Fantasy for the Beloved
You stand alone in a spacious, silent room, completely immersed in darkness… Your arms and legs are spread wide apart and tightly bound to massive, metal-colored pillars that stretch far upward, so high that where they meet the ceiling is impossible to discern in this dreadful gloom. You are stretched out in an "X" shape, wearing elegant black sandals with a 5 cm platform and a 12 cm stiletto heel (you have no other clothing on) and cannot even move. From somewhere above, a stream of warm sunlight falls directly on you, but strangely, it does not scatter throughout the room; instead, it traces a perfect small circle on the floor, which is drowned in darkness,
and you are at its center…Beyond that, there is darkness, impenetrable, mysterious, and what it conceals—you cannot see. The walls and ceiling are also invisible. For you, the entire universe right now is this pitiful island of light in the middle of a sea of enigmatic darkness.
Suddenly, from somewhere behind, comes the plaintive creak of rusty hinges and the sound of a heavy metal door opening. Just as abruptly, the sounds that cut through the darkness fade, and for a few moments, you strain to listen to the ringing silence—nothing… And then… then you hear what you secretly always wanted to hear—the authoritative clicking of heels as a stranger approaches you from behind…
She is in no hurry, walking slowly, confidently. The click of her metal stilettos on the marble floor is clearly audible to your heightened, excited hearing. It echoes throughout the room with a resonant, measured sound… and for some reason, it makes your nipples tense. With each of her steps, they grow harder and harder, then begin to itch unbearably and tremble.
"It's good she's coming from behind—she won't immediately see my nipples' reaction," flashes a foolish thought in your head.
Only after that do you realize the stranger will see you, all of you. Naked, crucified, helpless… A blush of shame floods your beautiful face, tears are about to spill from your eyes from the distress of your own humiliating position. But your body reacts differently—you start to flow… Yes, yes, lubrication simply gushes out of you in streams, and at the mere thought that SHE will see your shameful reaction to what is happening, the sticky streams of your lust turn into torrents… You try to fight it somehow, which only increases the arousal.
The measured clicking of stilettos grows closer. It seems to penetrate your very heart and make it beat in unison with HER steps.
With each second, the itching in your nipples, clitoris, and the aching heaviness in your abdomen grows, grows, grows…
When the stranger comes very close to you, you are already trembling with desire… Drops of longing fall one after another from your pussy, which is begging to be filled, to satiate the sucking emptiness inside you. Your legs are simply cramping with lust, a puddle of your juices has already formed between them—you are one step away from orgasm…
The stranger has now come right up close. The heat of her gentle breath burns your neck, making the arousal simply unbearable…
In a burst of wanting to at least somehow see the stranger, you start turning your head, trying to look back. But a firm, gloved hand roughly grabs your lush mane of hair, thus cutting off your desperate efforts at the root…
After this, you understand that you are completely in HER power, that SHE is free to do whatever she wants, but most importantly—you understand that it was for HER that you were born…
A tender whisper, which from miles away exudes authority, sounds near your ear:
— Do you like your position, slut?
Your body is shaken by a coarse, lustful tremor. From the commanding aura emanating from the stranger standing behind you, goosebumps run down your spine, even though the room is quite hot…
A juicy slap of a palm burns your right buttock, leaving a strong redness on it; a moment later, the same happens to the left… Two short moans escape your lips, dried from passion. But to your shame, only notes of pleasure and passion are heard in them, not pain at all… Embarrassed by your own reaction to such rough treatment, you start crying from the overwhelming feelings, but this only adds fuel to the fire of your passion, causing the flame of the lust raging within you to soar to the heavens… A single thought consumes your entire body—to cum, cum now, otherwise you will perish from overstimulation…
And then this divine being standing behind you, as if heeding your silent prayers, slaps you broadly between your legs—after which a giant explosion of pleasure carries you away from this reality… While you cum again and again, floating in clouds of unprecedented bliss, the stranger watches your body with interest as it convulses in orgasmic spasms. Wave after wave of fiery, unforgettable ecstasy passes over it…
Finally, you come to your senses; everything is still swimming before your eyes, and your gaze cannot focus. Another minute and you fully regain consciousness…
Right in front of you, at the very edge of the circle of light, stands a tall, beautiful young girl… She is slender and graceful, but hidden strength is felt in her entire figure. Her regular features, thin straight nose, and determined mouth cannot leave you indifferent. Her heavenly blue eyes gaze intently at you, seeming to penetrate your very essence, the essence of a dirty, lustful bitch, which you so carefully hid from the world around you but completely revealed after just three slaps on your body…
The stranger's clothing also makes your nipples harden again… On her slender legs are high black leather boots with that same high metal stiletto heel, whose click on the marble floor made you so shamefully aroused…
Involuntarily, you imagine this scene from the outside. A beautiful young girl, whose appearance, gaze, posture, and clothing scream of a lifelong habit of command, and you—naked, accessible, a bitch who just came, whose nipples are again standing erect from her contemptuous looks, and whose body is starting to secrete lubrication again from its complete helplessness. Shame once more makes your cheeks crimson, but this only increases the growing arousal.
