Es war ein schöner Spaziergang, dachte ich, als wir wieder nach oben schlenderten
der Hügel zu unserem Hotel, das war tatsächlich ein altes
historisches viktorianisches Gebäude mit weitem Blick auf den Puget
Ton. Wir konnten noch das leicht betrunkene Geplapper hören
von der Hochzeit, die wir gerade verlassen hatten und während es Spaß gemacht hat und
deine alten College-Freunde schienen nett genug zu sein, ich war
gefüllt mit dunkleren Bestrebungen.
Der Schlüssel in der Tür zum Eingangsraum oben gedreht
von der Treppe und wir wurden mit dem abgestandenen Muss begrüßt
nur Antiquitäten und wirklich alte Leute verdienen. Der Duft
hat etwas fast Unheimliches in mir und wie dir gerührt
ging den Flur entlang zu unserem Zimmer, ich ergriff deine Hand
und führte dich stattdessen zur Treppe. Die
Treppe. Eine reine, fließende Spirale nach oben hängend 3
Geschichten über dem großen Raum. Es fehlt an Sichtbarkeit
Stützen, perfekter Bogen und gekniffenes Kirchturmfinale
verziert mit konkavem, floralem Wandbild und Buntglas
ausgerichtete Kreuze bei jeder Sonnenwende. Es war eine Vorahnung und
gerader Blick nach oben inspirierte nur einen Hauch von Schwindel.
Es war perfekt.
Du wusstest schon, dass ich nichts Gutes im Schilde führte oder war
es *wirklich* gut? Durch die Strenge in meinem Griff, als ich führte
ihr weiter rund und rund, geschichtsträchtige Relikte unten
mit jeder Kurve außer Sichtweite, bis es nur noch wir waren
und die mehreren nackten rubenesken Lieblinge, die in der Nähe faulenzen
unsere Köpfe, voyeuristisch und ohne zu blinzeln, warten auf unsere
farbige glasgewaschene Formen, um eine andere schmutzige zu entfalten
Geheimnis für sie zu behalten.
Unsere Augen sind auf die anderen gerichtet, ich küsse dich sanft
tentatively and you hear a >Klack< 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.