Dedicated to those that serve “How long had she been standing?” she mused to herself, it seemed like forever, but she really didn’t have anyway of knowing. The minutes had certainly rolled on by, but how many minutes she had no idea. Her arms ached, she felt both giddy and elated, comfortable with where she was, and how she had got there. It seemed such a long time since this had all started, and yet it was something she knew she’d been waiting her whole life for. It felt good, and it felt right, and her head swam with images and thoughts of where this journey would take her. He had seemed so different to all the others, not good looking at all by the standards she’d followed through her 35 years, in fact he had seemed simply plain and boring. She would have laughed, had she been able, but her mouth felt dry, and the gag pulling tightly into her cheeks prevented even the slightest sound escaping. If she compared him to the many men who had shared her body he seemed but a shadow, certainly more of a thinker than a player. Her first lover, a would be footballer, the hard wall at her back, his hands roughly pulling apart her legs so he could thrust his cock into her unready pussy. His leering beer tainted smile, and taunts of “It don’t get better than this babe – gonna fuck you good!” not matching the three or four thrusts that burned and tore at her ill prepared sex. After, the dripping trickle of his cum running down her leg the only memory of what should have been special, her ‘coming of age’, her first love. “Same time next week” he had told her, and despite her best intent she did meet him again, and the act of taking her was relived in all its glory. Except this time he slapped her head against the wall – “for not being a good shag!” – he had taunted. Later, walking home she felt nothing – the memories of what had gone before dulled like the grudging, aching in the battered numbness of her cunt. And so the pattern had been repeated, in countless locations, with men whose faces now floated behind her covered eyes, and whose images smiled or twisted as they had at their moment of release, and their obvious pleasure. Even now her body tensed in the memory of harsh words, the sting of rejection or the need for her own release, her own pleasure. True, she could please herself, had become adept at stroking and touching herself as she lay cloaked in the hot embrace of her bath water, the heat effusing her breasts and clinging to the deep brown buds of her nipples, which rose like small islands amidst the bubbles. Her fingers had traced the soft contours, nipped and pulled gently at those selfsame nipples and she’d gasped as the warm fuzzy glow began to rise in the dark shadows waiting beneath the waters kiss. She’d imagined dream lovers hands replacing her own, and taking over her journey, caressing and inching their way to the heat that waited. Even now the memories brought a rush of pleasure, that warm glow that meant the path would be prepared. “Down”, she remembered, “down, move your fingers lower –touch me where I need it most…” And in the loneliness of her tub she’d prepared the way for all who might follow. Her fingers had slithered across her naked flesh, adding to the expectation, and the desire, and when they found that which they were looking for, had stopped, and waited, as though for her permission to explore further. How many times had she thought to stop there, give up on her foolishness and simply bathe the day’s stresses away. But she never had, the delay before the touch came was the best part – but knowing it would come also the worst. Still, as her fingers brushed the stiffening bud, pushed beyond and found the lips eager for their caress, such thoughts were ignored, and gladly so. As the finger pushed slowly inside, touched the heat of her, felt the wetness within, all was forgotten in the warm glow that arced her body and had her lick her lips in the sheer sensual delight of that first intimate intrusion. She felt her cheeks redden, despite the cold breeze that ruffled her simple cotton dress. “Had he come back?” or was it simply the hot flush that made her react to the gentlest of winds. The ropes holding her arms out from her body somehow felt tighter, their grip somehow more pronounced as she remembered her many self-pleasures. “Could he read her mind?” was the insane thought that rose amidst the many others, and then dived beneath the many more that swum back and forth in her senses. Without light, or sound, or even the ability to speak everything seemed to take on a new meaning, the simple became the involved, the memories took on corporal form – teasing her and causing her cunt to moisten in anticipation. How she wished she could move a hand down to the vee of her thighs – rub the itch that was beginning to have a life of its own. The brush of cotton knickers, against the wet lips of her sex, feeling like sandpaper, but oh so good too. As the years had gone by she had resigned herself to living her life through the many men who had shared what passed for affection. True, with many it had just been a fuck, but wasn’t that simply the nature of life itself? Even the men themselves were victims, although she often chided herself that such thoughts were stupid, especially when nursing a cut lip or bruised cheek where she had dared to offend a new lover by suggesting she might like to try something, or that they had hurt her in their rush to pleasure. Some had been fair lovers, some had even taken the time to ask if she had enjoyed