you say it's going to be a fine day. Let's profit from it."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"I thought that we could ride out across the fields and down to the woods by the river."

"That sounds like a plan."

"At least it's a way of keeping you from cutting your soles to ribbons."

"Let me sort these flowers out first."

"Can't you leave that to your maid?"

"Karenita?"

"Yes."

"Will she not ride out with us then?"

"I had thought to have you to myself."

"You've had me more times than you could possibly know, sir."

"Have you been dreaming in the dew again?"

"I was thinking about last night actually."

"Ah yes...last night..."

Yes indeed, that last night had been a complete contrast to the relaxed banter of the morning, but the evenings were his to do what he willed with her.

Silk recalled that she hadn't even had time to utter any greeting before he was upon her, pressing her head down. She knew the sensation well before he imposed it upon her: that familiar slight ache in her shoulders, as she resisted at first and then she was down before him, crouching, kneeling -- positioned.

Moments later she was watching his hands tugging impatiently at his belt buckle and the buttons being pulled open before her face. She had had a reckless urge to click her tongue as he extracted his sex, but had thought better of it, choosing rather to run her finger down the inside of his thigh, pressing her nail against his leg, wanting him to feel her.

Silk would never just be passive: it was not enough to let herself observe as he rubbed his sex with thumb and forefinger. She could be patient: waiting for him to press himself against her lips, rubbing backwards and forwards along her lips, but that was not the same as total abject surrender.

It was easy to recollect how that male flesh felt against her. It was easy to lean forward and tempt him. And it was equally easy to wait for him to satisfy his need: she had been enjoyed this way many times before.

She was only too familiar with the way that ephemeral softness would soon be replaced by the hardening force and the pushing of his groin, as his member grew and slid between her lips, against her teeth into the warmth of her mouth, pressing against the fleshy centre of her tongue.

His hand had rested on the top of her head as he slid forwards easily. She tasted his desire as his cock rode over her tongue and almost touched the back of her throat. Knowing that the gag reflex was but a few millimetres away, she drew back and then held still, waiting for him to draw back too.

She looked up at him, her head slightly tilted to one side, doing her best to look quizzical. Opening her eyes wide, she blinked slowly and looked up at him, her mouth filled with his expanding member. As she sensed him lowering his other hand and felt his fingers pressing against her jaw, squeezing her cheeks, she knew he was ready to make her accommodate him in the way that would maximise his pleasure: the way he preferred.

The room had not been well-lit, but it didn't matter. The flickering candle lamps had sufficed.

She was certain that he needed no illumination to light up the thoughts that were crossing her mind as he began to pull away from her and then suddenly thrust his length into her now receptive mouth once more. She tightened her mouth around him and heard his appreciative groan.

I'm glad you enjoy me, she thought, looking up at him, wide-eyed again, just as he liked her to be when he took her this way. She opened her mouth a little as he pulled back once more, trying to ensure that her teeth did not scrape his sex, more than the bare minimum that he allowed to accentuate his delight.

Then he was thrusting forward again and all she could see was his groin pressed to her face. She waited for his hand to reach behind her head and to press her further onto him. She liked -- no -- she loved her powerlessness at this moment.

He took control of her and used her like a possession: a simple utensil to augment his pleasure. She could lose herself in this place where a mist seemed to descend over her feelings and they were lost to sight. As they dwindled became irrelevant, the heat of their connection and the animal passion of his thrusting dominated the hour.

Silk would have liked to turn and see herself absorbing him in the mirror; but she was held to tightly. In any case, she was nervous of looking lest she start giggling to see his trousers around his legs and the apparent weakness of his shuddering frame as he took what he felt and she knew to be rightfully (and wrongfully) his.

The slickness had begun to form between them as his demands wetted her lips and her saliva adhered to his cock. She hadn't looked, but she could still remember the feel of the damp chill of cooling saliva on his member and her chin, as he pulled away from her.

Then he was back within her well-opened mouth, fucking her face, heating his cock on her breath, her saliva, her surrender. She looked up towards his face again, the questioning look gone as she took on the aspect of someone almost pleading for more.

Her fingers began to touch his thighs and flicked against his balls, holding still between each caress, as if waiting for him to growl his approval. Then she reached behind to touch his perineum...gently at first...a light stroke, a soft tickle...a minor distraction and at the same time an enhancement. Yes, she knew his preferences after these several years together.

Her hair, a dark mane devoid of colour in the shadowy room, had attracted his attention once more. He had pushed his fingers into it and lifted it up off her shoulder, the way he did when he wanted to kiss the nape of her neck. As his hand scrunched it up in his fist and tugged, she felt a tingling on the back of her neck, bared to the cool air.

The tingling had became a tension as he pulled harder drawing her upper body forward and bringing her face back to his groin once more. Then he pulled her back, making her rock on her lower legs, like a hobby horse, being trotted round the toy room of his mind.

Silk had splayed her legs to gain greater purchase and to take the pressure off her knees and her ankles. As she spread herself, she sucked him further into her mouth, letting him hear the slurp of her lips on his member.

