He sat by the window, whiskey glass in hand, dark with an expensive spirit. Raindrops streaked down the pane, rivulets racing to their doom. Lightning illuminated dark clouds, thunder announcing the storm's presence. A night truly not fit for man nor beast, yet here he was, master of all he could see, wondering what might happen if he ventured out. Perhaps to his own doom? That would be a blessing, as he contemplated how casually, how completely, how utterly, he had destroyed his reason for living.

What good were worldly possessions? Wealth beyond imagination, uncountable hectares of land, and all that came with them? Men (and women) of power sought his counsel. His opinion influenced the economies of sovereign nations. But now, none of that mattered anymore. His life was a shambles, totally destroyed in the blink of an eye, all in one careless moment.

Arrogant bastard! How could he think he could treat her like that, use her that way? She had become the love of his life, her mere presence lifting his spirits when the world was dragging him down. And now she was gone, perhaps for good.

He recalled their first meeting. She was a newly hired secretary, a recent college graduate. Although twenty years his junior, he sensed that she was different, someone special. In deportment, she was consummately professional, properly and primly dressed, deferential to him and his business associates. Yet he felt that there was something within her, a lioness waiting to be unleashed. He became intrigued by her and elevated her to his personal assistant.

As time went by, the line between employer and employee began to blur, until they functioned more as a team. She took to herself many of the more mundane tasks, leaving him those which demanded his personal attention. She became the gatekeeper, screening his appointment requests, disposing those she could, denying others she decided were unimportant, and passing on the ones he must deal with himself. Some thought they could go around her. They soon discovered a most unpleasant fact: she had his absolute trust, and his rejection was much more unpleasant than hers.

It was inevitable their relationship would become physical. He persisted, she demurred, but the irresistible force ultimately overcame the immovable object. It happened in Las Vegas, where he had mediated a cooperation agreement between two multinational corporations. She sat behind, on his right side. During a particularly complex exchange, she leaned in and whispered a suggestion into his ear, a deduction from watching one principal's associate's reaction to the negotiations. They would concede a critical point if pressed, she said. And when he pressed that point, they relented and a compromise was struck. The negotiation succeeded.

The reception following was the prelude. Standing among the principals, he captured her eyes from across the room. His look told her she was the reason for their success. Her slight smile and faint blush acknowledged his praise.

Later, he asked her to his room. There, he spoke plainly of his feelings. He was infatuated with her. He knew he was older, but he would be honored to be her lover.

He could tell from her reaction that she was not surprised by his confession, but she made no decision. She asked for time to consider, and she would give him her reply presently. She then left for her room.

He was distraught. Had he overstepped? Had he insulted her? Here he was, so many years her senior, pursuing a woman so much younger, hoping she would accept him as her lover. How could he be so arrogant?

And yet, the next morning, when they met in the elevator, she took his hands and greeted him with a kiss on the lips. No words were spoken, everything that needed to be said was done with her eyes.

When they returned home, she moved into apartments in his manor, and into his bedroom.

And that night, the lioness was unleashed.

She came to him, not as an assistant to an employer, but as a predator taking her prey. Unclothed, she was a marvel of feminine beauty, the huntress advancing on her quarry. She made short work of his raiment, to a primal stage where woman and man are equal. She bore him down to the bed, feasting on his lips, his breasts, his umbilicus, his cock. She elicited his first ejaculate. Holding his gaze, she swallowed, eyes blazing as her tongue made a sensuous circuit of her lips. She then redoubled her oral effort, revitalizing his erection.

She mounted him, riding him hard, telling him how much his cock was pleasuring her. Again and again she brought him to the edge, only to pause before his completion. Now he took control, rolling her to her back, holding her hips and driving himself into her with savage thrusts. Her cries of ecstasy as she peaked brought his own climax. In the aftermath, they lay together in silence.

Their public personas remained the same, the master and his employee. At the end of the day, they slipped into their private identities, each transforming to complement the desires of the other.

As time went by, they began to share their fantasies. His was as a royal, serviced by a courtesan. She would attend him, her fingers, lips, and tongue pleasuring him. She became intimately familiar with his body, learning all his pleasure centers and how to best exploit them. She knew exactly when to transform into the lioness, consuming him, bringing him complete and total gratification.

He was delighted to find hers was as a submissive. She wore her exotic jewelry proudly. Pierced nipples, always at the ready. Pierced clit, so easily stimulated and responsive. Employing different toys that brought her mounting pleasure until she cried for relief, relief he enthusiastically provided.