it, but most, well most were just chancers and wankers – keen to shoot their cum into the first person that would take it, and some not even managing to achieve that simple act. Some feigned love, and others, well they just took what was on offer- called her a slag and an easy fuck – and recommended her to friends – many of whom who had taken the time to check her out themselves. Then, two weeks ago, he had sat beside her in the pub, and she had noticed him looking at her. Not staring, but actually looking. At first she had thought “Here we go again, another tosser looking for me to do the work – to feed me his lines and cover me in his spunk!” But he hadn’t said anything, just looked at her in her smart black skirt, and the blouse that suddenly had crushed her tight, making her aware of the breasts that strained within. When he did speak his voice was, well it was “Friendly!” she remembered. He hadn’t asked if she came here often, hadn’t said she was the most beautiful girl in the place and certainly hadn’t uttered the immortal “Fancy a fuck pet?” phrase that had almost become the norm. In fact it was the very ordinariness of the conversation that first struck her. She felt comfortable, and perhaps for the first time in her life, the centre of attention. Oh yes, she been the centre of attention when her first fella had brought a few of his mates round to share in her body, but this was different, this was just her and this strange man who was actually TALKING to her, and surprisingly enough, listening. She felt sure that soon he’d make his pitch, offer her a drive in his car, a chance of a meal or a night out on the town. But when the expected ruses did not arrive she felt cheated. He simply said he would be off, and had enjoyed her company, and for the first time in her life that hadn’t meant her standing in a darkened alley with her pants round her ankles and her rubbing the dripping spunk with a tissue. She wanted to say “Come back for a coffee” but the words simply wouldn’t come, and she had watched him go with a well of sadness spreading throughout her body, not understanding the why of it, but feeling cast aside, lost, alone. The following week she’d sat watching the door, eyes straining every time it groaned in opening, a constant reminder of the oil and lubrication so badly needed. Each groan only to be accompanied by an involuntary one of her own as the entering face failed to switch on the smile waiting patiently within. How many times in her minds eye she’d sat through this scene, how many times the words had flowed like water, and the returned words had captured her own and held them close. But the reality was worse, because there was simply nothing – only strangers and shadows from the times before, shades that either leered at her or quickly turned away lest anyone see the recognition in their own eyes, and the disgust in hers… Casting her eyes down at the drink nestled on her thighs, thighs dressed ready for a lovers touch, she hadn’t seen him enter, and was lost for words as his hand brushed her cheek and his words of greetings tumbled in a mindless babble to her ears. He had come back, and he had sought her out – it couldn’t be – but it was, and she was like a lovesick teenager, adrift and moon eyed, unable to string the words into even the simplest pearl of a sentence. He smiled, and took her hand, and she had gone… That was the strangest part – he hadn’t said move, but he had taken her hand and she had followed. It felt right, and it felt good. He scooped up her coat, and effortlessly guided her to the door, which also mesmerised by his appearance, opened with nerr a squeak. The thought dully registered on her mind, and was lost as quickly as it had come. He guided her to his car, and her heart sank. “Just like all the rest” she had thought, but didn’t want to buy her a drink, just wanted a quick fuck in his car, or a blowjob to brag to his friends about, and a cheap round at that! Somehow it didn’t feel right, but that was stupid, she’d done this many times before, and with people she didn’t even know, or wouldn’t want to know but for their telling her they loved her or wanted her. So, he was just like the others, more fool her, but hey, a fucks a fuck… Only as she got in the car she realised he wasn’t grabbing at her tits, or pushing his hand under her skirt – saying how horny her stocking clad legs felt. He simply sat in the driver’s seat, took her hand and began to talk. And he talked of many, many things. Things that had her open her yes in wonder, and thoughts that caused her cunt to glow unashamedly as he talked, and she became aware of that familiar musk that seeped from between her thighs, that some had mockingly called “Fishy Fanny” and others had avoided, saying it was filthy or unpleasant. She tensed, expecting the words to change, the content to cut and shame her. But the words flowed as sweetly and as sensually as before, adding to her growing excitement, and the desire, yes desire that threatened to swamp her mind and every thought. When he stopped talking he continued to rub her hand, and then she realised he’d asked a question, and she nodded dumbly, lost in her own thoughts. Then she found her voice, and simply said “Yes!” The rest of that evening had been a blur, he’d driven her home, and the expected “Can I come up?” had never materialised. He said goodnight, and left. A week later she had stood by the pub, fresh faced and nervous. The thin cotton dress felt too tight, and clung to the swell of her breasts and the