Hi everyone!

I have been having a seriously hard time writing here the last few days due to some difficult life things. But, finally inspiration hit!

This was something that was inspired by a series on Youtube that I have followed for a couple of years now. It is called Hysterical Literature by Clayton Cubitt (a very talented NYC-based photographer and filmmaker). It is a video art series that explores feminism, mind/body dualism, distraction portraiture, and the contrast between culture and sexuality. watch?v=PQuT-Xfyk3o&list=PLVna2B64pQwolR2Y09aqHuIEwWh0RVuLq

This is dedicated to leoslady4ever. Happy late Birthday, my triplet!

Hope you all enjoy!

The Pleasure of Literature

He watched her brows furrow as she examined the package in her hands. Her confusion was evident by the pursing of her full lips and the pinching of skin just above her nose. He didn't need to see the questions that he knew to be there in the depths of those wide coffee-colored eyes. That was to be expected, he knew. He gave no real indication of the contents' purpose, only the instruction that she was to go put them on and return when done.

"Go on, Lucy," Freed smiled politely. "And be sure to keep the egg in the small pocket."

She was generally not one to question any of his orders, always the portrait of a model submissive. It was one of the many reasons he'd forgone his usual self control and sought her out. She was a prize to be had and kept, cherished because she fully enriched the life and control of her dominant. He'd wanted her from the first moment he'd seen her, and after years of watching her move from one relationship to another, he gave into his desire. He wanted her for his own, wanted her to complete him in the way only a submissive could. But more importantly, he wanted to watch her grow, to see all facets of herself blossom into the beautiful lotus that he knew grew below the surface.

"May I ask a question, Sir?"

Azure eyes narrowed just a fraction as he studied her, debating on how strict he wished to be for the night's session. There was little he would deny her otherwise, she was too precious to him for that. "Just one."

Her own internal debate flashed over her face, knowing she was contemplating which question was the most important. "Will… Will we be going out of the evening?"

A sadistic, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his usual downturned lips. He knew of her fear when it came to taking their dynamic outside of the confines of his home and hers. It was why he'd held onto the remote control panties that he'd purchased a month ago. She was not entirely ready for public play, yet.

"Not tonight, Precious," he reassured her with a brush of his fingers against her smooth pink-stained cheek. "I have a task for you here, so run along and do as you're told."

"Yes, Sir."

Despite being together for over a year, hearing the willingness to submit in her voice still drove him to the brink of sanity. It was an adrenaline rush like no other, and it only furthered his feelings for her. Despite his role as her Master, it was she who held him captive and drove him to his knees in worship. Quietly, he watched her rise from her knees and hurry from the room to undress and prepare herself for whatever he might have in store for her.

In her absence, he rose from his chair and walked over to the rows of books that lined the walls of his study. Carefully scanning each spine, he searched for a title that would strike him. It did not matter that he'd read every book there at least twice, some he could read and reread countless times, never growing tired of the contents. Books contained words, and words were knowledge. One in particular caught his eye and he carefully pulled the book out. Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman.

Setting the book down on the table beside his comfortable wing-backed chair, he made his way to the hearth. He tossed another fire on the log, knowing she would be virtually uncovered when she returned. Her comfort was paramount. He opened the small, seemingly uninteresting looking box on the mantle and pulled the small strip of soft pink leather that was stored inside. He'd immediately thought of her when he saw the collar in the shop in Crocus.

At that time, neither had given any real thought or conversation to bringing their relationship to a higher level. In the D/s community, a collar carried as much meaning as a wedding band. The significances each held were just as deep as the other, many choosing to go through with a collaring ceremony when a Dominant gifted his submissive with one. They'd chosen to forgo the ceremony, knowing when the time came that they would have an actual wedding.

He'd only just returned to his chair when the door opened and she quietly entered. The lamp and firelight played across her flawless skin as she moved, and he could not keep himself from visually appraising the entirety of her beauty. Long hair, the color of the sun, draped over well rounded and proud shoulders. Long, thin, toned arms flanked a perfectly flat stomach, pinched waist that flared into generously swelled hips. Her long legs were shapely in the best of ways, and how did he love to lose himself between them.

Without needing to be told, she obediently returned to the pillow she'd been kneeling on beside his chair. Her poise was elegant, radiant even. Her skin seemed to glow when she was in her element, her head bowed in subservience as she awaited his command. He quietly appreciated the way her back remained stiff, her shoulders back in pride while her hands rested against her thighs with the palms up to signify her acceptance and the lack of things hidden.

"Neck."

Without needing to further instruct her, she brought a hand up to pull her hair up and away from the slender column of her neck to expose her flesh to him. "Such a good girl," he lamented as he carefully buckled the collar around her throat and gave the small bell in the front a flick of his finger.

