Dance with Death
The spacious bedroom was flooded with pale, cold moonlight, gliding over the sweat-glistening bodies of passionate lovers. Numerous garments were chaotically scattered across the room—they had undressed quickly, fiercely tearing the fabric off each other, as if afraid they wouldn't have time, completely unafraid of tearing anything. A man of massive build, lying on his back on the huge bed, was quietly groaning with pleasure, caressing the girl's elegant, fragile body with his strong hands. Long black hair, silvered in the white light, fell in disarray onto beautiful shoulders, hiding the face and the round, firm breasts of the mistress who was riding her stallion. However
this did not bother the lover in the slightest: he knew every detail, every curve of that so-desired body by heart and could see the divine image just as clearly with his eyes closed as with them open.The girl moved with the grace of a snake dancing to the pipe of an eastern charmer, now slowly impaling herself on the impressively sized tool, now accelerating the pace, eliciting lustful moans from the man, who was frantically, with circular motions, running his palms over the velvety thighs of the female, helping her to impale herself on him. She sharply threw her head back, and the thick hair obediently flew up in a cascade and fell behind her back. His eyes greedily devoured her fabulously beautiful face, illuminated by the moon, and rising on his elbows, he reached for her. The girl, willingly wrapping her thin arms around his muscular neck, attached herself to his mouth with a passionate kiss, simultaneously accelerating the movement of her hips. The kiss was brief. The mistress unceremoniously tore her lips from the man's mouth and, slapping him with a ringing blow, pushed the lover's massive body back onto the sheet.
— I love you, Mistress! — he uttered, breathing intermittently.
His eyes burned with passion and boundless adoration.
— I love you!
— MORE! — her elegant fingers with long, well-groomed nails dug into his broad chest, leaving behind quickly reddening stripes.
— I LOVE YOU, GODDESS! — his voice trembled, threatening to break into a plaintive moan of pain.
She smiled… she liked it.
The passion of sexual pleasure combined with pain lifted them to new heights of bliss. The girl ran her hands over the man's body, tracing an intricate map of a metropolitan subway, on which droplets of blood had already begun to appear in several places. He moaned and writhed under the sadistic caresses of the female, but obediently endured the pain, not daring to interrupt her amusement.
— Are you feeling good, darling?
— Insanely!
— And like this? — the mistress firmly took the man's nipples between her fingers and sharply twisted them.
He howled in surprise but quickly managed to pull himself together.
— I feel very good, Mistress — tears welled up in his eyes — I beg you, don't stop.
She moaned loudly, so loud it seemed the windows would shatter, squeezing the man's body with her legs. It became difficult for him to breathe, as if someone's hand had gripped his lungs in a steel vise. In a hopeless attempt to alleviate his suffering, he looked at her pleadingly, but his plea went unheard. All he could do was marvel—where did this fragile girl get so much strength.
Meanwhile, the girl leaned down to the man and, resting her hands on the bed on either side of his head, began to sweetly lick her full, sensual lips, scorching the lover's face with fiery breath. She playfully moved her long tongue in front of his nose and lips, occasionally lightly touching them.
"Oh God, I can't take it," a thought flashed through his head, feeling the inevitable explosion approaching, the orgasm that would tear his entire body apart from the inside. He stuck out his tongue and began trying to reach her flexible, writhing little tongue. The girl did not resist, willingly playing with him, sometimes gently sucking it into her mouth.
She reached her hand to the edge of the bed and began to feel for something. Something glinted in the night light, and the man suddenly felt a cold, sharp blade against his neck. Everything inside him dropped, and a treacherous chill ran down his spine.
"What is this?!"
The mistress, clearly expecting this exact reaction, rose slightly and smiled tenderly at him, slowly moving on him. A lump formed in the man's throat right at the spot where the blade was pressed. She gently stroked his cheek with her soft, warm palm.
— What's wrong, little one, so scared? — the girl inquired with obvious mockery — I thought you were a warrior.
— Mistress! — the lover tried to keep firmness in his voice, but it wasn't very convincing — what have I done wrong?
— Nothing, silly, mommy just wants to play with her boy. Or don't you like thrills? — she pressed the knife slightly, making him whine pitifully, stretching his neck to the side — Very sharp thrills — she giggled, summarizing.
The man knew about his mistress's sexually perverse nature, and perhaps that was exactly what he liked most about her—she was an opportunity to escape the routine of work life, from family life with its problems, from the mundanity of this world. However, until now, things had never gone this far, and that was alarming. But here's what was strange: alongside the animal fear, he felt a wild excitement. The sight of the elegant beauty with a knife at his neck, so dominantly astride him, stirred the depths of his imagination. He, a two-meter-tall, muscular former special forces major, felt like nothing more than a cornered sheep or rabbit, surrendering to the mercy of the dark-haired huntress.
The surge of excitement slightly dulled the sense of danger and fear, and his hands, with their familiar firmness, began exploring the girl's body again.
A triumphant smile played on her lovely face—he had accepted the rules of her game. The girl playfully moved the steel over his skin, slowly rising and impaling herself on the member, not taking her eyes off the lover's. She began to whisper some words, the meaning of which didn't reach the man—though he wasn't listening anyway, watching in rapture the movement of her beautiful, enticing lips.
— You love me… — a distinct sentence flashed in the girl's words, more of a statement than a question.
— I do! — The lover decided to confirm once more anyway — There's no one better than You, Mistress!
However, his confession went completely unnoticed; the girl didn't even smile, continuing to mutter something unintelligible, but this whisper excited the man, making his blood boil in his veins—he was ready for anything. The man felt absolutely helpless before the Mistress—he was as if bewitched.
What had she done to him? How long had he known her? A week? A week and a half? And for her, he had lied to his wife, turned his back on his children, and now, instead of sleeping at home in the arms of the beloved woman he had lived with for over twenty years, he allowed himself to be tortured by a girl who could be his daughter. Yet, even understanding the absurdity of the situation, he could do nothing about himself and was ready to endure pain and humiliation just to be near this mysterious beast. And then he heard the words…
— Yeees!
— I can't hear you — the Mistress's lips stretched into a wide smile.
— Yeeeeeeeees! I'll give you my soul! Take it! — tears burst from the man's eyes, and he cried like a baby, completely unashamed, and the girl laughed loudly right in his face.
Pain, horror, amusement, the joy of superiority—all mixed in this cacophony. The lover pleaded with his eyes and whined like a puppy, as he could no longer utter a single word, and the Mistress, literally choking on her peals of laughter, drove her sharp nails deeper into the slave's body.
A flame ignited in her laughing eyes, and she moved her hips several times, forcing the lover's overexcited organ to release all the accumulated passion into her, after which she collapsed onto the dying slave and, embracing his body, fell into a deep, sweet sleep.
Author's e-mail: vоlchоnоk@livе.ru