Twilight's Chain....Redux....

Twilight’s chain…

“But what would it teach me Sir?” She asked quietly.

“Well,” he replied, pausing for a moment, just for effect, “Perhaps visualizing...seeing truly for the first time and experiencing something helps a girl to learn its value,” he says, stroking her cheek softly.

“Mmmm, I can see the point of that,” she responds, pressing against his hand. “But,” tentatively, “ hitching myself to a post?”

“Well,” he replies with as bit of humor in his voice, “put that way, it does sound rather silly. But just pause a moment and let yourself imagine….”

She laughs. And their minuet begins.

He relaxes, and, as he draws her close, he adjusts as her body folds into his. Her perfume envelopes him, teasing his senses, as he continues. “She kneels delicately as he arrives, her skin glistening in the twilight, her face glows with pleasure at his return. Languidly she melts into his favored pose, her head bows as she peers upward through long lashes. Casually he appraises her from the corner of his eye, as he attends to the waiting mail. A long minute, perhaps two, passes punctuated by the quiet ruffle of unneeded offerings and solicitations.

Before approaching, he pauses, turning to consider her across the quiet room. With a practiced eye, he takes in her every feature and detail. Her studied ease of position, her graceful, prideful carriage, even the sheen of her hair; each carefully considered and assessed in turn. Her perfume plays with his senses, mingling subtly with the incense she has prepared for his return.


Moving closer, he drops slowly to one knee, looping a finger in the ring of her collar. He draws her slowly to him, close for a gentle kiss; fondling her breasts lightly as he watches for her response.”

“Yes, I can picture that,” she whispers slowly, softly, as she begins to lose herself in the imagery slowly unfolding in the mists of her mind’s eye.

“No words spoken…. He knows none are needed. From a pocket he withdraws her curled leash; stainless and glistening. It twinkles as if an inner fire illuminates it in the gathering gloom of the evening room. She is utterly still at the sight of her leash. No breath taken as a wave of adrenaline cascades over her. Every sensation is suddenly heightened as she watches his movements as if outside herself.


As he touches her, her skin leaps alive. With a practiced hand he clips to the dangling ring with a soft, metallic, finality. He stands and with a murmur commands. ‘heel pet,’ and he turns.”

Taking a sip of the tumbler so thoughtfully placed beside the waiting mail, he asked, “Where was I, my pet?”

Her reply, quiet, barely heard over the soft shimmer of jazz, “You were at ‘heel pet and then turned,’ my Master….” She settles closer expectantly, enjoying the sensation of his rough fabric against her bare skin.

A slight smile of approval crosses his lips as she meets his gaze. “Turning, he walks slowly, very aware, as she rises and follows, her hands clasped behind her; heels clicking a staccato across the inlaid floor….”

She listens, her eyes focused on his lips as he continues his sonnet. “He leads her to the open curtains before the window, drawing her close for a kiss. A kiss. Just a kiss, simple, yet complexity personified; lingering upon her lips, soft, yet commanding; subtle as the bouquet of a fine Beaujolais on a warm summers’ eve.”

“No words spoken, as he slips behind her, standing entwined before twilight’s advance, nuzzling her neck as she presses back upon him. Their single silhouette growing clearer, in relief, before the emerging city lights. Seconds pass marked by the steady tick of the Grandfather clock. ‘Lead Pet,’ he whispers in her ear, and she smiles. It is that tiny, enigmatic, smile lovers know; layered upon layer, a kiss pregnant with possibility.


She raises her chin and gazes into his eyes. Seconds pass as she drinks him in, every feature familiar; yet utterly unknown. He is her known unknown, and she loves him for it. With a single finger she lightly traces his cheek and brow before leading him to his favored leather club chair. Jameson’s, Blue of course, on ice, awaits. She kneels on her fur cushion placed so closely just at his feet. He folds himself into the waiting chair and casually places her leash on the ready ornate hook atop the awaiting heavy brass stand.”

She listens raptly, barely breathing as he speaks. "Glancing to the ornate brass stand she had known was there, she sees it anew. Always seen, yet never was its significance brought as sharply to her attention as now that she understood its utilitarian, erotic, purpose."

"Something like this, Sir?" She whispers, barely audible, fearing she would break the spell he weaves; yet unable to remain silent. Her heart races as he continues his incantation. Expectantly she waits, neither knowing nor caring where he would lead.

Fondling her breasts, he holds the tumbler so she can sip; occaisonally kissing off the drops she loses to gravity. "Yes. Exquisite isn't it?" He replies, knowing the direction of her gaze without a confirming glance of his own. He plays with her hair as she leans against his leg. They sip and share, enjoying the arrival of the gathering gloom of twilight.

She smiles softly, noticing the ice is melting, much as the cares of her week melt quietly away with his gentle ministrations.

"Taking a dripping cube, he traces her lips, trailing rivulets of melting ice tinged with whiskey. Continuing his journey; he wanders across the fields and valleys of her skin, down her neck, first one nipple, dallying, then on to its twin, mindful not to neglect either before meandering down her taut belly."

"She thinks He recently must have watched the movie '9 and 1/2 weeks.'"

"No," he replies, a brow arches in a question. "He has not" pausing momentarily, "Is it good?"

"She will shut up now," she giggles softly, before succumbing to the rambling cube. She moans as the journey reaches her soft folds.




"Oooh.." she shudders with an intake of breath.

He takes her leash from its cradled hook and draws her slowly to her feet as life imitates art....

