In the old house, the darkness settled like an oil stain on the walls and the carpets. It dripped down the legs of the front parlor's settee and slowly seeped into the cracks between the floor boards. The darkness was an immortal thing that wandered during the day but always returned at night. Like a brother to the sun, when one left the other returned and overcrowding was averted. The house sighed as the darkness settled around it, a servant secure in the presence of its master.
On the widow's walk, her eyes dulled with the departing sun, turning a last deep red before all turned to purple and black. Her hair whipped in the wind, lashing out as her cloak lashed the railing. Turning, she looked into the shadows cast by her companion's deeply brimmed hat.
"I'd rather not, tonight," she whispered. A single white hand rose to caress her cheek but stopped short. Instead, he smoothed a lock of hair away from her eyes. She sighed, and turning again, descended the stairs leading into the bowels of the house.
Opening the bedroom door, she stepped into the room and the candles on the mantel, the bed stand and the desk, ignited. The man tied to the bedposts startled awake, jerked against his restraints, then stilled, waiting. The hammering of his heart echoed her own. It fluttered against his ribs which heaved under her gaze, glistening pearly white with a sweaty sheen of fear and oil. The sinews of his legs and arms jumped, the involuntary struggles of his body to escape his imprisonment. He was naked.
She removed the cloak on her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Stepping further into the room, she began to unfasten the rows of buttons that gilded each sleeve. As the cloth shifted to bare her slim forearms she raised them to begin the unfastening of the buttons at her neck. When her dress slipped to her waist, she pushed it down to join her cloak on the floor.
Her corset glistened like the shell of a bug, a deadly, seductive carapace. The black of her hair and clothing against her skin created a translucent effect, a hint of cream trapped in frozen porcelain. Her skin drew the man's eyes and when he finally saw her she felt his gaze lock onto the blue tracery of veins that hovered just under the surface of her fragile flesh.
The black chemise she wore under her corset was crushed close to her body, cut wide at the top so as not to impede the view of her perfect bosom. Her breasts trembled with the beating of her heart, and the jerking of the laces as her fingers sought to free them from their binding. Her nipples remained hidden, just covered by the lacey edge of her undergarments. The blush of a pale pink aureole was barely discernable.
The white ivory of her legs moved eerily beyond the veil of the fine cut linen. As she approached the bed her corset fell away and the folds of her chemise rippled over her figure. The crushed fabric outlined her slender waist and full hips, the angle of her ribs, the slant of a breast leading into her shoulder. Having reached the bed, it snagged between her hips and the mattress.
She stared down at the man's rampant manhood. It rose in a thick column from the downy hair of his groin. Its color throbbed a deep, striking, red purple hue, darkest at the knob which glistened with moisture from its single weeping eye. In sharp contrast, the man's body seemed even whiter, his hairless chest marred only by the slender trail of hair on his stomach that terminated in the dewdrop of softness at his groin. Testicles, like wrinkled plums, drew up so close to his body they nestled as though in a nest. He couldn't hide his shame; his arms were spread eagled, as were his legs. Methodically she checked the knots in the ripped sheets. Then, reaching towards the bed, she slowly climbed up, eyes locked with his.
She knew when his heart sped up, for her own increased its rate. Despite her reluctance, she looked forward to the game. She knew she would enjoy it.
Gathering her chemise around her thighs, she straddled the man's legs, settling her buttocks in the vee of his thighs, his cock almost – but not – touching the gathered folds of black fabric. Leaning forward, she selected a bottle from the large, oak nightstand, and as she did so, her stomach barely brushed the sensitive skin of his shaft, rasping over its shiny helmet. The man jerked in his bonds and groaned as though electrocuted.
When he calmed, she uncorked the small vessel and poured the scented oil into the palm of her hand where it warmed to body temperature. Slowly she let the oil drip from her fingertips to splatter in a jagged line down his torso. She started at his collarbone, letting the drop ooze along the slope into the shadowed valley at his neck. Another drop landed between the perfect cushions of his pectorals. His nipples beaded into small, brown diamonds. A line of oil traced its way towards his navel, almost slipping inside, but veering instead to the left to once again drop in single dots down his abdomen and finally, exquisitely, onto his cock. The eye blinked once, then released a milky clear tear of ecstatic joy. The man moaned.
Rubbing her hands together, she set about massaging the warmed oil into his skin, starting with his stomach. Her fingers dug slightly into the soft flesh, tested the resistance in his muscles and compressed the vulnerable organs just beneath. A sharp pang glanced through her stomach causing her back to bow slightly and a gasp to escape her lips. Underneath her fingertips the man flinched. A low keening sound emanated from his mouth, almost an animal call, as though he were wounded and lost in the wild.
"Oh, lady," he gasped, hands clenching as she leaned forward again, dragging her chemise along his shaft and palpitating her fingers on the sensitive skin of his ribs. The exquisite torture had him writhing on the bed, torso twisting against the cruel bonds that tightened on his wrists and ankles. Her fingers skimmed up the chest, smoothing the oil into his skin, as the scent of roses filled the air, cloying and heavy sweet.
Against her stomach his manhood jerked in happy contact and she retracted her hands and the black fabric of her chemise, which now glistened along the perimeter of a wet stain the size of her hand. Looking beyond it, she saw his shaft weave a tight figure eight, the knob pulsing and angry red. It stretched from the root, the collar of foreskin tight under the glans, as it lengthened an inch and then retracted a fraction. The man's groan vibrated through her head as his hips rose and angled against the force of her stare.
Her eyes rose to meet the piercing blue of his own. He was about to speak, plead for his case, tempt her into untying him, so she forestalled him by crossing her arms and gripping the gathered folds of her dampened chemise. Raising the hem above her head she couldn't see his face but new that the slow unveiling made him harder, caused his blood to rush as her own quickened.
She knew she was beautiful, saw the truth of it reflected in his eyes every night. Her pale stomach was flat with a slight curve that hinted at softness. Her hips nipped in to kiss the curve of her ribs which arched into her breasts, full and tight now with suppressed anticipation, the nipples and aureoles a shiny pink, a child's blush. They beaded with the sudden brush of cold at their unveiling, sharp and eager, anticipating the coming delights.
Between her legs she felt the familiar rush, the tingle of gathered blood in the membranes of her sex, the dull throb of her hidden jewel growing more excited. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, wild, black and kinked in romantic waves. Her eyes sparkled darkly in her pale face, a tender blush rising to suffuse her cheeks. The chemise fell to the side and her hands rose again to gently brush her skin, skid along the under sides of her breasts and slowly, fiercely, pinch the nipples between thumb and forefinger.
He heaved underneath her, an involuntary flex that jerked his shaft up into the air, begging, enticing her to touch. The movement unsettled her and she swayed, her hair slipping over her shoulders to hide her hands. Lower, her stomach flexed and sent her hips into a roll revealing the pale pink of her nether lips, glistening and delicate, no more than an icy pink despite her high arousal, and completely bare of hair. A luxurious drop of cream glistened from her distended bud, pulsing and erect. She rolled her hips again and her nether lips rose to kiss the base of his cock, cling to his testicles and anoint the skin there with a kiss. The image of her stained chemise flashed only to be replaced by the slick feeling of her dew drawing the cold from the air onto his hot and aching flesh. If a body could burst into flames, he would be long dead.