SHE has frozen like a beautiful statue just a step away from your naked, once again lubricant-dripping, helpless, whorish body. From HER gaze, your nipples have petrified again and begin to itch, your clitoris has shamelessly swollen as if there had been no unforgettable release just moments ago. A fine tremor runs up your legs, shod in such erotic footwear.
Your mouth is free, but you say nothing, only your lips are lustfully parted, as if hinting at how many holes you have for use… And what's the point of words? To scream, speak, ask? That should have been done earlier, when you first heard the approaching click of the stranger's heels, but back then you were only shamelessly trembling with lust, gasping with passion…
Now words are unnecessary—both of you know that such treatment of you is the only correct one, you greedily await its continuation, crave it, tremble from anything but fear or cold. And it followed.
Without saying a word, the stranger reaches out, grasping your breasts. First weakly, then stronger and stronger, SHE squeezes and releases her palms, covered in the black fabric of gloves. SHE kneads your tits, spreads them apart, then squeezes them together, pinches and pulls your nipples with her fingers. Sometimes it seems to you that SHE wants to grab them and lift you off the floor, but it doesn't hurt you. Yes, she is rough with you, yes, no one has ever caressed your breasts so unceremoniously before, but you do not protest. Moans of pleasure escape your lips, dried from lust, scattering far across the room, where they drown in the thick darkness…
There is a fire between your legs again, and the river of lubrication you secrete seems not to quench it at all but, strangely, fans it even more…
All this time, the stranger looks into your eyes. Her gaze, of icy beauty, seems to ask, "Do you like it, slut? Do you like this treatment?" Some inner feeling tells you that the question sounds exactly like that, and not otherwise. Precisely "do you like it, slut?" and not, for example, "how do you like it, dear?"
And again, your cheeks, as well as your ears and even your neck, redden with shame, because you understand what answer SHE reads in your eyes, wet with a thousand emotions—"YES, Mistress! Very much!"
Seemingly satisfied with your devoted gaze, the girl removes her right hand from your left breast and slowly, barely touching your sweat-dampened skin, slides it down, over your stomach, even lower… Agile fingers bypass your itching little pearl, eliciting a sigh of disappointment from you, but it is immediately drowned out by a moan of unbearable pleasure when HER hand covers your pussy… But it was there only for a moment, after which the stranger's hand appears before your face, all shiny with your secretions…
— Open your mouth, bitch, — you hear a velvety whisper, and you cannot help but obey, even though you understand what is about to happen next… Yes, you understood correctly—the glove, wet with lustful juices, plunges between your eager lips… One divine, shiny finger replaces another, and you obediently suck, suck, because you like it, you like such humiliation…
When her hand gently descends for a second portion, not forgetting to run over your neck, breast, stomach, thigh, you can no longer help but moan with happiness…
But when her fingers touch your wet hole again, you start to cum, so hard that with a short sigh you lose consciousness, heading back to where you recently returned from after the first orgasms… A real fountain sprays from your contracting crotch. A few drops land on her, on her boots, whose soles are completely in the puddle of your secretions…
Coming to your senses, you notice that her gaze flashes with irritation, and you understand that you came too early, unforgivably early, and so violently that the puddle beneath you has doubled in size…
— Oh, I'm sorry, — in an unknown impulse, you whisper quietly, and immediately feel ashamed of your reaction…
How can this be?! You were stripped, crucified, spanked, your breasts roughly caressed, and you are apologizing for not living up to expectations, HER expectations, and shamefully coming…
— What a whore you are, — an icy stab of your former decency and inaccessibility, for which you were so famous there, in that other life now, flashes in your head, and of which only pitiful crumbs remain, and even those are quickly melting, like the last snow under the warm spring sun.
— Yes, I am a whore, — you answer yourself, — I was born this way, I want to be this way, I am a bitch. And I also love HER.
Author's e-mail: eleonora_bove@mail.ru