The Package Home

Dedicated to my husband, Isaac (AKA Ian from my other stories) I miss you , Master.

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I went the mail box not thinking anything of particular importance would be inside it. But there it was a key... I took the key out and opened the lower package box to find another box from him, my Master. Thinking it would be no more then magazines again I took it inside and opened it up. The first thing that hit me was the soft almost faded scent. I leaned in and looked in the box, which was not at all spectacular. It was a simple flat rate box much like all of the others that he had been sending things home in.

But there nestled in the top of the box was a roll of brown fabric, and suddenly I knew where his faded scent was coming from. I pulled the t-shirts from the box with a small smile, consigning the rest of the box's innumerable contents to wait on the counter, as I buried my face in the simple shirts. These shirts had recently been close to his skin, clinging to him on hot days, the sweat molding them to his moderately defined chest. No matter how many washings they may have been through his scent still clung to them.

All at once my mind and emotions were suddenly peaceful as I breathed in his scent and yet the heady, if faded, masculine scent of him clinging to the material rushed through my veins like fire. I felt myself growing warm and wet at the scent, that was all to familiar and yet so missed over the last 7 months. His scent had wafted to me as I wandered through our home over the last 7 months since he had been home on leave. It was like a ghost following me, hounding my frustrated steps, driving me to try (with little success mind you) to satisfy the need that scent brought to life in me.

I knew today would be no different, save one thing, I had his scent on something. It was captured forever in these simple shirts he wears beneath his uniform. I wandered over to our small forest green velvet loveseat and fell back onto it with a sigh, his shirts still clutched to my face. I don't remember removing my pants, or my shirt for that matter. That is how much his scent affects me. All I know is that I have to sate this burning need that fills ever inch of my being, that need to cum for him.

My hand drifts down my body stopping briefly to tug lightly at my silver nipple rings, much as I knew he would do with his teeth if he were here. Visions of his playful green eyes, looking up, at me as he tugs on the rings fills my mind much as his scent fills my nose. I see him teasing me, that arrogant, yet loving smile playing across his lips as he tugs a little harder eliciting a deep throated moan from me. As my hand finally drifts lower across my belly, and down across my smooth shaven mound in my mind it is his lips, his hands that caress and torment me. I gently stroke my smooth, damp outer lips much as he would, with a teasing lightness that makes me groan.

It is pure torture but is exactly as he would do it, and knowing this heightens my fantasy, my visions of him even more, while at the same time it drives me to near sobbing in need. Finally my finger slips past my lips, and with that first gentle caress across my lips I am lost completely to a fantasy of him....

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He presses my thighs apart with a determined look up into my eyes. There is no denying him what he wants. I know this, have always known this. I am his, his possession, his wife, his lover, his mistress, his whore. My back arches at the first feel of his hot wet tongue across my clit. He makes it a speedy torture as he works relentlessly on the small bud, bringing me to gasping and arching in mere moments. Then his mouth travels down, his fingers stretching open my entrance, his tongue delving deep into me gathering the wetness he has caused in me. I hear his deep masculine groan and answer it in kind with a groan of my own.

He devours me for what seems like forever, his tongue seeking ever deeper inside of me, my body arching to his mouth, begging him to stop, and begging him for more all in one panted breath. Then he releases me just short of my orgasm. He is suddenly crawling up my body in a smooth, predatory movement that reminds me of our shared animal, the tiger. The gleam in his eyes is a feral one, and yet even as he drives ruthlessly into me there is love, and worship. I know my eyes reflect the same. My legs come up to encase his body even as my inner muscles pull him at him, convulse around him at my bidding. I watch the smoldering heat, pure unadulterated lust for me gleam in his deep green eyes as he possesses me fully, his body thrusting, pounding, into mine. I gasp and cry out to feel him so much deeper then any other lover I have had in my life.

He pulls me over so that I am on top of him, straddling him.

"Ride me.." he growls as he grabs my hips.

I move, first in long slow grinds and then in long slow strokes, taking both of our pleasures to new heights. Suddenly for a moment I am in control as his eyes close and his will releases me, because of the sensations I cause in him. I move up to the tip of his cock and bob there for a moment, then take him back in with a torturously slow downward stroke, inch by tantalizing inch, taking my time as I slide him back in. His body arches up trying to force his way quickly back in, but I keep my body poised above him. We both know this game well, this is my dominance over him. Finally I have him fully inside once more, I grind my body into his, rubbing my clit across the rough hairs that coat his groin. Quickly I move back up before he can take control again. Once more only the head of him is inside of me. But this time instead of a slow torturous slide back down, I slam him home, smiling at his gasp and the feel of his long fingered rough hands gripping my hips to tightly. I quickly move back up and give him another long slow decent. Finally he can take no more and takes the lead again.

His green eyes bore into my blue ones with a look so primal so heated I nearly melt and again am struck with the realization of why he is Master and I am his slave. He uses his hands to make me grind down hard onto him, increasing the feeling of pressure, and pleasured pain deep inside of me at having him so deep, deeper then any other man. The sensation of this as well as my clit constantly rubbing across his rough hair sends me spiraling nearly out of control.

"Cum for me, my little whore.." He growls softly. When I do not immediately give into his demands he shouts his demand again. "CUM!!!"

I have no choice now. His command sends me over that dark precipice into le petite mort, the little death. I explode around his thick, hard cock. I feel him pulse deep within me and know that he is not far behind me, the feeling of my wetness coating him to much for him to bear. I feel his cum shoot deep into my womb, filling me, soon to spill out around his thickness as it slides out but for now trapped inside of my. It is much like having a heated water hose shoved to my very core as he bursts within me, my insides awash in it.

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As I cum, my face buried in his t-shirt I realize it was just another fantasy, one that is not to be for at least another month. The realization slams into me with the force of a freight train and I am left with nothing to do but curl on my side and cry, my tears staining his t-shirt.