The Gift

“The Contract”

A proleptic event

Power of Attorney

You hold the envelope up to the light, as if to see through it. You turn it over, weighing it in your hands. Holding it to your nose, you can almost detect a scent of perfume, vanilla with a hint of amber, spicy yet sweet…Finally, after carefully examining the shape, markings and lettering, you remove the contents.

Legal & ‘Binding’

Document of Domination…It is a contract, unlike any you have ever seen in your prodigious career. It appears precise in its legal form and jargon, a well-written, obscure kind of “property agreement.” The origins of such a document must date back to another time and place. The chattel so interpreted is not animal, but person, in essence, a person as a possession, your possession. The party of the first willfully signing over all rights to the party of the second for one weekend. You will be the master, and I, your devoted subject. Attached in calligraphic hand, is a notethat reads in part-“This is your holiday gift. I will arrive tonight to fulfill the terms and obligations of’ The Contract.

Air of Civility

Although we have never met, our intimate conversations, and my gentle, deep voice have an enchanting effect. Your imagination is ripe with the possibility. This is going to be a weekend to remember.

The doorbell disturbs you from a momentary flight of fancy. Your first impression, I look soft and sweet, a vulnerable, innocent presence. Cascading hair drops past shoulders…long, dark, curly-a protective coat. Most striking, an unlined face defies age. There is almost no visible make-up… except to bring out large, deep, brown, soulful eyes and skin radiating with a healthy glow touched by the sun. This vision (of average height) dressed in casual Attire seems strong, solid, tenacious, intensity–yet still somehow fragile.

Your eyes follow the design of my pendant necklace, casting your attention downward to a chest of ampleproportion. The rest of my body is hidden beneath fabric that only suggests well-defined feminine curves. This is the ‘Ivory Girl,’ the ‘girl next door’ with a slight hint of the artist, the unconventional, expressed in accessories and a nonchalant, proud carriage. You observe an unstructured presence with playful, smiling eyes and full, perfectly shaped lips that beg to be kissed.

Crime and Punishment

It is a body meant for punishment. And, all your thought is focused on the power you will soon wild…the provocative things you will force me to do, the taming of an animal to your whim, the breaking of a spirit. You will make me crawl, beg, whimper–and in the breaking, feel your power, an aphrodisiac. Your cock aches at the potential of the play about to unfold, the plot of your creation, a curtain about to rise…

“Faustian Fervor”

First, the civilized protocol of dinner…a preprandial libation, a toast to invite or exercise the demons-one appetite satisfied, while another is what. The pretense of conversation, foreplay to the forbidden, compliments flow as freely as the alcohol. For the final course, a symbolic deal with the devil sealed with a password kiss. I can taste the aged bourbon. There is an unspoken understanding, as our tongues search for answers.

“Let the Games Begin”

Comfortably seated in a chair, you admire your new price. Suddenly, your conversational tone becomes commanding.

“Stand in front of me and unbutton your blouse,” I am ordered.

Blushing, I realize it is one thing to sign a contract, it is quite another to live up to it. Your language becomes coarse-a new personality emerges.

“Show me your tits, what are you waiting for…present them to me,” is said with a vicious impatience.

My hands shake from nervousness. I am not accustomed to being on display. My obvious self-consciousness only heightens your excitement. Finally, the milky white globes are revealed.

“Lift them up and squeeze them together”… an offering to a God, and you are the God.

“The nipples are not hard enough,” you say reproachfully.

From a neary bucket you remove an ice cube, demanding that I place the gelid substance on the tips until fully erect. Not satisfied, you arise, and feigning announcement, pinch the buds until they painfully swell from your masterful touch. Running your hands over my breasts, I am instructed to remain still as you fondle the rotund dough-like species, kneeing them as you would bread. You want to see how large you can make the teas grow, using thumb and forefinger as pincers, tongs of terror, the extensions become rock-hard miniature mountains, a reflection of your bulging cock. You reach under my skirt, silken underwear, the fabric protector of the grotto. Matter-of-factly, you inform me that I am to leave my cunt exposed, available to you at all times, accessible to your invasion.

