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Oca 10

Morning Comes in the Tent

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I wake in the morning, wrapped in silken sheets. Instinct has me curling my arms close around me. The slide of the sheets causes me to shiver slightly. The newness of the material feels wrong against skin that has felt only rough fabrics. I run my fingers over the scars on my left arm, reassuring myself with a familiar gesture as the night before slowly unfolds in my mind.

Mistress. I belong to Mistress. I belong. Tears gather as I’m torn between believing and fearing what morning light will bring. While the filtered sunlight of the slaver’s tent and the flickering candlelight of the bathing chamber might hide my form, harsh daylight will surely reveal what you have brought to your home, to your bed.

I stood yesterday in the market, apart from the experienced women with their jutted hips and flashing eyes. They projected a promise of sexual prowess, a promise I knew I could not match. I resented the way their obvious experience attracted the eyes of the wealthy patrons who trailed hands over breasts and buttocks. Appreciation of these women shown in their eyes, women who would chatter and gossip later through servants’ quarters about a master or mistress’s performance, offering comparisons with the others they had known. But that did not seem to matter because they could bring pleasure to their owners, and they communicated that promise with subtle arches into prodding hands and languid glances from beneath lowered lashes.

Shame fills me, remembering now how I stood back, away from these women who promised so much more than I knew. Despite the months I spent on the market block, few of the market-goers offered more than a glance at my rounded form, offering little more than degrading murmurs or smirks at my timid stance.

I roll the silk between my fingers, sliding it over my cheek. The contrast pulls me back from the memories of the lonely, bitter days and lonelier nights of the market. I breathe in deep the scent of your perfume and your sex. My cunt throbs in memory.

I stood so still before you in the market. Unsure if I should move to allow you to continue your exploration of the women on offer. You moved with such purpose, as though you knew exactly what you wanted. But you hadn’t told me to move, so I held ever so still, trying to show how obedient I could be. Your breath brushing across my cheek as you lifted my chin, allowing me to meet your eyes, sent a warmth through my limbs. No one else had come so close. Could you read in my eyes the need to belong utterly, to obey, to please?

Shifting a bit in the bed, I wonder what is expected of me this morning. No commands have been offered, and I begin to fear that you have left me.

You belong to me. Your words come back to me, and I struggle to trust in that promise—a promise no one has ever izmir escort cared enough to make. My anxiety rises because I cannot bear to think of displeasing you, and I don’t know what you want of me now.

“Good morning, my Kitten.” Your voice wraps around me with more warmth than even your strong arm sliding around my waist. I shudder with anticipation as your hand moves to cup my breast firmly.

“Shh,” you whisper in my ear, pressing close to me so that I can feel your breasts against my back. I bite back a moan at the memory of your full nipples under my tongue.

“You were mine last night. You are mine this morning.”

You seem to know my fears, and I can’t help but feel sorrow that I need this reassurance. My world has narrowed to your presence, your pleasure. I struggle in your embrace, needing to see you.

“Please, Mistress.” My whisper shakes with emotion that courses through me.

“Turn around, Kitten.”

Your eyes stare into mine before I can drop my gaze in submission.

“Tell me what you need. You must not hide from me.” You brush gentle fingers over my tangled locks.

I look at you, yearning surely shining from my eyes, but I cannot find the words to express the need. Last night you took me, made me yours, and began to teach me how to please you. In the light of morning, I need to know that I can continue to be yours, to show you. I simply murmur, “You, Mistress. Need you.”

“My gentle Kitten. Come to your Mistress.” You guide my mouth to your breast, continuing to stroke my hair.

Safe. I suckle gently, rolling the tightening nipple under my tongue, alternating sucking and licking. Your other hand slides down my naked back, over my hip and buttock.

“Mine,” you murmur. “My beautiful girl.”

My lips tease at your nipple, and I wrap my arms around you. I hear your breath catch, and my cunt throbs in response. Desire to pleasure you strums through me. I need to be yours, to be your pleasure, your own.

“Mmmm, my eager Kitten.” You roll your hips against me and guide my hand over your hip, between your thighs. My fingers press against your warm mound. I shudder as you move your hand to press against the bite mark you left on my neck. Pleasure/pain. I suck hard at your breast, pressing my tongue against your erect nipple, overwhelmed to think that I cause that reaction in you.

“Gently, my darling, gently,” you remonstrate me, and I nod submissively without removing my mouth from your warm breast. The fullness of your flesh presses against my cheek, and the subtle taste of your skin is familiar against my tongue.

“Kitten.” You tug on my hair, and I release your breast, confused and concerned that I have displeased you. I lower my eyes to indicate my contrition, and alsancak escort my gaze falls on your wet, reddened nipple.

