She slipped into the back of the limo, her calf-length skirt catching in the soft breeze of the evening. The driver offered to put her valise into the trunk, but she demurred, preferring to hold it, and its precious contents, in her lap.
She thought He would be pleased with her appearance. She knew this dress was one of his favorites, the clingy fabric hugging and caressing her curves much as His own hands did. It was backless, but hard to tell, really, because the long sweep of hair that kissed the top of her hips hid much. He loved to run his hands through her tresses, pulling them in passion, or twining a curl up around his finger, demanding her mouth. Afterwards, spent for the nonce, but only partially sated, he would stroke the silkiness, call her “Rapunzel”, and tickle her with the ends.
She thought about what lay hidden inside the innocuous bag in her lap, as the car snaked its way through the evening city traffic, and began the long trek out-of-town.
She thought of the drivers shock, should he open this bag, and see the long sinuous length of Master’s favorite toy, the singletail. It’s braided handle, made of tough hide, had been softened over the years by much use. He was as meticulous in his care of all his belongings, and it showed. She glowed under his care, and this whip had that soft sheen of well-maintained leather. It still had much use left in it. Under the single tail, which she loved and loathed with equal measure, was his telescoping metal wand.
This was something he’d gotten in his professorial days, and decided that it would be of far more benefit in her bedroom than in his classroom. It packed a stingy slap, and her tits tingled just thinking of it. Her nipples rose from soft quiescence to full hardness, peaking out the front of her dress, and drawing a brief glance from the driver. Who wouldn’t notice tits like that, he wondered silently.
Packed along the side of the valise was his flogger. He used this when he was feeling particularly sadistic. It never failed to leave a mottled bruising on her ass, it’s many-fingered leather laces slapping down upon her in his fevered excess. It had been awhile since he’d used it, and that was just fine with her.
Also in the bottom, was a variety of nipple clamps, from the hated clovers, to the softer vibe-clamps. Chains of different weights and thicknesses, and weights clinked softly through the leather bag as she shifted her legs. Or maybe she just imagined it.
She thought about their last date, when he’d beaten her ass to a cherry-red glow, then fucked her like a dog. Hands and knees digging into the carpeting in her bedroom, he had humped her across it, leaving them both collapsed in a pile of tangled limbs when he was done. He’d fingered her to several more orgasms as they lay there, laughing at her cries of dismay. She was always so sensitive after coming, and he was always willing to push her past, and through, always giving her more than she thought she could take. And it was always just right.
She looked out the window as the limo slowed, then turned into their destination. A long sweep of green lawn, deeply emerald in the long shafts of waning light, tall trees standing sentinel along the stone wall. As the long dark car drew to a stop, she heard the calls of birds, calling goodnight through the gloaming. The driver opened her door, helped her out.
She was stiff from sitting so long. Slowly she made her way to where his assistant waited for her. He took her elbow, guiding her.
“This way, ma’am,” he said softly. They walked a bit, then he released her, and swept aside a small curtain. She crossed to it, and lay the valise beside his urn. A single tear trekked down her cheek, and dropped to land on the top of his final resting place.
“Farewell Master,” she whispered, then turning, she made her way back to the limousine for the long drive back to the city.
this story has been begging to be written for a very very long time. no, my Sir is fine, fine. i read a piece over a year ago that spoke to this nilla heart, and i wanted a companion piece, from the subbie perspective. ~n~