Author's Note: So...It has been awhile. Coming close to five years since I have checked this account. I wanted to apologize in advance to all my previous reviewers for the long gap. I loved your guys' feedback on my other story. You were all so supportive and wonderful.
Anyway, I was digging through my computer files the other day (looking for inspiration) and came across this old ficlet that I wrote eons ago, and I've decided to post it up here. Originally it was supposed to be part 1 of a whole 7 story project, but I don't know how much I'll be able to write (med school applications suck). Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it and, as always, honest feedback is greatly appreciated!
WARNING: Ficlet contains mentions of nudity, sex (not explicit), BDSM practices, and possible adultery.
With her, his relationship was never complicated.
Never mind that he was sitting here, his knees against the cold concrete floor, a collar around his neck, his head buried against her naked thigh. Never mind that he had a wife waiting at home with their three month old son. Never mind that he had lied –straight faced – to his best friend, his wife. Never mind that it is dangerous out there and there is a price on his head. Despite all that, he never felt more at peace than when he was on his knees (that cold concrete floor), begging for a touch (his cock bound – tangled artfully in rope – knotted together tight against his balls, pulled taut over his perineum), blind (all he could smell was her scent – the delightful mix of dried roses caught in bloom with the heady scent of her sex) and ultimately at her mercy (she had none).
He feels a gentle tap against his shoulder (Her hand? No, it has a distinctly cooler feel – must be the crop then. His mistress practically burned with heat) and searches blindly for… something. "James", he hears her calling him in her gravelly whisper. He struggles to move closer (blind, his hands scramble to touch) he follows her scent until his nose is buried in a rough tangle of short curls (Definitely not red – not that he could confirm at the moment). He swears he can hear her smile (there is no way to tell and she is not…given to smiling), but without much ado he buries his face into the cachet of soft skin (inked – into his memory as well) and answers back with a smile of his own pressed against the tattoo of her pulse.