It was during one of those sessions where everything changed.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The storm intensified its fury. Booming thunder, howling winds hurling raindrops against the windowpanes, the sound of pistol shots as they smashed against them, muzzle flashes of crashing lightning.

He never knew the cause. He had been jarred from his lust-induced trance when she suddenly shrieked in agony and delivered a full-force, open-hand slap, watering his eyes, bloodying his nose. She fled the room, her cries of pain fading as she raced to her apartments, leaving him mouth agape, blood freely flowing, staining his shirt and the carpet below.

His mind raced. He had no recollection of anything on his part that would elicit such a physical response. That she was hurt was certain. That he was the cause, likewise. But the fog of lust hid the act from his consciousness.

He strode to her door, calling to her. There was no answer. After repeated entreaties went unanswered, he returned to his bedroom and retired for the evening, intending to speak with her the next morning.

But when he arose, he found she was already gone. He sought her out at the office, but she declined his attempts as inappropriate. At the end of the day, she left alone, returning to her apartments without speaking to him.

This continued for weeks, unchanged. His sorrow became depression, affecting his business and personal dealings. He was aware of it, and could clearly see others saw it too. It had to change. He could not see how.

So, this night, watching the storm sweep across the landscape, he wracked his mind. There had to be a way to convince her that what happened was in no way representative of his feelings for her. If only she could see fit to forgive him. He needed an opportunity to express himself. How to create that opportunity, that was his dilemma.

He was deep in thought when he felt a touch on his arm. Looking down, he saw a hand. His breath caught, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. He turned his head, and there she stood. Dressed in white satin and lace, her hair down in a braid, her face radiant in its natural beauty. Sad eyes, tears brimming, trembling lips, her mouth turned down at the corners.

He spun from the chair, the whiskey glass and its contents dismissed. To his knees, his arms encircling her, holding her close. He pressed his face to her, searching for the words to express his sorrow. But the words would not come, only hoarse cries and piteous sobs. She had come back to him, that's all that mattered, and his elation knew no bounds. Her fingers coursed through his hair, holding him close, consoling him, letting him know he was forgiven.

Presently, when he had regained control of his emotions, she lifted him to his feet. Their eyes spoke their common silent language, his sorrow and contrition, hers forgiveness and understanding.

She then took his hand and led him to his apartments. There she removed his and her clothing and, reclining on the bed, beckoned him to her.

He approached with trepidation, fearing a recurrence of the event. She sought to put him at ease, caressing him, attending to those places where he was most easily excited. But now, his responses were muted; his fear had made him impotent. She patiently tried one place, then another, doing her best to elicit a response. But nothing she did could overcome his anxiety.

Suddenly her eyes flashed and the lioness reemerged, hungrily attacking her prey. She rolled him on his back, crouching over him. He was startled to see the feral gleam in her eyes, a predator assessing her prey. She began to consume him. Instead of fingers, lips, and tongue, it was teeth and claws. Not the teeth and claws that rend flesh, but the teeth that nibble and nip, claws that pinch and scratch, exciting delicate flesh, sexually stimulating him. Now she was the aggressor, he was the submissive. She seemed everywhere, a touch of pain from tender biting at his nipples, her nails coursing down his torso, causing his member to respond. She moved down his body, exciting the erogenous zones she knew so well. Ultimately, she took his testicles in her mouth, first one, then the other, and as she stimulated his prostate, he came to full erection.

Triumphant in her success, she mounted him. His look of wonder was met with hers of furious lust. Once again, she rode him hard, her cries of ecstasy spurring him to become more active in their coupling. His hands went to her breasts, squeezing, massaging, worrying nipples between thumbs and forefingers. Her hands were braced on his chest, breathlessly chasing her orgasm. His hands moved to her hips as he thrust up into her, seeking his own release.

Then he suddenly rolled them; now he was on top. Holding her hips, he matched her ardor, his cock bringing a delicious agony as it battered her cervix.

The rhythmic fluttering of her vaginal muscles in her orgasm triggered his own, milking his cock of his semen.

In the aftermath, they lay together, holding each other, content in that special closeness of two people who had shared their love. They would be alright.

Outside, the storm clouds had dissipated. A heaven full of stars and a radiant moon bathed the manor and its grounds in white light. Tranquility had returned. The earth was at peace again.