She was angry. What was she angry about? I didn't know. Didn't even really know that she was, except. I sensed it. The air was thick with the brewing tension. I'd just gotten home and it was like being hit in the face when I opened the door. I tried desperately, and quickly, to run reasons through my mind, to find the answer. None came. Whatever it was had sprung up while I was out and was sure to come crashing in on me soon.

We'd been together now for six glorious months. I have never loved anyone more than Imara. She was everything I didn't even know I wanted. After nearly two years of bouncing back and forth, making no commitment, driving me insane and making me ache with desire for her, we'd finally gotten together, and it was amazing. She was the most beautiful, intelligent and funny woman I'd ever met. It always made me smile to remember the first night we met.

There we were in a quiet inn with the firelight flickering. The conversation built slowly amongst about four of us and somehow there was a misunderstanding. Imara reamed me a new one because I was talking about one of the other women, or so she thought. I was totally in shock, confused, and incredibly sure I did not want this woman as my enemy. When we finally got it worked out, she'd mistaken my comments and we laughed at the total miscommunication. From then on, we were like long lost friends, laughing and cracking jokes and having the time of our lives. We stayed up in to the wee hours of the night and even then, neither of us wanted to leave. We became nearly inseparable for the next month. What a powerful beginning we had. It was only a short time and she sent me a card. I will never forget it and cherish it always. Written were the shortest and sweetest words I've ever seen: I think I love you. My world was never the same.

Unfortunately, Imara was not the committing kind. She liked to play the field and found even the word relationship a difficult, if not impossible, word to include in her vocabulary on a regular basis. But I was so drawn to her. She was so strong of mind, knew her beliefs, would stand for nothing less than what she wanted and would tolerate nothing less than the truth from me, even when I was trying desperately not to be exposed and vulnerable to her. We shared some very hard and difficult times trying to find the right atmosphere, the right boundaries, something. It was a whirlwind of passion and intrigue, laughter and love.

So here I was now, joyous and nervous at the same time. My heart thundering as I padded through the house and moved with trepidation. I removed my coat and shoes, leaving only a smart little suit-like skirt and top, the baby blue blouse clinging to my full bosom, the skirt short enough to hint at what lay beneath, which was nothing but a smooth waxed punani, just as she liked it. I took a slow breath as I entered the bedroom. There she was sitting on a chair, her eyes brooding and watchful, yet still so damn beautiful. She was wearing a robe that gaped open to reveal the beauty of her smooth dark skin beneath and a look that made my heart trip over itself.

I whispered a hello but got no response. I thought I'd melt with the fire I saw staring back at me.

What had gotten her to this point? She was by nature a complicated woman. I was never positive what I could expect, and that in itself was so frustrating, but, so damn sexy. She was the most intelligent woman I'd ever met, and she constantly made me laugh. We had the most amazing relationship, like nothing, absolutely nothing, I'd ever experienced before. This woman knew me inside out, and I knew her, loved her. Actually, absolutely worshiped her. She was the love of my life and I'd do anything for her. She didn't get angry for no reason, there was a reason. She was actually very slow to truly anger. She was fair, but she had a sense of what was right in her mind, even something as simple as being polite, manners. It might not even be something I did, but it was something.

We had talked once, about a book she'd read, and how a girl offered herself to the Master so he might release his anger and suddenly I knew, just knew, that I wanted to do that, wanted, craved even, her smile again, her happiness, and would do whatever it took. Nearly groaning with a desire to find something that would ease the obvious anger, turmoil, emotions that churned within my owner. Knowing most would not see it, but I could, and I hated it. So many times we'd talked, of so many things, surely I could offer her something . . . anything. The thought hit me hard and made my gut clench and my heart stop at the same instance. Taking a deep long breath, I committed to the plan and knew that it was right. All I could give her--me.

With that thought I stripped away my clothes, dropping the skirt to the floor, fingers deftly releasing the buttons to slip the blouse off and quickly freeing my breasts from their captive. I walked to the armoire, the fading light casting shadows over my smooth olive skin as I selected a five blade whip and tucked it between my teeth. As I turned, I felt her gaze blaze in to me, forcing me to my knees without a word. With my heart quickening and my breath coming in little ragged inhalations, I crawled across the floor to her. I made my movements as seductive as possible, swaying full rounded hips, my breasts jiggling with each rhythmic stroke. I paused before her, lowering my cheek to her feet and dropping the whip. With a thick but wispy voice filled with devotion I whispered.

