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| Key Word - "Dichotomy" and/or "Waiting" Word Limit - 275 for each picture Extra Credit - Get one other blogger to join in Bonus Words - 25 for each orgasm you help someone else have between now and Friday morning. |
I walked into the room just outside the chapel and she was there, blindfolded as I had instructed, breathing heavily with a small whimper in her throat. The wedding was to begin in one hour, and I promised her husband that she would be on time for the ceremony. Her wedding dress hung off to the side, a beautiful creation of beaded silk, ready to slip over her head before walking into the chapel.
My heels make crisp clicks as I walked across the hardwood floor, her perfume filled the air and I inhaled the scent of beauty. I had been waiting for this day for many years. I had watched her grow up, blossoming from an energetic tomboy into a towering beauty. Her chest was bound tightly by the corset, her legs spread widely, wantonly, perhaps in anticipation of her wedding night. I doubt it very much that white was an appropriate color for her. Boys talk, you know, but who was I to spoil the deception on her most important day?
“Are you ready to get married my dear?”
She nodded her head.
“Will you be faithful to him?”
She hesitated then nodded again.
She flinched as she heard my belt buckle open in the zipper on my trousers slide down. Her knees closed and then opened again, even wider, and she licked her lips and breathed deeply. I stepped closer.
“Are you ready for the final sacrament of marriage?”
“Yes Monsignor.”
She opened her mouth and extended her tongue, tipping her head back in the posture of a devoted supplicant.
I hesitated.
With her eyes covered she searched blindly, waiting for the living dichotomy of God made flesh.
I intoned my blessing as the guests waited in the chapel, and left a white wafer on her tongue. (300)
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I waited.
I protested, but it was a lie.
I loved waiting.
The white sand under the chair shifted and forced me to use my legs to balance lest I fall from my chair, ruining my dress and earning his punishment.
I loved waiting, my hands bound behind me, my position on the chair precarious. It was all a game, a deliciously painful game, but I smiled through the blindfold, hoping beyond hope that he was watching my struggles.
Most likely he was nowhere near me. Most likely it would be Raul or Thomas who would put their hands on my shoulder and slide them inside my corset. The other would be holding the camera, naked, hard, such a silly game. They were both nervous handling the Cappo’s mistress so shamefully, but orders were orders and their bodies inevitably gave their boss the show they wanted and the climax I craved.
But it was the waiting. I felt the hard leather seat cover between my legs and tried to grind softly against it. The gusset of my panties was soaked in anticipation. If Thomas only knew how much I wanted is rough hands on my delicate flesh, or if Raul knew what his cock did to my insides, if they only knew we would not wait, so I did not tell them, because I loved the waiting.
My hands were bound, my breasts encased in bone and silk, yet my body was ready and eager to be used. My girlfriend couldn’t understand the dichotomy of freedom in servitude, but as my master’s whore, I was under his command, but given total freedom to enjoy the gifts he gave me, and endless variety of pleasures, the strong hands of his henchmen, and orgasms beyond number.
I was free, and I waited.
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While I loved both pictures, and liked the idea of combining them for this week's challenge, it was more difficult that I anticipated to come up with a story. I wanted to time them together, but it didn't work. I thought about making them sisters, or lovers, or blah blah, blah, it just didn't work. This afternoon (Thursday) as I saw my day slipping away and my writing time vanishing, thought of the church angle for the bride-to-be. It's easy to make fun of the clergy these days, but they've earned it in my view. Of course, to be true to the storyline, I'd have made the bride an 11 year old boy, but that's beside the point. I loved the idea that, in the end, she wanted the sacrament he offered as much as he wanted to give it. (Yes, that's a "victim blaming scenario", I get it, but well, it's fiction, so suck it.)
The woman in black looked so much happier. I didn't realize until really looking at the picture, in the right light, that her chair was on sand. Perhaps i need a new monitor, or glasses. She looked like her anticipation was happy, almost joyful. The woman white, her head turned to the side, appears to be waiting for a blow, a slap, and her position is more guarded.
this is all so much blather. I hope you enjoyed reading this week, and more, I hope you take a few minutes and write a Flash Fiction of your own!!!
Advizor
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