“Underwear is not allowed,” and with that you rip them off, roughly running your hands between the slit.

I am to have no name, from now on be referred to as “cunt” or “pet.” You further humiliate me by pointing out the wetness between my legs. My body has betrayed me.

“Prolocutor Turned Executioner”

“Stand by the window,” I want to see you masturbate.”

My hesitation turns to defiance.

“Suppose someone see me,” I imploringly respond.

You smile disdainfully. I try, but cannot bring myself to such a level of exhibitionism.

“Then, you shall be punished”…

I have broken the contract, a behavioral infection of the rules.

“Lift your skirt, show me your ass, bend over my lap,” you say in a contumelious manner.

There can be no doubt to my movement. Repeatedly striking hard with the palm of your hand, bringing maximum redness to the profilerant buttons, a cushion turned scarlet, burning from shame and the sting of your blows. I must be quite an incendiary sight.

Your cock requiress attention and release. As a way of thanking you for my much-needed discipline, I am ordered to suck your ballooning rod. My mouth, lips and tongue are a moist, tight, sheath…desperately try to please. I am awist by your size. Kneeling to accomplish my task, your massive scepter stretches my oral sanctuary beyond its natural limits. I struggle not to gag. You choose not to finish in my mouth, but rather on my breasts and neck, so I can watch as you spill your seed, along with profanities. I am awake in your maleness, and aware that this is just the beginning of my servitude.

“A Night on the Town”

“Get dressed, we are going out. The clothes I have selected for you can be found in the bedroom.”

There, carefully organized I find…a push-up bra (which will only serve to exaggerate my breasts and cleavage), black sheer blouse, very short skirt and high spike heels (of course, no panties). I can feel the air between my legs. I must look like a hooker, I feel cheap. Somehow it never occurred to me that the contract would include off-premise activity. I am mortified by my vulgar display.

We walk a short distance to a bar. You enjoy small talk with friends, knowing all eyes are on me. You deliberately drop something to the floor and ask me to retrieve it. There is no possible way for me to bend in such a short skirt without revealing my naked ass.

“I can’t do it,” a tremor in my voice, not wanting to invoke your wrath.

In disgust, you grab me, almost dragging me as we leave. There will be retribution for my insubordination.

“Act of Contrition-

Obedience Training…Once back in your apartment, I plead for your forgiveness, ask you to understand my prediction. Words fall on deaf ears. You want to abuse me, debase me. One so strong and proud needs to be shown her place…

You open a locked draw, removing a collar, leash and whip. Holding them up for my inspection, in order to measure the horrified look on my face. You willtie me up like a dog, walk me, make me fetch, sit, beg. As you prepare to use the whip…there is a knock on the door. You don’t seem surprised, and leave me in a position of disgrace. It is your friend from the bar (the one I had refused to bend over in front of…). You’ve let a stranger into our contract. My protestations are meaningless. The stranger watches, excited, while you whip me, my screams muffled by tears. He is offered a complete, uninterrupted view of my rear. His hard-on is immediate and unmistakable. Abruptly, he leaves. I am actually relieved that you didn’t make me suck him…

You are aroused to a state of intoxication. Your cock is ready to do battle. This time, my ass, marked by the whip is the entrance you seek. However, you have surprise, another act of definition. You take an Unlit candle, mirroring the size and shape of your ominous erection, using the cylinder to penetrate my virgin ass-hole. It refuses to accept the foreign invader, try as I might to relax the muscles. Angrily, you lead me to the bedroom, stick me to the headboard, and handcuff ankles and wrists. I am a human X-every limb stretched and taut, no possible defense. You light the candle and drip wax along my chest. My cries and pulling against the bonds, adds new erotic tension. I am completely yours- you make me say it over and over. I promise to obey. You insist that I ask you to fuck me. The word repetition has given extraordinary impetus to your cock. Teasing me, parading it before me, knowing I want to feel its power, your power. You drive it in, assaulting me with your mammoth weapon, pillaging my body.

I continue to chant-“fuck me, please fuck me”, as you reach my core.

There is always tomorrow…you will return to my ass and master it…but tonight you cradle me in your arms, a tender embrace. I have pleased you with my gift.