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Prisoner of Love
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
PRISONER OF LOVE
You are seated at the dressing table of the luxury apartment
I have bought on Beach Avenue in Vancouver. I have installed you
there because I want you to myself. They say that money can't buy
everything, but I am going to try to buy some happiness while I am
still able to enjoy it. I hope that this way you will always be
there when I want you, like a rare exotic bird of brilliant
plumage. For I no longer want to share you with anyone else. I may
be wrong but I don't think you will try to escape from the luxury
I can provide you. If you do escape into the arms of another, I
don't want to know about it, for this is my fantasy - that I have
you all to myself. Will you will be content to be kept as a
gorgeous prisoner to service my every whiM? Only time will tell.
At this point I can only take satisfaction in the fact that
you are here this evening as I come in. You are seated in front of
the gold-framed plate glass mirror, brushing your long, blond hair
with the silver brush, part of the set with which I Have furnished
the dressing table, enticingly lovely in that filmy negligee that
reveals your every curve. You start when you hear my key in the
latch, for the only sound in the suite until now has been the music
of the home entertainment system installed in the spare room, which
muffles the traffic noises of the West End of Vancouver.
I let myself into the flat before you have a chance to get up.
Indeed, you continue brushing your hair, seemingly ignoring my
presence in the room. Your feminine wisdom tells you that I love to
watch you as you brush your hair among the luxury I have provided
for you.
I loosen my tie and go to the mini-bar for a stiff Scotch,
then lean back in the leather arm chair and survey you at my
leisure. You know that you are being watched and you enjoy giving
me this pleasure. As I watch, I can see signs of arousal in that
body I have come to know so well. You sit erect on your seat, and
this together with the sweeping motion of your arm as you brush
throws your firm, round breasts forward in high relief. Your hips
swell out from your narrow waist to the width of your derriere on
the brocade seat. And I can sense that those breasts, so ready to
be weighed in my eager hands, are already rubbing against the
fabric of your negligee. I know that your nipples are beginning to
swell and that your body is yearning for me.
You squirm on your seat and I can almost taste the moistness
that is already beginning to seep down into that mysterious
softness between your legs, those limbs so long and tapered, so
hungry in clasping me to you in the last throes of our coming
together. I see the features of your face soften and your already
soft, warm mouth begin to droop sensuously, your tongue sweeping
your lips as if to smooth the way for delights yet to come.
Your eyes glaze over, and your hand moves the brush more
slowly down the length of your hair, and I know that I have you in
my power once again, that for tonight at least I won't have to
share you with anyone, that you are mine.
I put down my glass and slowly walk up behind you over the
thick carpet. You lean up against me and look up at me in the
mirror, put down the brush and reach behind you to where you feel
my bulge against your back. It takes only a dexterous flick of my
belt buckle, my trousers slide to the floor, and you have me at
your mercy, just where you want me. Your lotion-softened hand
slips over the length of me and I harden even more until I groan in
ecstasy at the bittersweet sensation of that engorged flesh aching
for release.
You lift my face to mine as I dip both my hands deep into your
bodice, and lovingly lift those pomegranates and run my thumbs over
your nipples and feel them harden, the right one, as always, harder
than the left.
I am content simply to feel the delicious weight of those
lovely orbs for a few moments as our mouths come together in our
first kiss of the day, and our tongues and breath and mouth-
watering meet in one glorious moistness.
Somehow we slide to the floor and your mouth has slipped down
my torso to where you still hold me in your hand and you take me
softly in, first the head, then slowly down the length of my member
until you have engulfed it all. I shudder as I feel that fierce,
yet gentle suction and know that I can endure this only briefly.
Before I spend myself I want to give you that pleasure which
you hold supreme. With almost superhuman will I disengage myself
from your suctioning lips reluctant to give up their prey and
gently turn you over onto your belly. You hide your face in the
crook of your arm like a little girl ashamed of a guilty secret,
but I know that it is just a pose and that you are lusting for what
is coming next as much as I.
Lifting the hem of your negligee up to your waist, I expose
your firm, proud cheeks, now jutting up at me sassily. I know that
you like to be spanked, but I fear that my overexcited being can
withstand only so much and I want to spend myself in you, not all
over that deep-piled rug. So I kneel between your outspread legs
and spread your cheeks until that little ring is staring up at me,
provocative and beckoning.
My heart pounds in my chest as I lean forward and touch the
smooth, oval tip of my member to that most private entry. It is as
if all of your body heat is concentrated here, warming me as I push
against you. I have lubricated you with my saliva, you seem to balk
at first, then once the initial resistance is overcome, I slide
into your strongly squeezing darkness until I feel your spheres of
delight push against my groin, and I groan with the warm, snug
feeling of it.
With one hand on your hip, I let the other drift down to your
mound, where I find your love button wet with the lubrication
of your desire. I rub and pinch it softly to the rhythm of my
lunges into your rear orifice, on and on, relentlessly, for I now
have but one goal, to bring us both to a peak higher than any we
have known.
And it starts building up in the both of us, like a timid,
lapping wave at first, then stronger and more undeniable, like the
breakers on a shore line in the path of a hurricane, until you
finally rear up in a frenzied leap, almost throwing me from off
you, and we explode in a tangled mess on that expensive rug, my
nose buried in your hair, the faint sweet smell of your
perspiration rising up through your Chanel No. 5.
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