length of her legs. Her nipples had taken a life of their own, and she could feel them push forward, rub against the lace bra he’d asked her to wear. He’d even told her what knickers to wear – soft white cotton – and she’d gone out the next day to buy them. They felt warm against the curls of her pubic hair – hair that had glistened and shone above the puffed lips that were contained within. He had arrived on time, and she’d got into his car without even a thought, he was there! They drove in silence for a short time- no place for small talk, but equally the silence a friend – a warm blanket that made her feel safe. The house was a large old building, three stories, and along a long tree lined drive. It looked expensive, but she didn’t enquire as to its cost, and he didn’t mention it either. The gravel crunched in complaint as they walked to the door, and quietened once they’d entered – unaware as to what effect it’s murmuring had had. Inside all was in darkness, and he had slowly moved behind her and gently pulled a scarf down over her eyes. She had stiffened, and then visibly relaxed, even in the blackness of her vision she felt safe, at home, where she wanted to be. He took her hand and glided her down a flight of stairs; she floated, despite the blindfold, despite the unfamiliar terrain. He stopped momentarily, and she had heard the rattle of keys, a lock being thrown and felt a sudden rush of air. And then she had been led into the room. Guiding her, he had moved her some way into the room, and then left her… She had been puzzled, and confused, but on feeling his hand on her wrist had again relaxed. As he lifted it she was aware of the ropes coarseness as it rubbed her hand, and then felt it’s tight bite as it was tightened, trapping her hand in its rough embrace. Moving to her other side, the process was repeated, and her arms were then drawn slowly out, and when she thought they might leave their sockets, the motion stopped. And then, well then she felt the gag brushing her cheek, and not knowing why, she had opened her mouth wide and accepted this most foreign of objects lovingly, wantonly against her tongue and lips. The straps were pulled tight and then all sound vanished as he pulled something over her ears. “How long had she been standing?” she mused to herself, it seemed like forever, but she really didn’t have anyway of knowing. The minutes had certainly rolled on by, but how many minutes she had no idea. Her legs ached, legs that had been pulled gently apart, stretched wide and fastened into bands of leather. Yet still he hadn’t laid a finger on her body – hadn’t felt how much she yearned for that touch, his embrace. He could fuck her how he liked, as long as he at least touched her – let her know he was there. And then, nothing…. Imagine the isolation, the frustration, and the blackness where there is only your own heartbeat, your racing pulse, and spiralling thoughts, and you will still never experience the ticking seconds exactly as she did. Was it minutes, or was it hours? Did her body ache because of the strange positions it had been tied in, or for some other reason? What if he never came back? The first sensation hit her like an electric shock – the first awareness that she was not alone. And when it came it was quite simply a breath on her neck, and gentle passage of air that fired every sense to overload – she had surged and pulled at her bonds – and yet nothing followed. No hard cock at her cunt, no crude hand writhing at her breasts – just the faintest whisper of a breath and then – nothing…. Her heart leapt – he was there – he was with her.. The next touch was as a feather shaken loose and falling in the wind. It started on her back, and slowly moved down her spine – but it was felt like a punch that winds. And it did not stop at her bottom, but traced it’s own path down her leg, and then slowly rose higher, ascending on unseen ropes on the inner slopes of her thighs. She sensed, rather than felt, the hem of her dress rising, the materials fabric touching the soft flesh here and then, making her gasp. As it left her bottom she knew he was looking at her, probably was able to see the damp patch that had been growing while she had waited, and she too was aware of the familiar odour that now took on an exquisite perfume, a perfume that was so personal and precious that no man could afford it’s asking price, but that the man standing by her would soon be given freely. The burning gossamer winged touch of his lips made her jump, and she struggled against the gag as his mouth bit into her knickers and pulled them slowly away from the damp stickiness of her cunt. Then, she was exposed, and so very aware of how her cunt itched, the swollen lips ached to be touched. Suddenly, they were gone. And as her mind struggled to work out how, against her stretched legs he had done this she knew –they had been cut off – and despite the cost her heart raced… The hands on her waist now moved to the buttons of her dress, and one by one, slowly and surely, they were teased from their eyes, and as the last one jumped free the dress parted wide, and she knew he was looking at her nakedness, and she knew she wanted this man to do whatever he liked. There were no boundaries now – her body was his – she could not hold or hinder, and in that moment knew it didn’t matter. He was her Master, his mastery not by threat or punishment, but rather by simply being. She knew in this moment that the boundaries had been breached, and whatever followed she was