To capture her heart, I would have to free her from the spell of
walking in the rain,I AM mused, considering the mythical
possibilities of a short story around her desires. She was
apparently bewitched, through turning her face upwards to watch the
raindrops falling, all the while smiling and laughing, a wet
equivalent of icarus, flying too close to the clouds. She was
nevertheless scanning her surrounds and she had not sought shelter
from the rain. And it was then that she saw his form and stopped
her playful playing in the new puddles forming around her feet to
smile a greeting, her mouth remaining half open in a precarious,
ephemeral oval shape.
He looked up at that chirpy sound and gazing around idly, seemed to
see in his mind's eye a flutter of movement. It almost seemed to
him that she opened her arms and tilted her head back, as if trying
to catch every drop. She might be swaying to some internal rhythm,
undulating her hips and twining her arms above her head. He
beckoned to her and she came a reluctant from her play. Eyes
closed, he began to glide his hands down her body, smoothing the
raindrops into her skin and dress, wondering if she expected mercy
"Do have mercy,Sir," she murmured, pleadingly. He thought about it
for a moment and slowly shook his head, closing his eyes again and
remaining dreamily fascinated that his hands cupped her breasts and
slid down over her thighs. She begged again and asked how to sway
him from the more lurid twists and turns of his imagination as his
continued reverie seemed to infuriate her. He smiled, knowing that
she enjoyed his musings as much as he did himself as he tried to
define her unseeing face and track a raindrop as it hit her bottom
lip, then trickled over her chin, down her neck and slowly ran down
her chest until it met the swell of her breast and disappeared into
the dark shadow of her cleavage.
She whimpered for mercy: "My darling Sir..I will give you anything
you want...if you will allow me just a few moments"
He leant forward to take her in more clearly and mused to himself
as to whether to allow her the prerogative of dallying. Just then
he took a quick look around, then in one quick movement grasped the
hem of her dress and pulled it over her head.
"Ohhh, I dead," she surrendered, moaning in pigeon English. He
cleverly managed to get the hem all caught up in typical male
fashion, thus giving her a little time to gather her thoughts and
"I'm in trouble here......Aren't I?"
He wondered whether to get out of trouble she could perhaps stretch
her body, arching her back and clearly enjoying the feel of the
rain on her skin. She reached up long arms and extended her body,
allowing her breasts to perk as the dress rode up. His hands stroke
over her body again but slower this time, and he was lingering more
each time at her breasts. He could almost clearly see her nipples
hardening and he began to tug and twist the hard nubs. Her hands
moved down on his shoulders asking for a harder pinch, with those
self same pleading eyed. Harder and harder he massaged her breasts
and soon he could hear her gasping with each caress.
"Ah...Ohh.....yess....Oh..thank you..Sir.....," she groaned as she
sank to her knees as if she could no longer stand, then he pushed
her back to leave her sprawled on her back, writhing as he rolled
her nipples between his fingers. She turned her full attention to
him and away from the gathering clouds, felled by this passionate
"Forgive my distraction at the seasons,Sir, " she begged.
"Forgive the wench - never," he would not be brooked by any
contradiction in this and turned her over brusquely. He beat a
sound tattoo on her exposed rump and then allowed...
(Ahhhhh!...Ohhhh...Sir... Ooowwweeee!) ..."you will suffer more
anon for that distraction pet".
He allowed one hand to drift down over her stomach and slid between
her legs as she spread them wide. At the thought of that haven he
groaned involuntarily, her bottom cheeks stinging and warm. She lay
blissfully in the languorous pleasure of his touch, letting it
rather than the rain wash away the pain.
"Thank you, Sir," she exhaled softly as his fingers slid between
her thighs to recommence stroking. Her full head of hair fell
around her head and her dark eyes gazed up at him. The fever of her
skin, radiated against him.
"You are good to me you are, Sir"
Please bring the summer shower again...," she pleaded, "and with
it...your thunder...and your torrent...Ohhh...to..."
"Make you scream in the stream?"
"Squeak in the creek?"
"Is my torrent that abhorrent?"
