and very casually
the door closes behind
her. Smart, sexy girl draped
around her pretty, scarred fingers.
Each one pricked and bled a thousand times,
Eager for another momentary dash of bright, surly pain –
another drop of scarlet Red. Ignoring their
taskmaster, wandering far instead,
her fingers roam the demure,
soft and tender,
subordinate
body
at her appointment,
her direction.
She unlaces
her Apprentice – narrow, curved,
and beautiful.
The dress falls away from her.
Stubborn and willful,
it chokes her, but
soon
The corset loosens,
then both playfully giggle
and wiggle
their asses.
An
Ashen
Dress of silk
Falls to the floor.
Perfect chocolate lace, remains
while her gown lays discarded,
unwanted, forgotten,
for a moment.
The last,
the very last thing
that she removes, is the
coffee black silk of
her panties...
But she leaves
the glasses.
Their layers stripped wildly away
now, bodies exposed, nude, and
aroused the Girl's nakedness
shows plainly her secrets,
unconcealed by color,
textile or trend...
Hot, steaming
breath freezes solid,
alike the icicle jutting from
twixt the younger woman's thighs.
All which matters to Mistress, who kneels
now before her secret, is whether the dress will fit.
Underwear in hand, the Mistress
holds the stiffness of her friend,
wrapping flesh in fabric. Forcing
silken cloth to twist and bend,
Roughly she
stokes her young
Apprentice' desires,
furiously channeling,
chasing her in the revel
of passion with, tormenting
and teasing with panties meant
to break, and mend.
Almost too much.
Head spinning in a new town,
with new shoes, new pearls,
new needles and thread.
The lace and weave rolling over
the soft head of her is intense.
Far, far too much to take
after a
night out
in a new gown.
Flashes of wet, white pleasure
fill her head.
Girl stumbles, so
Mistress guides her
toward a chair,
for lack of a bed.
Smart and Sexy sits straight down,
knowing what is next, feeling what she
loves from Mistress, Master, Lady and Lover:
A skill, a power or enchantment, as though she has
an extra joint!
The smooth silk of her panties coils round
the young woman's aching, hard,
slippery, pole, and the
blood of her
boils,
forcing her to the
surface of herself,
nearing
the screaming point.
The calm cool of evening
has filled the upstairs with
Jasmine of the night garden.
A full moon
wages a battle of cool,
constant luminescence against the
flickering warmth of lantern's light, bathes
body in shadow and fire and sky together and at once...
The combat
casts their senses
to gale, to fury and back,
brings her closer, closer still
to the edge of joy, of a lover's bliss,
and then...
it happens.
The candles go out,
and
Everything stops.
Birds stop flying.
