SL TO RL
Shy , unassuming, discreetly beautiful and blessed with the power to attract the attention of any red bloodied person that had the benefit of meeting her. I had not just merely met her; I owned her, I still do.
I met her some eighteen months ago, she targeted me as she does a lot of Misses, flirtatious, soft words edged with a steely submissiveness. Her pleasure in the main derived from the presence of a Dominatrix, the play of words and the ever present undertone of sexual tension.
I hadn’t sought a female submissive in my Second Life, I already have one RL, and she satisfies that percentage of me that only Woman to woman D/s can supply. ( a smile curves my lips as images, aromas and sibilant cries of pleasure appear and shimmer before me as I write ). Our meetings contained the sharp edge of the insistent urge for sexual gratification - and I am not into my own denial.
Her legs; in the first picture I saw of her, breathtakingly long, almost thin, the muscle dictating their delicate curve. The laughter that echoed in my bedroom as I saw the red heels she wore. The knowledge that my boys would drool if ever I shared that image; and no, I never have.
She slipped neatly into my life, a gift she has of being unobtrusive and yet indispensable. We shared times of fluffy slippered laughter and others of intense passion that left us both breathless and satiated.
Living only a few hours apart it was an obvious step to meet each other, no pressures or expectations are greater than when a Mistress meets who she owns virtually. She will need to tell you how long she spent nervously plucking up the courage to enter my home, I had left the door on the latch so she could enter and leave her clothes by the door, she would be allowed to wear them again on departure from the house.
As she knelt by the door naked and trembling I observed her from the top of the stairs, avidly drinking in the reality of her translucent skin, her pale nipple tips puckered in the cool air. The tumbled mass of honeyed hair silken under the harsh lamplight gave movement to the heavy expectant aura that enveloped us both.
I entered a room indicating she should follow, no word spoken. I pulled her hair forcing her to stand, both of us of equal height. My eyes examined what I would play with, use, hurt. Her cunt was silkily smooth, kept that way as part of her instructions, my finger tip trailed over her belly to the dark line of her closed slit, no need to ask when or how she had come last, I knew.
At times I curse my lack of self control, but why should I control the lust that tore through me at that moment, I bent to kiss the pink tipped breast that offered itself to my lips. Only then did she release a yelp of desire and then her voice low with barely contained passion vowed her love and fealty to me.
Later:
Bound to my dining room table legs spread she was my feast garnished with silken scarves, brightly coloured clothes pegs and cracked and flaking candle wax. The pegs were a cartwheel of colour surrounding her nipples, dimpling the delicate flesh of her breasts. A speculum held her cunt open wide, fingers, fruit, toys, and my tongue had all held court in her dripping sex. I called her the names that made her writhe in humiliation, taunting and teasing until the evening turned to night and her pleas for release heralded the dawn. Her orgasm made the hairs rise on my neck, my palms to sweat and the need to come myself overwhelming. I lay atop of her still jerking and shuddering form rubbing my aching clit on her prominent hip bone, the length of my body pinning her under my own cataclysmic release. We lay unable to speak or move, nor wanting to, the moment was created to savor to the full.
That first time has become one of several meetings. She has met some of my friends and they look at us and ponder as to what our relationship is and perhaps out the corner of an eye they might see my hand slip under her skirt to stroke that smooth sweet cunt that I own.
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