"Shut up,Sir! Just carry me down with that wash. Take away my
reason...to expedite your pleasure Sir."
Soon her gasps developed into moans as he rubbed her himself, his
other hand still busy with her breasts. Obviously needing more she
spread her legs wider and he slid a finger deep inside. He knew her
heart and she heard his voice rise up in herald of pleasure's
release. In no time at all (Ahhh....Ohh) her hips were bucking and
pressing, her juices were flowing and her need was growing. He
watched the fingers sliding in and out, observing calmly that she
was wet with more than rain now.
She tossed her head in silent pleading, her face flushed and tense
with orgasm teetering deep in her loins. He slid another finger in
- then another - his thumb stroking between her bottom cleft,
teasing her bud as she lay there balanced between heaven and hell.
She waited for his word, the shrill cries growing high pitched as
he played with her while she bucked her hips.
"Now you may stiffen, sweet slut," he allowed, letting her back
arch up off the ground and envisage her tightness clenching around
his fingers and the flood of moisture trickling down her thighs.
She opened her legs wide, reigning her pleasurable release in,
knowing better than to ride that wave of elation without
permission. He watched her sprawled on the grass his permission in
his words and she realising this allowed her breathing to become
ragged, followed by a silence and a tight tense stop. In the pause
he took another long look at that lovely body, watching her stare,
followed by the slow closure of eyes as she entered sub
He lifted his hands to her shoulders to hold her trembling form,
listening to her heart pounding in my chest, holding to him
tightly, eyes glazed. His lips curve into a smile as he watches and
waits for her release to fade away, watching the pert tongue
licking dry lips, dried by hot breathing as arms relax and fall to
the earth. Having accomplished that satisfaction she craved, her
eyes are misty in the afterglow. She regards him lovingly as he
feels the palpitations of her soft breast, allowing her mind to
clear a little with the pumping of her life blood through that
...And now, later, she sighs in his arms, recovered again as he
holds her, such a light burden, such a delightful sweet soft form
of unimaginable grace. She lies still, a fallen dove not wanting to
disappoint. Her lips quiver a bit, her eyes are downcast. He sees
in her a gentle trusting package with such wide eyes and such
kissable lips and lays her down on a quilted bed, spreading her
limbs to prepare her for future delights.
Now that the dream of raindrops that swept her into his arms is
forgiven, she lets him take her down, and lie there, pressed in the
coverlet soft. The mirrors are her eyes but the arrow of self
retribution is still lodged in her heart. He traces the blemishes
on her naked skin, finding no blood, just mere scratches from the
gentle whipping her Master has just inflicted on her. The pain can
be kissed away by his soft lips, as her eyes fall closed and a
single silent tear, traces to the far ear, and hides in its
She blinks her eyes open, and on her face she pulls the still,
quiet, soft surface, determined to shelve this now, and be as he
wishes -perfection from this moment on. He sees a prickle or two
from the rose switch he cut specially for his love and now he has
other devices to make her squeal gently into his thrusting chest as
he lays half upon her and slowly eases open the blue gown. She
feels his weight upon her, and the secure strong place it denotes,
where she can hide her soul. Quiet now are her arms, and legs as
the bows of an elm, silent in a breezelessstill and morn.
He pulls back her silks to reveal those soft peaks of desire, those
proud pink turrets of endless erotic prospect, those rounded hills
to be traced and plowed by the furrow of his fingers. The light of
his gaze, dawn upon her now, his warmth is as the rays of the sun
on a still sea, for she does not move. He watches the rise and fall
of that lustrous bosom, so eminently desirable, such an attainment
to have achieved, on this breezeless immobile captive wench of
His sunny desire throws a pink hue across the clouds that hide her
cheeks, hide her chest and in the valley of each breast's rise. But
the valley lays practically still, that he may take to his good
pleasure. He lays his palm across that exposed bosom to shield her
from sun's harsh rays and watches the brightness of her pleading
eyes. Her heart wants only to give. Her need to provide has raised
itself up and is known to him, oh yes he has certainly captured her