She'd twirled her tongue at the same time to maximise the feelings that his sensitive cock-head would enjoy as it scraped along the roof of her mouth until he jetted his pleasure against the back of her throat with a further groan and a hiss of expelled air...

"Yes," he had gasped, ""I love the feel of pleasuring myself in your mouth, pet."

"And I," she had thought as she wallowed in his spending; "I will love the feel of damp grass in the morning..."

"...No pet, you will celebrate my masculinity in five hundred words on the gravel this morning," he smiled, tugged at the leash on her collar and stood up, before walking off the patio to another bench in the shade on one of the gravel paths.

"Back to that theme," Silk replied sulkily, obliged to follow given his relentless grip on her leash, feeling the gravel pressing against her bare feet.

"I warned you about bare feet."

"You're the one who should come with a health warning, sir," she pouted and crouched down besides him, disinclined to kneel in the gravel.

"I do."

"I shall start now, then."

"Now or then?"

"Now; if you are going to trifle with my words, that's going to be irritating, but it will still serve my purpose, sir."

"No."

"Yet, if you remain that succinct, you're not going to be a great help."

"I know."

"Sometimes you can be quite horrid."

"I can."

"What? You aren't even going to remind me how much I love your propensity to horridness."

"No."

"When I said horrid, did you hear me say mean as well?"

"A sub-text?"

"Yes," she grinned. "You don't mind me re-inventing history?"

"Provided you don't think it will count towards the five hundred words."

"Hey! You can't change the rules half-way through!"

"Can't I?"

"Well, yes, you can, sir; but it's most unfair."

"And since when have I been fair?"

"Since the moon was made from green cheese."

"I'm hardly arbitrary."

"Five hundred wasn't arbitrary, then, sir?"

"It was an exercise in proportionality: a punishment to fit your misdemeanour. And it begins now."

"I don't remember any misdemeanour?"

"I do."

"If you say 'I do' a third time, does that mean you have to marry me, sir?"

"No, it means you'll have trodden across all the thin ice at your disposal and are about to slide precipitously into very icy waters indeed."

"What can I do to stave off the chill, sir?"

"Get to your task, girl."

"Place the flat of my hand upon your thigh?"

"That's good."

"Rub the material longingly, feeling the heat of your body beneath my palm?"

"Well done."

"Outline your sex in my cupped hand and gasp appreciatively as if I have found a new treasure of the Sierra Madre?"

"Don't push it, you feisty witch."

"Actually I wasn't. I was thinking of squeezing, fondling and generally making much of your genitalia."

"Thank you."

"That's allowed then?"

"Yes!"

"Don't exclaim so, sir. I was just checking your parameters."

"I'll stripe your backside in a moment."

"Then my five hundred words will degenerate into nonsensical squeals and cries."

"And that will be so different from your current line in nonsense?"

"I thought I was charming you with my flirtatious ambiguity?"

"You know exactly what you were doing."

"Some people won't find this very erotic."

"Some people are cretins who can't spell or think straight."

"Yes, sir."

"Now back to the task in hand, please."

"Three hundred and eighty eight."

"Sorry?"

"I was just keeping count."

"You've had enough practice of that," he grinned and glanced across at the desk, its mahogany surface gleaming in the sunshine.

"You've never made me count that high before, sir."

"There's always a first time."

"What if I lose count?"

"What happens when you lose count after five spanks?"

"I have to start again, sir."

"The same principle applies here then."

"I don't know if I'll be fit for anything, if you indulge my derriere that much."

"Your thighs, hips and breasts can share the count. It's only fair."

"I thought fairness wasn't a consideration?"

"Sometimes you think too much, pet."

"Yay!"

"Something to celebrate?"

"I love it that the five hundredth word was 'pet'."

"Me too."

"Aren't we clever?"

"No, pet, we just are."

"That's a good thing to be, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's a very good thing."

"Did you really mean that about me thinking too much?"

"Sometimes you over-egg the pudding."

"Would you have me play the brainless bimbette more, sir?"

"That part does not fit you."

"Your part fits me."

"Well apply yourself to the fitting then."

"Haven't I done my quota yet?" She grinned, unzipping him.

"No."

"Have you changed the boundaries again without telling me?"

"I told you. You were preoccupied with counting."

"How do you judge that?"

"Your lips moved."

"That was nasty."

"No. I want to see your lips moving again, pet."

"Do you? And my tongue?"

"Yes, but I'd like less of the vocal chords."

"I thought you wanted me to celebrate your masculinity?"

"Sometimes words are unnecessary."

"Even these ones written earlier, sir?" she giggled as she leant forward and considered obliging his need.

"You were rather late with that revelation."

"It's as if I'd been dozing: I feel rather dull and stupid today."

"Whatever else you are, you don't strike me as stupid," he said as he looked up from his papers to find her standing before him, her hands clenched together and her head bowed.

So, I'm just dull then?"

"No, you're a tardy bitch in need of attention."

Her hair had fallen over her face and so he couldn't tell whether she was frowning in put-on sorrow or smiling at her previous remark. He liked such conundrums. They opened up him new options as to how to respond.