"Thank you, Sir," Lucy beamed up at him. "Your good girl."

Unable to resist the temptation, he leaned down to press his lips against hers in a chaste kiss. He wanted more, so much more, but knew that it needed to wait. Settling back in his chair, he picked up the book from the table and handed it to her. "Turn to page forty-six and begin reading," he commanded as he slipped a hand into the pocket of his coat.

Without hesitation, she did as told. Her long, slender fingers flipped through the pages until she came to the page. Her eyes never left the page as her tongue stole across her full bottom lip before the sweet sound of her voice replaced the silence in the cozy room.

"And I know I am deathless,

I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by a carpenter's compass,

I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt stick at night.

Listening to her read aloud had quickly become a pastime he thoroughly enjoyed. She was eloquent when she spoke, very articulate and sure of herself. The inflections told of her shared passion for reading. But when all truths were laid bare, tonight was not about listening to her recite passages from a book. It was not about enjoying the words she so beautifully spoke from the pages in her grasp. He had something completely different in mind.

"I know I am august,

I do not trouble my spirit to vindicate itself or be understood,

I see that the elementary laws never apologize,

I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by after all."

His thumb brushed over the remote control in his pocket, hitting the power button. A soft hum interrupted her words, her eyes flickering up to his in surprise. "Keep reading, Precious," he instructed. "And, do not stop until I instruct you to do so. Understand?"

"Y-yes, Sir," she stuttered as her eyes returned to the page. Her body tensed as though she was willing herself not to squirm.

"I exist as I am, that is enough,

If no other in the world be aware I sit content,

And if each and all be aware I sit content."

He watched the flush spread over her skin as she continued on. Her once steady fingers began to twitch nervously as she held the book. The steady tone of her voice began to give way, little by little. Small inflections became small jumps in notes and her breathing changed. This was to be an exercise in teaching her control, testing her limits in privacy before he tested her elsewhere. Once she was confident in her own ability here, he would push her in the outside world.

"One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself,

And whether I come to my own today or in ten thousand or ten million years,

I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait."

Seeing her starting to struggle with her own self control tightened his pants, raising the temperature in the room. He pushed up from his seat and silently unbuttoned his coat, removing it completely to lay over the back of his chair before he sat back down.

"My foothold is tenoned and mortised in granite,

I laugh at what you call dissolution,

And I know the amplitude of time."

Her calm demeanor gave way, her face contorting between small smiles and pleasure. The words that left her lips no longer steady as her voice quivered. Every small gasp that left her lips had him struggling to remain in control himself. He knew those little hitches, loved the way her breathing staccatoed when she was aroused. Needing more, wanting to push harder, he pressed the speed control. The hum became louder, and the soft, unexpected squeal she emitted sent a jolt straight to his already stiff arousal.

"I am the p-poet of the bahhh-body,

And I... Oh god, I am the p-poet of the soul.

The pleasures of… Of heaven are with me, and the p-pains of holy… Pains of hell are with me,

The first I grip, shit… I mean graft. Graft and increase upon myself . . . The lat… The latter I translate into a n-new tongue."

Her ability to articulate became a battle that she was losing as every other word was stuttered. Her body began to tremble, robbing him of the ability to swallow. Watching her slowly come apart was always one of his greatest thrills. The pleasure that came with knowing he could drive her to such heights could not adequately be described for lack of proper words in any language that he knew. Unable to resist the urges any longer, his free hand dropped to the throbbing erection that was restrained in the confines of his pants. He could not hold back the moan that slipped out at the contact of his own hand gripping his length.

"Fuck, Lucy," he moaned as he stroked his cock despite the fabric that covered it. "Don't stop… Keep going."

He pressed the speed button again, physically rejoicing when her eyes gave a roll and her jaw dropped. She squirmed, her knees spreading even wider as her hips bucked against the confines of the torturous device in her panties. He suddenly wanted to be beneath her quivering form, knowing how it felt to have the tight, warm grip of her body fluttering around him. Just the thought of it made him ache for her, pushing him higher up his own ladder of desire.

"I a-am… unghhh-god, Master. P-please…"

He could hear the desperation in her trembling voice, and could relate to torment. But, he was not completely ready to give in. "Not yet, Precious." The way her eyes implored for relief almost did him in, but to his amazement she continued on.

"I am… F-fuck, oh god! I… The p-poet of the wo-nghhh… woman the same as… as… as the man, and I say it-is-as g-gr-great to be.. Oh god, Freed! A woman as to be a m-man,

And! I s-say there is n-nothing greater than the mother of men-ahghhh."

"Cum for me, Lucy."

