I’m not sure what I was thinking that day.
It was a normal Thursday, nothing new or exciting had occurred in the morning.
I’d risen from bed, taken a shower and brushed my teeth. I’d then jumped on the 8:05 bus that ran a short distance between my house and the county library where I worked.
The ride took its usual 15 minutes before it left me standing fresh faced in front of a building of gothic construction that was my favorite place in the world.
After straightening my knee length skirt, I pushed open the door that led into the interior of the library.
It was at that moment that my world would change – impossibly and forever. It was a fateful movement of wood that collided with the shoulder of a man that would alter my very existence.
It wasn’t fear that I felt at that moment – more like the feeling of being watched. It was the feeling of knowing that danger lurks – the sensation of the hair standing on end at the back of your neck.
Looking back on a moment that happened so many months ago, I now realize that I should have listened to that feeling.
As I would later find out, the man standing in front of me referred to himself as Master Lucas…
…and I was his next target.
Hands ran along the length of my body, fingers burning trails over my delicate skin. My back arched, the tips of my breasts coming alive beneath the material of my shirt. His mouth was hot and heavy pressed against my stomach, the heat of his breath against me, forcing my own air from my lungs.
My legs fall apart and his hand slides down over my panties, the muscles of my core rippling inside me, desperate to be filled. With his thumb rolling over my clit, he slips the length of his middle finger down, pushing against my opening to drench the cloth between our skin.
His head moves away from me suddenly, his formidable size moving to cover mine, his mouth hot and wet as he kisses along my neck. Every part of my body is hypersensitive to his touch, sparking and alive, the smallest brush against me sending waves of anticipation and need rolling along my spine. In a move of dominance, of ownership, his large hand grips my breast, rolling the tip between his fingers before taking it into his mouth.
“Please…” I beg. He always moves slowly, teasing my body into such a frenzied storm that every soft touch becomes unbearable. Never giving me control, never surrendering to a need as powerful as the one he builds in me, he takes his time savoring the driving bite of my desire.
My lips are overtaken, his teeth nipping at my lower lip before he fills my mouth with his taste, his kiss. Whimpers escape me as he pulls away, slowing down his attack, allowing my boiling blood to simmer once more.
A finger over my swollen lips, his mouth against my ear. “Shhhhhhh…you have no power in this. You’re exposed and susceptible to my complete control. Your hands are bound where I tied them, your mouth can be silenced anytime I wish. If I want pain, you’ll experience pain; and once I have you screaming, it’ll only be a moment before you’re once again singing my name.”
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Lily White is a dark writer who likes to dabble on the taboo side of eroticism. Most of the time she can be found wandering around aimlessly while her mind is stuck in some twisted power play between two characters in her head. You may recognize her in public by the confused expression, random mumbling, and occasional giggle while thinking up a scene. Lily’s favorite things in life are reading, thinking about reading, buying books for reading….and writing. Her other secret pleasure is meeting with her plot editor in public to discuss her books and watching the shocked expressions of the people around her that don’t realize she’s talking about a book. When Lily is not reading, writing, wandering or freaking out innocent bystanders, she’s sleeping.
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