More importantly, they stopped any risk that the rapport between them growing stale as many tepid rituals between a Master and the mastered will fade over time. He was very conscious that, once a true rapport had been established, it is always relatively easy to build on that initial connection.

He was equally aware that the fabric that weaves two people together can be torn by nuances and shredded by an excessive use of force or lack of common understanding.

"Are you nervous?" He ventured.

"I'm as nervous as a cat right now and well you know it, sir."

"Concerned about the sort of attention that I might choose to give you now morning drifts into afternoon?"

"You shouldn't get up so late if you don't want to lose your mornings sir."

"And you shouldn't make comments like that if you don't want to revisit the St Andrew's cross and feel the whip across your shoulders."

"I'll try not to."

"Try harder."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm too lazy to tie you there anyhow."

"I know you too well to have too many anxieties on that front, even if I'm unclear where you are leading me right now."

"What do you want: something more incisive to give you less room for manoeuvre; and less space for conversational dead-ends to insert themselves?"

"That could be helpful."

"Sometimes I like to see you stew, though."

"You can be cruel."

"And yet you desire my association all the more despite that tendency."

Silk snorted, refusing to be drawn. The she pressed her chin down and appeared to close herself off from him. Silence reigned, save for the quiet ticking of the large floral clock laid out beautifully in all its summer splendour on the grassy hillock behind them.

Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out everything other than this metronomic sound. She thought back on how it had provided a backdrop to the several whippings that she had begged or teased from him.

Then silk heard him get up from the garden bench and felt him stand in front of her. The sound of his soft breath seemed to wrap around her consciousness. It exiled the clock to a mere background sound that measured their time together.

As she felt his fingers under her chin, forcing her head back up, she kept her eyes resolutely closed, wanting to show some defiance.

In fact, she only finally opened them when her neck was so arched that she knew she would be staring directly into his pupils. He would feel the full impact of her unwavering gaze.

The calculation was born of experience. He stood several inches taller than her petite frame. It was a distance that pleased them both -- far enough to hold back and to assert himself should he wish to; near enough to lean down and kiss away her worries were he to choose so to do.

He watched the ghost of a smile fading from her features as she stared almost defiantly up at him: "are you daring me to take the offensive, pet?"

"That's for you to say and me to obey."

"Then you might care to reveal more of the territory to be assaulted, instead of seeking to please me with incautious rhymes."

"Yes sir."

"It might be my way to beat about the bush..."

"You are always welcome to beat about my bush, sir," she interrupted him, rather less than coyly.

"Maybe you should lose that very fetching skirt shortly and then spread the legs that frame the wispy covering you glorify with the name of bush, but first open the blouse: your cleavage revealed is always pleasing."

She partly unbuttoned the blouse, looking up at him briefly as each button was loosed, as if to ask him permission for further revelation. He reached across to her and parted the blouse opening her intimacy up to his gaze and then sat back down to observe her.

"Why is said blouse only almost unbuttoned, pet?"

"I was too busy being gauche."

"When I ask you to be gauche, then you may be as gauche as I wish. When I ask you to start getting naked I do not expect half measures."

"Forgive my temerity."

"I'll forgive your temerity after I have punished you for it."

"Thank you," she responded quietly, finally stripping off the blouse and her silken bra.

"Nice breasts. Offer them up to me."

"Like this, held up in my hands, the bra cups stretched?"

"Exactly like that -- you show off your chest admirably. I can hardly resist smacking your tits and pinching the nipples."

"Please don't hold back on my account, sir."

"I most certainly will not. I wouldn't want the lady dominates disappointed, pet: all your blushing would be in vain were your public exposure to be passed over."

"My face feels hot."

"And how do your tits feel?"

"Slightly achy"

"Only slightly achy?"

"It's a start, sir."

"I'll slap them a bit harder then."

"If it pleases you..."

"It does."

"Ouch. Ouch... Ouchie!"

"Did that hurt, pet?"

"Yes -- quite a lot, actually"

"You deserved it. In fact you needed it.Now put the bra back on."

A few minutes passed in near silence, before he nodded his head. At that signal she reached down and tugged at the decorative belt that he had presented her with earlier that day. It was thick, leather and embroidered with intricate patterns. She was more than certain that he had chosen it for more than decorative purposes.

There was bound to be a moment when he would be asking it of her with a view to patterning her with it, were she to be too feisty. Silk shrugged her shoulders and thought to herself 'so, be it' as she slipped the belt off, folded it over and lifted it up to offer it to him.

"Thank you for the offering."

"I was just rendering unto Caesar," she teased lightly. "I was also thinking that there's always a sort of logic in your presents, sir."

"I know, but would that be an inexorable logic?"

"No: it's a delicious, mad logic that is uniquely yours, sir," she giggled and was mildly relieved to see that he was chuckling with her. She was not quite familiar enough with all his nuances to tell when he could be pushed and how far he could be pushed yet.

Even so, she was happy with the atmosphere of uncertainty this generated. It sometimes added a delicious angst to their exchanges and brought confrontations to a sudden end, when she found herself upended, draped over a conveniently located piece of furniture and brought back to where, these days, she was most happily located.