Master Apprentice
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We made love last night. It was hot and fast and long and hard.
I was lying naked on my stomach in my master's bed, a pillow under my hips. Waiting for him. Ready for him and letting my desire and arousal surge past my shields and along the bond we share. I was sliding over the bed, rocking my hips so that my erection rubbed along the robe I had placed on the bed.
My master's robe.
It smelled like him: hot and spicy, home and heart, punishment and reward, master and slave. All that he is was wrapped up in his robe -soaked into it drop of sweat by drop of sweat. All that he is, laid out beneath me, rolled into the heavy brown cloth, rubbing against my skin. It made me feel safe and hot and aroused and I let it all pour into our bond. I let it make him irritable and eager to leave the dubious hospitality of the Council. I let it make him charge through the corridors of the temple, not even the familiar weight of his robe settled about his shoulders and around his body to hide his erection and no hood to cover his face, to let him keep the haunted need in his face from curious eyes.
I heard the click of the locking mechanism on our door as it opened under his hand and I grew tense, anticipation making me quiver. Muted sound of boots on carpet and then his door crashed open, my penis jumping and the coil of tension in my belly tightening at the sound of the wordless growl that came from his throat.
He was upon me immediately, knees digging into my inner thighs as he pushed them further apart, his callused fingers rough as they pulled apart the cheeks of my buttocks. He plunged into me, his phallus hot and heavy and large, sinking into my body. He lowered himself, front pressed to my back, arms spread out along my own, his legs between mine, pressing them still further outward.
Spreadeagled. Naked. Impaled. At his mercy.
He had not even stopped to remove his clothing and his belt dug into the small of my back while the seams of his leggings and the folds of his tunics, hastily shoved to the side, pressed into the flesh of my bottom. He shifted, pulling out and I could feel the stroke of his uniform along my skin. He slid back in, the brush of material gracing me once again its rough caress. Out and in again, steel heat sliding into my body, tunics and robe riding over my skin.
And again. And again. And again. Over and over he retreated and advanced, breaching my body, taking me and giving me back. My skin became more and more sensitive, the linen beginning to scrape and abrade. When I came, my orgasm shuddered through me, lighting my nerves with awesome liquid fire.
He hooked his feet under my ankles and linked his fingers with mine, letting all his weight rest on my body. Holding me down. Pressing me down. Velvet flesh burning me, rough linen grating against my sensitised skin. I came again, every part of me tingling and almost unbearably alive.
And still he moved. In and out, relentlessly stimulating my skin, keeping me on the fine edge just before pleasure bleeds into pain. My world was nothing more than my master's heat, the scratch of linen on my skin and his soft grunts in my ear.
There was no part of me that was not surrounded by him. My senses were totally engulfed. I was -I am- totally possessed. When he came I screamed, his pleasure becoming mine and I passed out, knowing I was his, cherished and completed, never my own, never alone.
Today I walk at his side, silent and subservient. The linen of my tunics and leggings slides along my skin with every step. Reminding me. The almost silent rasp of our robes as we walk whispers to me. His. His. His.
End.