Page 90 of The Tenth Muse

God yes,I want to scream, needing relief or release or some reprieve from the assault of sensation placed upon my body by Mistress.

It might have been a quiet mind I was searching for tonight, but at the mercy of Mistress's hands, I found so much more.

Two long, slim fingers easily slide inside my body, my hips chasing the sensation as greedily as my lungs searching for their next breath. My back stays pressed against the table, eyes slammed shut as Mistress fucks me with long, steady thrusts.

“Open your eyes, pet. Don't hide from your Mistress.”

I do as she says, eager to please, and am rewarded by the feeling of warm wax as it coats my arm. “Atta girl, look howbeautiful you look. Like a gorgeous, lust-drunk bottom that deserves to be worshipped and fucked into oblivion.”

Mistress crawls back over my body, never breaking connection with where she is buried deep inside me with her deft fingers. I want to touch her, to feel her skin against my fingertips, but she stops me before I can even get started, insisting that tonight is about me—that tonight isforme.

“I need to start removing some of this wax from your body, pet.”

Though I know to expect it, my breath still catches when Mistress slides the blade of a sharp knife against my skin. With the tip of the knife, she gently loosens wax, allowing it to be safely and efficiently removed from my body. And when she draws the blade across my chest, slowly pumping away inside of me with her left hand while trailing the blade around my areola with her right, Mistress has the audacity to laugh at me when my pussy flutters around her fingers, pulling her deeper inside my cunt.

“God, I love when you're this desperate for me. This desperate to come, this desperate to chase your pleasure. Go ahead, pet, take what you need from your Mistress while I hold my blade against your flesh.”

I can't stay quiet a second longer, only praying she'll take mercy on my soul and my poor, desperate pussy that wants more of her than I have ever wanted from anyone before.

And as instructed, like the good, desperate fucking bottom I am, I take from Mistress, fucking myself on her hand as shards of wax continue to break off of our bodies, falling to the table and floor around us like a cast shattering around a priceless piece of artwork, finally ready to be revealed to the light for the first time in hundreds of years.

With a strength I'll never possess, Mistress pulls me toward her body, one of my legs bracketing either side of her torso. Mereinches separate the heat of her mouth and the warmth of my cunt and I wish, I wish, Iwishshe would lean down, close the space between us with her lips, and taste the arousal she created with her dirty fucking talk and fuck-me leather boots that I would gladly give my life for.

Skillfully and as safely as possible, Mistress's blade works against my skin, alternating between removing wax and teasing me with the blade. At the same time, I use her left hand for my own pleasure, grinding and sliding and fucking like the desperate pet she believes me to be. And though our time together has been short, I know in my soul that Mistress would never intentionally put me in harm's way whether that be by knife, or wax, or her own commanding hand.

“More, please.” It's all I can manage to pant out, but I'm desperate for it. Desperate forher.

Two more fingers join the two already inside my cunt, my body easily opening to accommodate the size of Mistress's fingers. “That's it, sweet pet. Give me something to remember you by, baby. Give me that sweet, sweet release.”

I couldn't stop the onslaught of tears if my life depended on it, the sob leaving my body as my orgasm rockets through me, nearly blinding in intensity. I shake, chanting a chorus ofMistressandthank youandI am not worthy of youas I soak her hand in a way that should be embarrassing but instead makes me smile, knowing that no one has ever been able to pull such a reaction from my body in the past while silently mourning that it may never again happen in the future.

three

. . .

Aftercare

Beneath my body,a soft mattress dips, signaling the arrival of another person.

Exhausted from the intense scene I just finished, I can barely bring myself to crack open my eyes. It takes every ounce of energy in my spent frame to muster the strength and when I do, I am rewarded with the warm smile of my partner—of mywife.

Her soft fingers swipe through my hair, damp from the mixture of sweat and arousal that has been coursing through my body like a raging river. Equally as soft, her words envelope me like a warm blanket when she speaks. “I heard you were magnificent tonight, as always.”

I smile, pleased to hear that Mistress was satisfied with my behavior, as well as with the fact of knowing that my everything—the person I have pledged my life to—is as proud of me as I am in myself.

Together, we cuddle under soft blankets. She trails her fingers over my body, checking for any lasting redness that needs to have special attention paid to it over the next few hours. And as much as I love the act of wax play itself—the pouring and smudging of my Mistress’s wax, thefuckingand blades that weplay with together in carefully crafted scenes, I love this quiet aftermath in the arms of my lover even more.

I drink down a bottle of water, reaching for a second and only stopping at my wife's gentle urging.

“It's not every day I have to ask you to stop drinking water, is it?”

We giggle, cuddling closer as a Hallmark movie plays quietly in the background. I can't remember when the television was switched on, when I was wrapped in a soft, silk robe or when my tummy started to growl, but as the other half of my heart often does, she’s planned ahead, feeding me bits of pepperoni and cheese on crackers by hand before melting into the blankets next to me, pulling me close.

My hands want to roam over her body, but she stops me. “Let me take care of you first, sweetheart.”

“Don't you see? You already do every day,” I reply.

“As you do for me, sweetheart. Now hush up and relax.”

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