Ciana Rose's Erotic Stories



A Loving Couple


(c) 2000

All Rights Reserved



MF, bd, cons




"You'll think I'm weird."

I looked at her, a faint blush colouring her cheeks, as she fiddled with her charm bracelet, eyes cast down in shame.

"Come on tell me. You can tell me anything. I love you Anna, you know I do."

"You promise you won't go off me."

I folded her into my arms and dabbed kisses on the top of her golden mane. "Don't be silly it would take all the power of a nuclear cataclysm to tear me away from you."

She took a deep breath and looked up at me, her long, lustrous hair framing an elfin face. Huge, blue eyes widening in alarm at the deep, dark, secret that she was trying to wrest from her bosom to share with me. She was my wife, I the husband of two years standing.

"Are you sure?"

It was as if her very life depended on me acceding to carry the burden of her forthcoming revelation. I nodded. Another deep breath. "I er I...." She tailed off.

"Tell me, I'm not just your lover I am your friend. I made an oath to share my life with you. So nothing should stand between us."

"I want to be dominated." It came out in a rush as if, by blurting it, she was able to soften the impact or to deflect the blow from my incredulity.

"Dominated? How?"

"You know.....I want to be at the mercy of a powerful man. To be totally at his whim. To do what he wants. To provide him with pleasure and to take my personal pleasures in small sips from the pool of his desire."

I stood back and held her shoulders, she hung her head in mortification. The secret was out, the rubicon had been crossed, now she must await my verdict. I could no longer see her breathing, she was holding her breath, as she stood in my thrall.

"How far do you want to go?" I asked, gently.

"As far as you desire........Master." A tingle ran up and down my spine and my genitals gripped tightly. Master! One little word, one huge new world.

"Would you agree to be my slave? To serve me in all ways of the flesh?"

"If my master desires."

"Would you keep your body as the temple of my lust, to forego all personal pleasures in pursuit of my happiness?"

"I am at the pleasure of my master."

"Would you allow yourself to be constrained in coarse hempen ropes?"

"I am already constrained by my master's benevolence."

"Would you be prepared to be aroused to the point of distraction and only able to fulfil your desires when it pleases your master?"

"My master commands my body. My pleasure is only within his gift."

"Would you offer yourself to others at the whim of your master?"

"If my master commands."

I pulled down my fly and prized my solidly erect penis out from its constraining lair. I swear I had never had so powerful an erection, nor such an overarching need for consummation.

"Suck me slave."

Anna dropped to her knees before me and, doing something she had never done before in two years of blissful marriage, she took me in her mouth.


Its strange how you can live with someone, at one but apart, if you understand my meaning. Anna had lived a dream, now it was to be made flesh. I was the master, she my slave. I was giddy with the thought of it. I thought I knew her, now I was to get to know her in totally unexplored new ways. The comfortable Anna I had known all my life, had suddenly become a vast new continent, lush and breathtakingly beautiful, laid out at my feet and awaiting my exploration. It was like a Russian Babushka doll, you open one layer and explore it only to find another hidden, but equally exquisite, layer beneath.

Our trysts became timeless, medieval if you will. Our thoughts and articulations were locked firmly in the past ages, where damsels quivered at their master's powerful urges. Even now, as I write about it, I cannot help but put it into words that I wouldn't use in a normal day. It was if I, both of us, were encapsulating our world into a private shell in which two people dwelt in blissful awareness only of each other.

I sit before my computer, trying to express my thoughts while Anna lays, bound wide and lovingly gagged, a vibrator caressing her velvet cave, awaiting her master's attentions. She has been ordered not to surrender to her orgasm, her desire must be at its peak when I am finally minded to enter her portal. She must envelop me in hot, wanton, desire, her body a temple of overwhelming lust. She will not orgasm. She will not give in to her desires. I have ordained it, she accedes. It is the way of our love. I may leave her like that for hours, although I know she has other tasks she must perform. She is an office manager for a major industrial corporation in her other life and she is required to peruse stultifying reports at home. I see a pile of these awaiting her comments. Like she is awaiting me. Her whole being locked into my manhood. The reports belong to another world.

