The music echoed in the otherwise still, candlelit room. The sounds of passion as it is spent having died, leaving only the voice of Andrea Bocelli singing as the light from flames danced on the shadowed walls.
She didn't understand the language he sang, but she somehow knew its meaning by sound alone. The song sang to her on some deep and aching level. It sang to her of pain and suffering, and of a deeper love than any could possibly comprehend. She knew the music as well as she knew her own name in that moment, and wondered if anyone could ever hear that song and not understand the beautiful suffering and ecstasy he expressed.
There she was, on the floor, spent and used, with only the music and her own thoughts to keep her company for he had left the room when he was done with her. He had left satisfied and pleased with her, but left nevertheless.
She had watched from her position on the floor; watched as he walked the distance away from her; watched as he opened the door and disappeared through it; watched as he retreated to some secret room beyond her sight. She had watched through the stupor of sex and lust mingled with her own desire and love for him. She had watched and wondered what was different about tonight.
The night had begun the way their nights usually did, with him returning home from his day of work. She was waiting for him in her usual place; waiting with the crop and the wrist restraints in her hand. It was their usual practice, and it seldom varied in how it began. However what occurred after he opened the door was limited only by his imagination and will.
Sometimes he greeted her with a smile and would shake his head, "No, not tonight pet. I need quiet." Sometimes he would enter and immediately order her to place the restraints on her hands, take the crop and order her to take her position. Sometimes he only restrained her and used her for his pleasure. Sometimes he took more of her, sometimes he took less, but he always had his way. It was the nature of them, he had his way and she served him in all things.
Tonight had been different though, he had pushed her hard. He had taken her to a place she'd never been before; a place that spoke to her in a language she did not know. It was a place she was just becoming aware of as she sat there in the dimly lite room listening to the passion of the music. A passion in the music that was speaking to something in her that she never knew existed
. Some kind of beautiful and haunting agony.
He had chosen his favorite flogger tonight. He had swung it with authority and deliberation. He had pushed her pain threshold until she was lost in the sensation and could no longer tell the difference as each strike planted stripes on her legs, ass and back.
She finally descended into the place where pain and pleasure combine in some sort of frenzied dance with the mind, body and spirit. Once they were united for her in pure erotic intoxication, he entered her deeply from behind. He plunged into her hard and fast, pounding his groin and thighs against the freshly warmed skin of her back side. The hotness of her skin speaking to him in ways only he could understand. Deeper and deeper he drove into her, until he knew to a certainly that he owned her body and soul.
He continued to use her, biting the back of her neck and drawing blood in a moment of passion, continuing the 'taking' of his possession. Then at the moment of his release he took his fingernails, dragging them down the newly formed marks on her back. He watched through the fog of his own pleasure as her body sprang into a spasm as she reacted to the pain down her spine. The intensity of both the pain and pleasure driving her into her own hunger and need. The moment catapulting her to some dark room inside of her own psyche, a place she had never been before.
His fingernails stopped at her ass and he dug them into her flesh as both Master and slave screamed out in pleasure as release finally arrived for both of them. He kneaded her ass as he slowed his pace, choosing his own time to finally exit from the warmth of her puss. When he had finished with her, he gently laid her down on the floor in front of the fire place; laid her there and then walked away without a word--finished for the moment.
All she could do was watch, then as if some sudden moment of insanity gripped her, she spoke out loud. "Please Sir, please don't leave me yet, I need you. I need you," she begged as if it would be the last thing she ever said.
She knew on some level that begging would do no good, and it was for this reason that she had previously never begged without a command to do so. She always accepted his actions. So, as the words fell out of her mouth, she was shocked to hear the sound of her own voice doing the unthinkable, asking the impossible. As she heard the sound of her own voice, a question formed in her own mind, and took hold as she tried to find an answer. What did she need?
She looked at him still feeling some aching hunger, some unthinkable need, then closed her eyes as he left the room. The event full of something so foreign to her, that she fell into her own abyss, floating on the sensations of her body until the answers came in a thundering voice from within.
It must have been the combination of music and him, she thought. The place his hand, his will, and the music had taken her. It must have been that. She laid on the floor drifting in and out of her own lust, unable to focus for the longest time, seemingly only feeling the depth of her passion for him. The music stroked her soul as his hands had stoked her body and she knew as the music came to an end that she could never get enough of him. It was in that revelation that she saw her true nature.
All the times she had secretly wanted to beg for more, and all the times he had denied her, suddenly came crashing in around her as she came to the realization that she needed him to walk away while she still needed more. She lived in her passion, her need, and her hunger. What she never understood was how well he knew her real need. Her passion required that she be left unsatisfied in some way. It demanded to live on in some fashion through that very denial. It begged to be given voice, but it only sang its bittersweet song if he left her wanting just a little more.
She blinked as she looked into the fire and sighed deeply as she came to see that she needed to be kept in a constant state of 'wanting more', that her begging was not to actually 'get more' but an acknowledgment that she was still living in her hunger for him. Complete satiation would steal her passion from her, steal it from him. It was her need that drove her to the heights and depths that she longed to know intimately. Her lust needed to be kept stoked but never extinguished, and as she lay in the aftermath of his sated passion, she finally understood why she always felt completely spent yet still wanting more.
She just hadn't realized, and most of all she had never understood how strong he was to always give her what she really needed, not what she said she wanted. She smiled at the revelation and felt her love for him grow.
He walked back in the room carrying some ointment to tend to her back. "You'll have some marks for a while. This will help," he said as she silently watched him approach her.
He touched her back and it sent a shiver through her whole body, his voice, touch and the pain igniting her need once again. She let out a moan and closed her eyes to take in the sensation of his hand on her body. Yes, there it was, the hunger; the hunger for more. Now she was complete.
She cocked her head, her eyes flickering open to look at him. He smiled as he recognized the look she wore so beautifully for him and him alone. That look of need and desire shining in her eyes and in her expression. He never tired of that look. Never.
He spoke in soft tones that caressed her soul, "Yes, yes pet, I know, I know."
His hands stroked her in gentle healing circles, but the fire in her burned hot. The hunger raged within her and as she looked up at him, she realized that he did know.