"Mistress, your yearning slut brings you a whip. She pleads desperately for you to use these to release whatever you are feeling, to beat her, to hurt her, to fuck her. Whatever it is, anything, that you might wish to do if only it will give you some pleasure. Please Mistress."

With that said, I shut up. Some might not believe I had just said that, but my commitment, my devotion, and my love are true. I would give anything to take away the anger and pain from this woman that I loved, more than loved--if there were words that described that. She is my owner, my world....Suddenly I felt her yank my face upward by the hair, cringing at the sting as I gasped. She said so cold and aloof. "Is that what you want slut?" Her dark eyes bored into me.

I felt the heat rush into my face, the yearning in my soul as I whimpered out a pleading, "Yes Mistress, please."

I waited there then, frozen, for what seemed like forever. She rose and pulled me towards her chair where my arms clung to it, exposing my back, my derriere. She walked behind me and nudged my thighs open wider. None of her movements were harsh or mean, they were cold, matter-o-fact. I could feel the twist of my belly, the coil tightening in anticipation. Suddenly, a drizzle of leather across my skin made me shiver. A soft moan escaped past my lips as I licked them. I took a deep breath trying to ready myself and then flick. The strands licked at my skin, but yet, not hard, and my eyes closed, the sensation pleasurable and making my pussy ooze. I took another deep breath knowing this was only the beginning.

I chanced a glance back and was struck by her beauty, my dark brooding goddess standing there with whip in hand. When she noticed my glance she said simply and still so cold. "Turn around slut." I did of course, as quick as I could, and felt the rippling leather skim my skin again, down from my back to my ass, the tendrils kissing over my exposed petals. Then, as she drew her arm up and down the slices came down on my back. They weren't easy, it was harder, yet not furious, the sting bit into my flesh and I cried out. She repeated it across my ass so that I felt the stripes grow from shoulder to bottom. Each stinging swipe growing faster. She kissed my thighs with the whip and I whimpered as the bite was worse, the strength of her stroke harder, the leather shredding my soft smooth flesh.

The strokes grew in intensity, each one making me cry and writhe before her, yet never beg her to stop, every ounce of will power driven to be what she needed, to take all she had to give as the pounding continued. I bit into the chair, into my own arms to capture the cries of pain. I welcomed and hated it. I heard her utter words of anger and humiliation towards me, yet I didn't hear a thing. The rhythm increased, the raw power of her relentless strokes sending me to a place where the pain was like a pleasure, accepting it, willing her to take out all her anger . . . more and more until I was nothing . . . and . . . hers.

Finally I felt the lashes begin to slow and stop. My cries became whimpers as my flesh burned. She grabbed me around my belly and twisted so that instead of the chair I lay over, it was the bed. There she covered me with her own body, the robe now removed, her precious kisses on my neck. I shuddered from the pain and pleasure of her flesh against my ravished back. Then suddenly, she thrust her thick dark cock inside me and I cried out with such pleasure my eyes rolled and I gasped her name. She gripped me tight as her kisses continued over my back, her cock plunging in and out of my wet pulsing well. I could barely breathe, the pleasure, the joy, whimpering, "Mistressssss" again and again.

I could hear her sweet voice now, murmuring her love for her girl . . . me. Oh Yes, my heart swelled with happiness, feeling her surround my very soul with her passion. Every fiber of my being drawn to her, giving, being taken. The passion grew until I was ready to explode and I begged her desperately, "Please Mistress, please let your bitch cum for you."

She growled a thick incredibly sexy whisper. "Come on mine, cum, give me everything you've got, I'm waiting." I simply yet cataclysmically came, so hard it was out of this world. The violent spasms rocking me, taking my very breath away. I felt her thrust and moan loudly with her own release, whispering my name, the name she graced me with, and knew that we were soaring together. Always together. Forever.

. . . I didn't know why she was angry, or even at who, but it didn't matter. She'd given that pain, anger, to me, had let me be her receptacle. She wasn't angry anymore and we would talk of the reasons later, as we always did . . . talking about everything, anything, a Mistress and her girl, sharing a depth of love and understanding that was surreal. Only the lingering stripes upon my back, the sting, giving me a pleasure and a joy I'd never felt before . . . different . . . unique. I realized how committed and fulfilled I was to her . . . by her, and, despite her hesitance to admit it, her to me.

The End

Copyright © 2004. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.

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