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bsp; “I don’t want you to be afraid of Anastasia, or me, or of your friend.”
“I’m not sure fear’s the word,” I contend.
“Oh, yes it is,” she says firmly as she closes the trunk. “Whoever made you so afraid did a very good job.” This is perhaps the first comment that she’s made that sounds like an adult speaking. Even her voice, the pitch, the modulation, is different; and I wonder if there’s much more to her than I suspect.
“You’d probably like a collar like Samantha Clarisse’s, but I don’t think you’re ready for it yet.”
“Oh? And why not?”
“You have to be ready to submit,” she says. She doesn’t explain further, but having taken some scarves from the trunk, she leads me by the hand to the bed. I watch with bated breath as she closes the blinds at each dormer window, so that there’s even less light in the already dim room. Then going from place to place, she begins to light candles that are scattered about the attic room: sitting on boxes, on the top of the trunk and even on the floor. The warm candle light replaces the darkness with an eerie radiance.
“Tie me to the bed,” she says, handing me the scarves. She backs away from me and begins to wiggle from her dress. Seeing her disrobe the second time in as many hours, I find this far different from the first time on the beach. I know she’s naked underneath, but I wait anxiously to see her soft sensuous lines in the glowing candlelight. A strange illumination dances on her body as she pushes the dress off her hips and it falls to her ankles. If she’s inclined to rituals, this is certainly one. The somber look on her face gives her away.
At first she sits primly on the bed and holds out the scarves to me. When I take them, she scoots her feet around and lies prone, with her hands above her head holding on to the brass bedposts.
I take a scarf and tie one wrist securely to the post, and then do the same with her other wrist. Her legs spread wide; she doesn’t have to tell me to tie them. With two scarves left, I see her designs clearly, and comply as if I do this all the time. When I’m finished, Analise lies bound with her arms and legs stretched tight, so that she’s nearly immobile. I find the look stunning.
“The candle,” she says, “the wax.”
I flash back to my past, to Elizabeth. “You want me to drip the wax down your body?” I ask guardedly.
She nods as her eyes go dim and sultry.
Lifting a candle from the bedside table, I see the pool of hot wax forming at the top. It jiggles as I move, though it doesn’t spill. I’m mesmerized by the act I’m required to perform; it almost seems a privilege to be giving her this desired gift. Suspecting that this will arouse her in a most distinctive way, I do it lovingly. Letting the molten wax collect in the little cup around the wick, I tip the candle and let it spill down, first on her left breast, and then her right.
She cringes when it splashes onto her skin. There’s even a little cry from her, but she’s reaching some ecstasy, the way her head moves from side to side and her groin begins to sway.
“Oooo, my yes,” she moans. “Lower,” she instructs me. As the liquid wax collects again, I tip the candle, and dribble it down her body from her breasts to her belly. She squirms delightfully, and I’m hypnotized by her erotic moment.
My own excitement swells as a perverse thrill floods through me. Dominating her body this way is incredible. The wax drips lower still, and I’m beside myself with passion, thinking of the rush that will claim my own body when I finally reach her cunt. I make her wait. She even looks at me imploringly, but I smile in return and let her know that I’m in charge. This seems to delight her, and as I finally spill the wax across her cunt, where it descends inside her tender open slit, I hear her cry and see her body jerk in pain. I pour more in that private place and she squeals. Her cunt bucks up and churns as if she were grasping for something. More wax, and she tenses madly.
I force her thighs wide apart and drive three fingers in her cunt with my free hand. More wax drips on her nether lips and on her clit as she rides my hand. I’ve never seen her move so passionately. I feel her orgasm against my hand and watch her body undulate like some primordial creature. And when the orgasm dies away, I watch her relax back into the sheets.
Withdrawing my hand, I back away and stare at her peaceful repose. This scene has me flustered and so horny I want to rub myself off. I can’t keep my hand from my cunt, so I begin to play, while Analise drifts in and out of consciousness. Her eyes meet mine and then close. She looks so frail tied the way she is.
I watch her mellow writhing as my fingers slip into my cunt. Finding a chair to sit on some few feet away, I let my hands explore at will the places that are raw with need. The idea that she’s in my power, that I control her fate, seizes me as surely as I’m seized when I’m under someone’s control. I feel her anticipation, her dependence on me. I feel her coming and now feel the satisfaction that makes her weak and exhausted. I thrill to the fact that she will not move from her bondage until I allow it.
I throw off my dress. It annoys me, getting in the way of my play. The waves of pleasure take precedence over anything else. One hand pinches my erect hard nipples the other massages my cunt with easy familiar motions. I know right where it leads; and I time the edge, an experienced sojourner in the land of masturbation. Cumming, I moan softly as I sit precariously at the edge of this straight back chair. The single-mindedness of this venture leaves me in awe.
I don’t realize how uncomfortable it is until I’m finished. Opening my eyes to Analise, she’s wide awake now, staring at me, expressionless. We stare at each other for some time, getting used to what we’ve done and what we’ve witnessed. This is far, far different than our midnight bedroom romps across my sheets.
I get up and go to her, standing over the bed looking down at the dried wax that begins at her breasts and continues all down her body. It cracks now when she moves, flaking into white snowflake specks. I remember the wax Elizabeth poured on my tits, how it would itch before she scraped it off, how I’d twist and turn in my bonds until she had compassion enough to set me free.
“I think you’ll stay here like this,” I say. She nods submissively. I check to see that the scarves are not too tight. I put my hand to her cheek and stroke it lightly. I still can’t get over how frail she looks in spite of the inherent voluptuousness of her body.
Is it revenge against Elizabeth that allows me to leave her this way, knowing the distress of lying bound with no freedom to use hands or legs?
I leave the attic, as a surge of unbidden satisfaction pours into me. I have control of her completely, her willingness more than evident. The sense of power intrigues me as much as it arouses me. I snicker to myself as I jauntily pad down the stairway to lunch. I think of her lying there waiting for me to return, for some whim, or fancy to pick me up from where I am and bring me back to her, where her fate lies in my capricious fantasies. I realize how she trusts me. The responsibility gives me courage and a feeling of composure and steadiness I’ve not had before.
Tasia has a beautiful meal for her guests in the dining room, which bustles now with the sound of clinking glasses and merry conversation. A female giddiness exists here, a loving exhibit of female virtue, female emotion, and even female lust. How odd that the only places left to sit are at Tasia’s table. There are two, one for Analise and one for me, though Analise will not be joining us for lunch today, I think to myself with insidious satisfaction.
Peach sits beside Tasia, still wearing a collar, though this one is different than the other. Just a simple ribbon, it nonetheless states her submissiveness to the woman on her right. There’s a sense of ownership of Tasia for Peach; it would make me sick to my stomach, if I didn’t feel the same way right now. I even flash to the thought of leading my own submissive Analise through the dining room on a leash, to sit at my feet at this table. Oh! How my fantasies take every act of rare sensuality further to the extremes of imagination!
I smile at the two women when I sit down. I see Tasia is surprised that I’v
e chosen this seat across from her. I feel like an opponent squaring off, though this will not be some victim-filled emotional war between us. I feel like a changed woman.
