Rules: Feel free to join my daily prompt challenges by writing a story of 500 words or less centered around the prompt word. If you write it on your own blog, please, link back to mine. My main playground is erotica and romance but you can write your story in any genre.
Prompt word: #Gloves
Photo source: Pinterest
Trigger warnings: Consensual sadomasochism
“Wear your pearls and the opera gloves. Velvet, not leather.” Her Mistress’ voice was clipped and collected. She gave the instructions with the sensuality of a surgeon about to make their first cut.
How could someone as cold, cerebral and cynical create a world full of raw sensuality? It’s been a year since that strange woman with perceptive green gaze picked her up from the street and turned her world upside down.
Her Mistress saw every orifice of Stella’s body. She witnessed her in all positions, with different partners, suffering, cumming, crying.
On her knees.
Stretched on a cross.
Suspended in a rope.
Caught between two strong muscular men ravaging her holes.
No one made her feel so vulnerable and so ecstatic…
… and yet Stella wasn’t close to knowing who was the woman behind the enigma.
Marielle put her through her paces…
… and yet she never touched her.
She always observed with an unreadable expression. Whenever Stella stole a glance her Mistress hid her face behind the camera.
Marielle insisted to be called “ma’am”. She often frowned whenever Stella called her “Mistress” and hurried to cut her off.
“You’re not my slave, Stella. You’re an employee. There’s a difference.” Marielle told her and exhaled her cigarette smoke in that sexy way that made Stella’s knee buckle. “I always loved helping out pretty little doves.”
Stella took a bath and put on the gloves as slowly as possible. She closed her eyes and imagined that her Mistress was there, drinking in every little move. The black velvet caressed her.
When she put the pearls around her neck the longing resurfaced in her chest. Stella pictured Marielle’s beautiful fingers drawing figures on her delicate shoulder blades and grazing the skin of her spine.
Did those play session brought Marielle even a little excitement?
Stella was waiting on her knees in the studio once her Mistress made an appearance. The young girl’s slender body was still in expectation, pearly white at the backdrop of the boudoir room.
“Perfect, little one. Such a good girl.” Marielle reached out and nearly stroked Stella’s cheek. The naked girl’s eyes were swimming with unshed tears.
“Part your legs wider and straighten your spine.” Stella nearly cried when she felt Marielle’s perfume, her long black hair, the scent of cherry tobacco.
A rare smile.
“Get up. Face the wall. X-position.”
Tears fell down her face when the first lash of the whip made contact with her skin.
The anguish didn’t stop the honey dew she’s been gathering between her thighs since she put those gloves on.
“On your knees. Show me your welts.”
“Please…” Stella broke the composition. “Touch me only once.”
Marielle’s hands froze. The mask of indifference slips when their eyes meet.
An infuriating kiss on the forehead…
… and the mask returned.
“You were magnificent, little one. I… I’ll call you next week.”
Her Mistress walked away and left Stella down on her knees, weeping.
The gloves were sliding down.