Dry mouthed and wide-eyed, he watched as she gave in to his command. The book fell to the floor, her head falling back as a cry ripped from her lips. Her hands came up to palm her breast as her entire being convulsed, her hips bucking as the continuous prayer of his name tumbled from her lips. Mindlessly, his fingers worked at the belt and button of his pants. Being witness to her undoing was too much to remain on the sidelines. He desperately needed to be joined with her, to take pleasure from the perfection of her body.

Standing, he reached down to lift her to her feet. He held her body against his, her legs unable to hold her weight as he moved them the short distance to the side of the desk. When her bottom was seated on the edge, his hands quickly dropped to push at his pants and boxers. There was no time to bother with fully undressing, he had to be inside of her. Pulling the thin crotch of her panties to the side, he grasped his already dripping length and lined it up with her entrance. In one swift motion, he fully buried himself in her still quivering core.

"God, Lucy," he moaned as her body clenched around him. "So tight…"

Holding back was not an option, watching her had pushed him past control. Lifting one of her legs, he hooked it over his shoulder. His fingers bit into her other thigh, pushing it down almost flush with the desktop as he set a hard, rough pace. He was torn between watching her face contort in pleasure and watching the way her body submitted to his intrusion as he ruthlessly slammed into her over and over again.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted as her fingers clawed at the wood surface beneath her. "Oh, fuck! Freed!"

Everything about her consumed him. The sounds she made, the way his name fell from her lips, the way she begged for more just when he thought she was nearing her breaking point. But god, the way it felt to be inside of her. That was what robbed him of all sense of logic and time. There was no denying it was she who held his leash. Only she could bring him to his knees, and only she could raise him from the ashes of his destruction. And, he would be lying if he was to ever say he didn't love her more for it.

The walls that tightly clutched him began to flutter again, sending ripples of pleasure straight to the base of his spine. He knew that her impending orgasm would be the Petite Morte that only she could bring. "That's it, Precious," he grunted as he forcefully thrust himself into her spasming center. "Be a good girl, and give yourself to me."

"F-Fu- Master!" She cried out. "I… I'm yo-yours, all… Always!"

The possessive beast inside of him roared in triumph at her declaration. It was an affirmation that she reminded him of daily, but each time was like the first. She was wholly and unequivocally his precious, his submissive, his primary reason for living. Releasing his hold on her thigh, he slipped his hand up to where they were joined to brush his thumb over her clit. It was like lighting the fuse to a stick of dynamite.

Her back arched off of the desk as her body clenched down on his aching member. The scream of release that rocketed from between her plump lips curled his toes, and he knew even the heavens felt the effects. The convulsions of her release pulled him over the edge with her. His hips surged forward, colliding violently with her yielding body as a deep clamor clawed from his throat. "Fuck, L-Lucy!"

Thrust after thrust, he spilled himself into her until there was no more left to be pulled from him. His hands went to the desktop to hold himself up, the strength in his legs obliterated by the intensity of his release. A thin hand came up to grip his shirt, pulling his pliant body down against the sweat-sheened perfection that was hers. He sank into the welcomed haven of her softness as he struggled to gain back the air that escaped him. He would never tire of the way she swayed his body to acquiesce to her body's will.

"Gods," She panted in wonder. "I love you. I love what you do to me but I really love you."

He chuckled breathlessly before pressing his lips to the valley between her heaving breasts. "I love you too, Precious."

The dreamy, dazed smile she gave him could still light up the darkest of nights. "Take me to bed, Master?"

Pushing himself up to hover above her on one arm, he lifted his other hand to her face. He found himself smiling softly at the glassy reflection of her eyes, seeing himself in their tawny depths as he brushed the back of his knuckles against her flushed cheek. "As long as you promise to never leave."

"Freed," she sighed as her fingers lifted to capture his, holding them so that she could turn to press her lips to his open palm. "How could I ever leave? Don't urge me to leave you or to turn back from you. Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay."

"The book of Ruth," he smiled. Without a second thought, he shifted to slip his arms beneath her to pull her up with him. His lips found hers, soft and yielding as always as he kissed her with all of the love he felt for her in that moment. She truly was every book he'd ever read, every word that had ever been written. She was the perfection that every author in history had strived to describe but always fell miserably short. And, she was his.

I know… I am a perv. But I can absolutely see Freed being a seriously HOT dominant. Lucy apparently thinks so too hehe.

The reading that Freed gave Lucy is an excerpt from Song of Myself in Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman. And yes, it is located on page 46 :)

But, for now I have inspiration back on my side so I am off to work on Sound Pod for you guys. I hope you enjoyed my little smut filled drabble!

I need to give a huge thank you hug and kiss to GemNika, Dragon'shost, im ur misconception, Kairrie and last, but never least mywritingmuse for being an awesome support system! I love you ladies and need to say Thank you for not giving up on me!

As always, please remember to review and favorite!

Big Hugs,

Nana