reborn. No longer did she exist, but she now had a life, and a purpose, and would accept all and anything that followed… She felt his tongue on the material of her bra – it’s wet tip pushing into the lacy islands, and almost wept. It felt like a poker, a hot brand that seared her flesh and her reason. Her heart was racing, her pulse like a machine gun and she panted heavily into the gag that fought her pants and bit even deeper… Then the cold touch of steel brought her to her senses, and for one awful second time stood still, and only the release of her swollen heaving breasts brought the world back into focus. As the knife slit the fabric she sighed, and then flopped against the ropes pulling her arms – a dead weight, a lump of human clay ready for the sculptors hand to breathe life and imagination into the moment, to reanimate the subject and show the spirit within. He moved behind her and for the first time she was aware of his nakedness, the thrust of his cock against her bottom. It wasn’t thrust in , but the effect was the same – she knew it was there – and would take whatever path he decided. She’d never felt a lover in her ass before – but knew if he willed it – it would explore that virgin domain –and she would accept… His hands slowly circled her breasts, and the fingers pulled and teased her nipples, firmly, but not roughly, the tingles started, only this time they had direction, only this time she knew that the pleasure would be hers, only this time would she find the release she craved from another… When the cock entered her it met no resistance – her cunt was wide, the little trickles that threatened to flow freely had already prepared the way. As the head pushed against her lips the sensation was unlike any other that had gone before, and then the cock was in and moving higher inside her, it’s warmth and rigidity a welcome friend. When he withdrew she thrust her cunt hard back against him – to meet the thrust that would follow – only to find it never came… He returned to her and she felt his breath as he knelt in front of her. The warm water on her cunt shocked as much as the knife, and then she realised what was about to happen, and her body arched in refusal, and denial, and pleasure… As the first scrape of the blade carefully parted the curls from her cunt she came – and almost fainted in the moment. And as he set about the task she simply swayed, unaware of the moment save for the dizziness that flushed her thoughts, and the sweat dripping of her breasts, the little riverlets that trickled to join the water dripping of her clit. And then, it was done. He stood, moved behind her, and pushed the hot poker that was his cock into the cunt that now gaped wide in acceptance, and in her minds eye, in disbelief. And as his thrusts took on a life of their own, and the warm glow returned with a renewed passion she met him thrust for thrust, pushing and grinding as best she could despite all her bonds, to find that place she’d so recently visited. When he came, she knew it, and in his moment of release she felt her legs go weak and the breath leave her body and the white explosion that took her to another place followed quickly. They stood for minutes, she knew not how many, but knew that she didn’t want this man to leave her, wanted to savour this moment for the rest of her life, for if this were all there was to be then it would remain forever, etched into every pore of her being. Finally he eased his softening cock out, and this time, as the cum rolled warmly, thickly down her thighs, she wept tears of happiness into the scarf that hid him from her. Tenderly he released first one hand, then the other, and lovingly removed the gag. Her mouth felt dry and blighted, and as his fingers touched her lips she tasted the hot sticky saltiness of his cum, and her tongue snaked out to lick up his essence, to feast on his pleasure. Her hand dipped down to the bare cunt he had prepared, and pushed apart her lips with two fingers. The same two fingers that carried more of his cum to her mouth – cum that lay thickly on her tongue and lips –and cum that she yearned to hold there forever… The rest? Well in this short tale there can be no more. For as in the start of every journey there must be always the first step, and this has been ours dear reader. The door has been opened, and the key turned in the lock. Who knows what adventures lay beyond, and where this journey will take it’s leading players… It is but a beginning, and in time perhaps we may share more of the path that is yet to be trod, and learn a little more of the delights that await. For you see this is but the first chapter, and if you are able to stop by this way again we will sit side by side and read together of the things that we desire. The lady, she has no name, she might even be you! The place, could be anywhere. The Master? Well he is waiting, waiting for those who desire to share, waiting for those do dare to serve. His is the easiest path, because he is simply the one who is to be served. But for those who wish it, his is the way that will allow dreams to be lived, and wishes to be fulfilled. Please visit again, and I will tell you of our lady’s journey of discovery, and of the trials and experiences yet to be found. She will know many things, and has but discovered the first – that she has a purpose, and that in her service she has become more than that she was. She is both beautiful and loved, and in the final analysis, isn’t that what we all search for? Until the next time, my blessings…