She begins to unbutton his shirt, whispering, "She thinks she would like to help him with this garment." She whimpers biting his lip in the same instant. He smiles anfkisses her back as she draws off his shirt. "An the ice is nothing more then a pool of melted water by now," her voice tinged with slight regret as she realizes all the possibilities offered by the frozen cubes of pleasure.

Quietly he continues, playing softly with his beloved. “Taking the leash strap, he rubs the oiled leather across her mound, dipping between her legs. Responding instantly, she moves to rub against his offered leather, unable to resist the sensations attendant to his touch.”

“Noting a few large pleasure pieces remain, he takes the condensation laden glass and gently rubs across her breast a brief thought of distracting her with his ice as he allows her her needs. She fumbles with his belt; urgency betrays her fingers as she happily discovers the hidden zipper. ‘His girl can be a bit clumsy,’ she purrs, ‘but she tries her best, my Master....’


Drawing down his pants, she sinks to her knees, examining him carefully before taking him into her mouth through the silk boxers now exposed. She looks up as to seek His approval. Eyes meet, as he sips slowly the diminishing drink they share, watching as she explores below. His eyes smile back at her inquiry. No words spoken, save a slight moan, barely escaping, as she suckles below.

No distractions present as she gently removes his remaining clothing, all the while, fondling him with her tongue. Gently she caresses him, proceeding in that intimate way a woman uses when she alone with her lover and is in no great hurry. His boxers are drawn down as the chain she wears rustling softly in the quiet room.


The gentle sounds of twilight mix with the soft percuss ions of jazz adding depth to the quiet sounds of her work. She keeps her rhythm tied loosely to the steady tick of the clock as his pleasure rises.”

She forgets all about the surrounding room as she is drawn into the spell he weaves. Mesmerized, she watches intently as he continues.

“The bed is near; she looks longingly and pleads silently. He smiles, pulling her close, feeling her throat as he thrusts and holds... She gags a little, knowing it pleasures him so....

He lingers with his own bliss before he slowly draws her off. ‘Come love,’ he whispers, ‘Crawl….’ She draws back. Their union persists with but a single trail of saliva. Sinking to her hands and knees, she leads him slowly to their bed. He follows at her pace, admiring her sinuous movements. At the bedside she kneels back, parting knees wide, as she sinks to brush the fur rug ever so slightly.”

His eyes meet hers, sharing a sip, before he continues. “Drawing her up to meet his taste, he nibbles her lips gently. The flavor of his own intimate skin lingers as he gently explores her mouth. He lifts her in his arms; leash tight at her throat, the firm tug reminds her of her condition. Their eyes meet unblinking as he lays her on the bed, pausing to drink in her image. Reclined, her alabaster skin, almost luminescent, shimmers in the flickering candlelight. He sets the glass to her lips to finish the whiskey. Locking eyes, she drains the glass as he takes the final cube from the empty vessel.”

She watches quietly, aroused with anticipation. He returns her gaze, intently, before continuing their tiny dance. “He joins her on the bed, kneeling beside her upturned face, leash in hand. With a delicate and tentative approach, she takes him in her mouth. Softly, lovingly, she begins anew her caress as he once again slips the now glistening cube to her nether lips. Playfully he touches her here and there gauging her reactions carefully. He smiles as he observes the alterations in her concentration on her own technique. He rakes a single nail across her hood, before circling the aroused nubbin hidden within. Droplets decorate her slowly as the melt runs from his hand onto her waiting skin.”

“Slowly he slips his frozen treat to her welcoming entrance. A deep primal sound escapes as she moans, her own sucking instantly more determined; frenetic perhaps, as he moves the melting cube, entering her pleasure garden slowly, savoring the sight. She arches her pelvis up, welcoming, as he moans softly in response to her own attentions.”

“Tempos rise as they move together as one, the tug of the leash a constant companion to her sensations. She feels his rhythm change as he begins to move with greater determination she responds clenchingly as he seeks her lips with his own. Tongues dance an play as he begins the slow burn to climax. She shudders knowing full well his flood approaches

With a slight smile she whispers, “She notices some melted ice dripping on the bed sheets….”

Laughingly, he replies, “No matter, he will launder as well he should....” Continuing over her giggled response his tail continues to unfold, “Moving between her legs, he presses the dripping cube deeper to its awaiting home. Her thighs welcome her lovers approach as he slips inside; feeling the sensations of the cube nestled alongside, his chilled companion to each thrust.”

“Looking up to meet his gaze, she begs him with her eyes, a plea to take total possession of her,” he continues. “She moans deep in her throat, digging her heels, sharply into his thighs….no matter he hardly notices in the heat of her embrace.”

Softly she whispers as she presses against him, “she hopes she did not kill him with her heels….”

A murmured reply comes softly, “The scratches and bites remind him of her pleasure as they heal…” Her cheeks blush a deep red, secretly pleased as he smiles down at her face. She sighs deeply, contentedly. “Now, how is that for a useful post? It isn’t quite the ornamental object that first impressions leave is it?”

“That...was ...very... good, Sir….” She whispers back.

“Then I am pleased,” He replied as she bows her head slightly. He folds her in his arms as she drapes her thigh over his. His seed slowly seeps as they drift off.

“She closes her eyes and smiles, feeling his gift pool where their thighs join. “This girl never liked Irish whiskey much Master, but she might from now on,” she softly replies. A last lingering look fills her vision as the candlelight flickers and dances along the steel links of her chain; their dance concluded...no words spoken.