I sit at one with my power, knowing that it is consensual power, mutually shared and powerfully just. I the master, she the slave. It seems to be so right, so ordinary, yet so sublime. I rise to look at her, my emotions gripping my chest as she murmurs faintly behind her mask. Small muscles with unknown names ripple along the delicate curvature of her downy thighs as the lust settles deeply within her psyche. Tunnelling its way under her consciousness to find hidden layers of raw desire which are teased and delved like a potters clay until they find expression in the wild abandonment of body and soul as I plunder the depths of her riches. I see her proud breasts, her nipples like sentinels craving my touch, the delicate caress of a lover's hand. They thrust towards me in wild abandon, firm, dark, erect. I see the alabaster of her skin, her heart fluttering like a captive bird trapped in the cage of her ribs. Ready to soar and swoop, delighting in its freedom, powerful in its urges, bright, clean, wholesome and fresh. My Anna, my love.

Teasingly I run my finger along the length of her body, her skin erupting into paroxysms of yearning abandonment. Her desire a dark, velvet curtain waiting to be torn asunder to reveal the bubbling pit of unleashed passion that lurks beneath the surface. Like a volcano smouldering in fitful slumber ready to erupt cataclysmicly into expressions of joyful surrender with the suddenness and glory of the sunrise over the African savannah. I can make the earth move for her. I can turn it on its head and make it dance to my tune. Such is my power, such is my joy. We are at one. The Ying and the Yang, two halves of an identical puzzle. Dependant on each other, glorying in each other, knowing no other, not wanting another. She is I, I am her. Identical and opposite. Bound together with ties that surpass the strongest chain.

I the master, she the slave.

My fingers trace a meandering pattern across her breasts, her chest rising in glory trying to push the bulk of her pillowed mounds into the warm tenderness of my caress. Playfully I dodge her thrusts and wend a delicate trail across the warm silkiness of her belly, from which my seed shall bring forth my fruit. I reach the tangled thicket of her bush, my fingers weaving patterns of desire as fine as that cast by an Astrakhan carpet seamstress. Soft and yielding eagerly to my touch, yet springing to erect attention as my fingers pass on their way towards the sultry moistness of her womanhood. I feel the shudder of surrender as my finger touches the bud of her femininity. I am poised at the centre of her being, her whole universe is now honed in and whitely focussed upon my attentions. I draw patterns on her button, silently declaring my attentions in loving Braille as her body tenses and her breathing echoes the sighs of ecstasy. Now my fingers again take up their fateful march, I touch the plastic rod, I feel it buzzing insistently upon my skin. She draws her womanhood around it in a gentle, but urgent, persistence as I start to draw it from her. It is as if I am drawing the very life from inside her, as her body yields up the instrument that is so gently tormenting her. I draw it out and coax it back in. Always watching, feeling, trying to get at one with the tumultuous feelings that are enveloping her body like a warm, dark, rising maelstrom. Tossing her in helpless subjugation as my ministrations yield bountiful pleasures, her muted murmurs caressing the air like the whisper of the wind through the forest.

Now I must, as I know I must, drink at the fountain of her well. I must taste her and revel in her warm saltiness. I must open her, explore her, conquer her, subjugate her. My tongue must be my weapon, my lips my shield and buckler. I must storm the gates of her citadel. With my ministrations I must entice her surrender, her portals must open and her wetness must overwhelm my senses as her desire becomes manifest upon my tongue. Now I, too, am a slave, we are at one. She the slave of my desire, me the slave of hers. I must garner the sweetness of her juices, her taste, her very essence, drenching my tongue as it dances at the humid warmth of her. Now her moans have become little cries, like the far off call of a hunting bird, they carry to me on the wings of her passion.

I the master, she the slave.

It is time to reassert my mastery of her, as my mouth traces the delicate journey up the delicate contours of her body. My tongue traces a silvery trail across the delicate parchment of her belly, retracing the journey of exploration that my fingers had forged a while before. In helplessness she awaits me. The true slave, at her masters bidding, tightly constrained with limbs drawn to the points of the compass. Each time I make this journey there are new paths to find, new pleasures to reach out for.

Finally my mouth captures the heights of her thrusting breasts, my tongue fencing gently with the chewy nub of her engorged nipple. Dancing in the blunt grip of my maw then skipping cocquettishly away like a playful maiden before a lustful swain. My mouth now draws down on its twin, enveloping it in the gulping cavern. Teasing, nipping, caressing, the tongue and the nipple duelled playfully before the nipple surrendered to the urge of my lips.

My manhood was at rapt attention and was sensing the end of my quest. It nodded, seemingly in agreement, with the lustful voices in my head that demanded that I sink within her comforting embrace.

I sank home. My whole length being swallowed up. Now it was her turn to play and tease as her inner muscles danced and squeezed at my rampant manhood.

I the Master. She the Slave. We were at one in our universe.





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