Resplendent in her nudity, Sara stands. Sliding her hand along my arm, she links arms and waits. The Queen of my heart. We walk, arm in arm, like royalty. Leaving the still panting form of our slave to see to her tasks.
“That was unexpected,” states Sara.
“Unwelcome?” I ask.
“I think she needed that. To be used. At least for now, in a way she understands.” Sara says.
“Understood. I’ll continue to treat her with disregard. At least for today. For you, my dear, some additional rules.
One: You will wear no clothing or item that I do not provide you.
Two: You must always be touching me. If you are bound and suspended and I am fucking our slave, you must strive to maintain contact.
Three: You must ask and receive permission to leave my presence.
Do you understand your additional rules?”
Leaning into me, she whispers, “Yes, Sir.”
She, somehow, smells like vanilla. We just woke up and she smells good enough to eat. She feels soft and warm against me. These special occasions are important but sometimes all I want is to curl up on our couch with her head in my lap.
We walk into the kitchen and Sara snags the apron. It’s white with a picture of a whisk stirring batter. The words EVERYTHING IS BETTER WHEN WHIPPED is written across it. I get out the egg and flour and butter. Sara keeps her leg hooked around mine. She grabs the whisk and bowl.
I think pancakes are definitely in order. But first…I pick Sara up, the weight of her body, leaning against my chest. Her breathing catches and I set her on the clean counter.
The supple strength of her thighs circle my waist, holding on. The air fills with warm musk and it takes all my self control not to take as I desire. But this torture is just as delicious for me as it is for her. The feel of her hands in my hair. I lose myself to her scent and desire. The steady thump of her heart beating inches away from my own. I smile, slow and possessive. She is mine, all mine.