Unchartered Waters

An unfamiliar emotion born of a strange blend of nervous anticipation and tender love overwhelmed Celma’s mind. Amitav’s proximity and touches set her body aflame with need. She wanted to frame his studious face in her hands, kiss him, and taste him.  Meanwhile, she inhaled his manly scents as he arranged her stunning black body on their king size bed.

Just a few hours back, over dinner, he had revealed how he meant to enjoy her that night. His plan had amazed her.  She had no inkling that her somber beau harbored fantasies bordering on the realm of taboo. Trusting him completely, she had communicated her acquiescence with an indulgent smile.

She watched him lay out his tools – scarves, ropes, chains, cuffs and a crop – on the bedside table.  When will he pull out his best tool! she wondered, staring at the tent in his pants. The thought made her giggle, but he shushed her with a stern face. In a prompt move, he handcuffed her hands and fastened the cuff to the headrest frame with a chain. Then, he moved down to the foot of the bed, tied a rope to either posts of the footboard and secured her ankles to the ends. The length of the ropes compelled her to spread her legs wide and thrust her hips in the air. Celma suspected that her lover had planned this well. He wanted her thoroughly exposed and helpless.

Goosebumps pricked her skin when he positioned himself at the end of the bed. She could feel his eyes devour her exposed womanhood. She arched her neck to catch the flame in his eyes. Strangely, she loved her own vulnerability and wanted more than ever before to submit herself at the altar of his lust. With slow measured steps, he walked up to her, picked up a scarf and blindfolded her.

“I want to see you, baby!” Celma protested.

A deafening silence followed. She strained her ears to hear the unfastening of a zip, clothes dropping to the ground and something being picked from the table. Suddenly, a swishing sound rose in the air, and a stinging blow landed upon her breasts. She gulped with disbelief. He’s striking me with the crop!

He snarled. “I’m the master, and I decide what is best for you! Do you agree, slave?”

It was the first time he had spoken to her like this. Astonishment stifled her voice, and Amitav continued to wallop her. Soon, she relaxed, realizing that the blows – directed in a pattern at her breasts, stomach and thighs – had just enough force to make her wince without bruising her.

The continuous lashing induced a pain that kindled her darkest desires. She agonized to see the purple welts that would have formed on her ebony skin. Maybe, he’s seeing them as well and stroking himself, she fantasized. The hurt swarmed her mind with sweet sensations, and her consciousness dimmed in a confusing maze of devotion and desire. She didn’t want him to stop. If anything, she wished him to hurt her more.  However, when the relentless ache between her thighs became unbearable, Celma knew of one way to get him into bed.

She screamed. “Yes, master! I am your slave!”

The blows halted. She heard the slight thud of the refrigerator door, and the next moment felt his weight on the bed. A pillow moved underneath her ass. More happiness came her way when he pressed his hard body against her voluptuous curves, his hardness rubbing against her thighs.

A shiver went down her spine when he licked a sore patch on her breast. He is licking the marks left by the crop!, she understood.  The tickling sensations imparted by his tongue washed her body with warm feelings. The very next moment, a cold, slippery object rubbed the same area which seconds before his tongue had serviced. Ice! she guessed, solving the mystery of the refrigerator door.

Clearly, the crop had left prominent marks on her skin without bruising her. Celma realized this from the precision with which Amitav zeroed in upon the sore portions of her body, running his tongue over those areas before massaging with a cube of ice. The alternate sensations of wet warmth and slippery coldness soothed her.  She could feel her nipples get erect. When the deadly duo moved across her thighs, nectar oozed from her sex, suffusing the air with a musky odor. In vain, she strained against her restraints.

The smell seemed to affect him because he attacked her vagina, sucking her sweet releases while continuing to tease her clit with the ice. Celma heaved a sigh of relief when she felt her breasts flatten underneath his muscular chest. The tip of his engorged manhood brushed along the length of her slit before sinking into the wet folds. He thrust inside her with brute force, generating delicious friction. His hungry mouth sought hers when he erupted inside her depths. She climaxed almost simultaneously, her vaginal muscles quivering around and clinging to the length of his rod.

“My obedient slave,” he whispered, kissing her.

“Take me again, master,” she implored.

His contented laugh pleased her. She had been a good slave.

Word Count: 866