“Kneel on the floor.” Your voice is firm and quiet. I slide out of the bed quickly, needing to obey, to show you I am yours. My skin aches to touch you. Last night when you touched me with desire, you tapped the passion that I hid so deeply inside. I know that I can give all of myself, take in and hold all the pain and pleasure that you allow, but never before have I had the permission or space to allow that passion to reign. That ingrained struggle against myself ceases when you command me and offer the control that I need.

Despite the disappointment at the loss of your touch, I comfort myself with obedience. As I settle on my knees, you rise in the bed to sit on the edge, wrapping your legs around me, and pulling me close. Already familiar, your scent surrounds me, and I breathe deep.

“Clasp your hands together and hold them still. Use those beautiful lips and tongue. Suck me, Concubine.” Your fingers grip my head, and again, I’m safe, safe where I belong. I run my tongue through your folds, sliding the tip of my tongue over your clitoris as I rub my chin through the wetness that lubricates your skin. Your fingers flex and grip tighter. A thrill runs from my heart to my own pulsing cunt, and I feel myself grow wetter, knowing that I bring you pleasure.

Time seems to stop and simultaneously slide away through my fingers as I lose myself in your taste. So many ways to move my tongue and lips, all of them so new. I lick down your folds to the grasping opening of your cunt, noting how the taste changes, grows sharper as I force my tongue to a point to slide inside you.

“Kitten,” you gasp. I grin against your folds. Your legs loosen, and you reach down to pull up on my knees, your mouth claiming mine in a kiss. I open my lips to your hungry kiss, and your tongue swipes your own taste from my mouth. My body trembles with need, need to touch and be touched. My world has narrowed to your skin, to my Mistress. All is Mistress, and I burn to touch you.

“Up on the bed, Kitten,” you command.

I scramble to obey, and you chuckle at my eagerness.

“Good girl. Lie on your back, here in the middle of the bed.” I arrange myself on the bed, feeling the blush that crawls up my neck as your eyes rake my form.

“My beautiful girl.” You slide your hand down my neck and over my breast. Without thinking, I shake my head and look away.

“You will not argue with me, concubine.” I gasp as you pinch my nipple sharply. “I chose you.” A pinch to the other nipple. “And I am not wrong in my choices.” I watch you smile, eyes dilated with desire. My own eyes widen to see that desire aimed at me. I feel the tears gather, buca escort overwhelmed once again at the belonging that holds me to you. Without thought, I reach up to trail my fingers over the soft skin of your cheek.

“Mistress.” So much I mean to say, to tell you, but I don’t have the words or the permission to speak.

“Yes, I am your Mistress, and you are my Kitten.” You straddle my waist and grind against me. My hips buck off the bed, and you smile.

“Your body knows, and I will train you, teach you.” You lean down to kiss me, stealing my breath with determined lips and tongue that I respond to with abandon. Suddenly you pull back with a wicked grin. Still on your knees, hovering above me you shuffle forward until your cunt rests above my face. Once again, your scent surrounds me, holds me close. I cannot see beyond your red, swollen folds.

“Lick me, Kitten. Remember, long strokes.” Hoarse with desire, your voice shudders through me.

I tilt my neck slightly until my tongue reaches your heated skin. Your wetness smothers my chin and cheeks. I breathe deep through my nose as my tongue strokes over and around your clitoris. I concentrate on the slight shifts of your clit under my tongue, feeling you swell and open more with each stroke. Your thighs press against my ears and muffle your moans, but they thrill through me, stoking the fires between my own thighs.

“Use your fingers.”

I thrust two fingers into you, and you arch above me.

“Harder, Kitten. Harder.”

I press three fingers in and flick my tongue rapidly across your clit.

“Touch yourself, Kitten. I want you to come with me. Know you are mine.” Your words are gasped out.

I use my other hand to rub my own clit in circles, struggling to keep my hips from bucking against my hand, not wanting to risk moving you way from my mouth. My fingers slide through my wetness, friction impossible, but pressure building, burning through my hips and centered in my cunt.

“Come with me, Kitten, Kitten, now.”

Suddenly your cunt clutches rhythmically around my fingers, and I hear your cries. My tongue falters as my fingers pull my own orgasm from me. Fire rushes through me and my own gasps are swallowed by your heated skin.

“Kitten, Kitten, Kitten.”

I gather myself to suck on your clit, and you spasm against me. My heart soars. I did this. I gave Mistress pleasure, and I glow with accomplishment and joy. Trusted with your most intimate places, I am owned, safe, yours.

You lift your leg from over my face and slide down to lie over me. Gentle kisses press against my eyes as I regain my breath.

The knowing smile appears once more as you pull the fingers that have been in my cunt to your mouth and lick them appreciatively.

“My Kitten.” You suck on my fingers. “My precious concubine.”

I gaze at your warm, brown eyes, amazed by the love that shines there.

As you did last night, you pull the blankets close around us, keeping us safe and warm. You kiss me with quiet passion, and I know I am yours.

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