her flesh lay before him, creamy and exposed.
unmarked by hand, or desires, she was his for the making. His for the marking.
His ultimate canvas.
He reached into his bag, drawing out his long whip, and began to paint across her milky skin.
Every mark carried the same message….”mine”
Each moan from her mouth carried the same reply….”yours”.
Lashing done, he surveyed his masterpiece…lovely long lines tracing delicate as lacework across her, accompanied by the silver tracings of tears from the one eye he could see , her face half buried in the comforter.
Sliding his hand from ankle to ass, from cheek to cheek, and down her sweet cleft, he found the other silver tracings, hidden from view by her plump lower lips. Parting those fleshy petals, he found her clit, proud and tall, and covered with the tracings of her dew as she wept from both ends onto the bed.
His finger slid easily into her hole, first one, then two, then three, sawing deeply inside of her, to the sounds of her increased moans.
“What do you need, my beauty?” he crooned at her, withdrawing his fingers, and tracing the lines on her back with the wetness.
“Fuck me please fuck me please fuck me please Master…”
He chuckled, loving her response. Loving her need. He craved her craving him, it was as simple as that. And he heard that craving in her voice, the quivering, whimpering need of it.
“Too soon, my sweet, I’ve not yet begun to sexplore you,” He punned at her.
His lips and teeth began the journey then, from ankle to neck, with slow stops along the way. For life is a journey, and not the destination.