It was a nice walk, I thought as we strolled back up
the hill to our hotel, which was in fact an old
historic Victorian with a sweeping view of the Puget
Sound. We could still hear the slightly drunken chatter
of the wedding we’d just left and while it was fun and
your old college friends seemed nice enough, I was
filled with darker aspirations.
The key turned in the door to the entry room at the top
of the stairs and we were greeted with the stale must
only antiques and really old people earn. The scent
stirred something nearly sinister in me and as you
started down the hall to our room I grasped your hand
and led you toward the staircase instead. The
staircase. A pure, fluid spiral suspended upwards 3
stories above the great room. It’s lack of visible
supports, perfect arc and pinched steepled finale
adorned in concave, floral mural and stained glass
aligned crosses on each solstice. It was foreboding and
peering straight up inspired just a touch of vertigo.
It was perfect.
You were already aware that I was up to no good (or was
it *really* good?) by the sternness in my grip as I led
you further round and round, storied relics below
passing from sight with each turn ’til it was just us
and the several nude Rubenesque darlings lounging near
our heads, voyeuristic and unblinking, waiting for our
colored glass-washed forms to unfold another dirty
secret for them to keep.
Our eyes intent upon the others, I kiss you softly,
tentatively and you hear a >clack< echo through our turret followed by my fingers under your dress and cold steel gliding up your inner thigh. My lips never lose touch with your, nor my eyes as the knife turns upward, hooking under your panties. The brief, violent upward demand made by my blade severs your panties from your pelvis and makes you gasp. You'd be afraid if you hadn't surrendered everything to me so long ago. Another rough slice and your panties are mine. The narrow walkway, height and murderous undressing makes your heart pound and your cunt prepare. My hand slips through your hair and you instinctively lean in to be led on my whim. My lips slide past your mouth, to your cheek, over your jaw to your neck where I draw in. My breath inhaling sends chills and my hand directs your head to an exposed nape that I might sink my teeth into. You always loved ownership and your gooseflesh makes you shudder in exquisite taken pain. You feel your scalp go taut and you're raised up to your tiptoes, your cunt rested atop a nouveau banister cap. The Queen may have been a prude in her latter years but it certainly made for a wealth of pent up art around her. This cherrywood phallus couldn't have been more perfect for impaling a 5 foot 10 inch strawberry blonde. You whimper that it cant fit and with that protestation you are muted by a mouthful of previously expensive panties as I direct you to rock your hole, just slightly penetrated by your new ornate lover while I guide your pace and movement with my free hand, wrapped firmly around your throat. Encouraging muffled groans announce your g-spot's pleasure as you begin to ejaculate over the banister, forcing some to shoot out. I pull your head down as you squirt so that you might grasp your situation, following a stream of cunt water three stories down to the hardwood below. My dirty chuckle frightens you more than how long it took for the splash as I begin raising you up and down by your throat on the now glistening pole. Each thrust making more of it disappear, your pussy lips wrapped snugly and seeming to inhale and exhale on each thrust. You feel as full as any fisting I've ever given you but it occurs to you that in spite of the horrid precariousness of your position - balanced by your cunt, the ball of one foot on the low crossbar of the 100 year old railing and by your Master's hand around your neck, that you truly trust Me. With that realization you sink to your hilt, your feet standing flat on the down thrust and you cry out, dizzy, the pain... oh God it feels... good! Lower, deeper groans escape as you embrace it and you're shocked as my hand slaps your face, and again. I tell you to be silent and take it out on your cunt. You nod, half lost in pain and pleasure and begin rocking in earnest, letting this mad wooden fist overtake you. Tears begin running down your face as I begin touching your clit lightly then alternating with rough, uncaring grinds. Again with several slaps to your face and you realize they are wet strikes. Thrusting past your panty gag are my fingers and you are acutely aware of the metallic, coppery treasure they offer. You're bleeding!! Your mind reels in panic, in surrender, in lust as my hand grips your throat criminally and Master growls for you to give it... Give it... Give IT... GIVE IT... NOW WHORE!! Your throat is so tight you cant scream or you surely would as wave after wave shudders over you. It wont stop! You're sure even your hair is spasming! You can see the floor so far below you. You look up to a face staring back at you. A reflection in leaded glass. You don't know her. She's fragmented in purple and red and deep green and she's at once ethereal and utterly lost, bliss-riddled, a worshipful heroin addict. And behind her, a grinning Daddy. Her Daddy, whispering in her ear that she's so good as she's gingerly lifted off her tree stump cock. Laid to the floor, mute floating renaissance visions of beauty stare impassively down at the tall girl smeared in blood draped in what was a pretty dress an hour ago. She's dazed and smiling, drifting as her Daddy soothes her - darkly treacherous, owned, as they drink her 'til sleep.