Her work was exquisite. He could have watched her at it for hours. Two creatures working against eachother in perfect unison. She anticipated every rise and fall, every relaxation and tensing of the muscles.
The secret lay not in extended bouts. Each victim had to be followed through the nuances of their relationship with the sensual wonder of pain. Every step of the way, she was there for them. Both agitator and confidante to the newest toy of that erratic mistress who binds our every experience. She nursed them through the agony of release and injected new excitment at the peak of rebound.
It was a dance, one that she had perfected. All her family were dancers. Both blood and tradition commanded it be so. It was only natural that he should be jealous. She embodied everything he strove to be. Consolation came from the knowledge that what she did, she did for him.
Each perfectly timed motion was performed for his personal amusement. The prone figure at her tiny feet was as much an instrumant as the wand clasped in her graceful fingers.
Tonight she was magnificent. The giddy, nauseating sensation of raw power was coursing through her veins and driving her to new highs.
Then, all at once, it was over. The life Bella had been flirting with for the past half hour was gone in the flutter of an eyelash. She stood, still as the man on the ground, basking in the quiet.
He broke it with two short claps. This brought her back to life and his side. Once there, Bella inclined her head and murmured a nearly reverent "My Lord". He half smiled, mildy irked at the formality she insisted on keeping that drew, always, a fine line between them.
Clear cut lines kept his servants in line. Were they to be breached, the whole system would topple. On a few occasions he had considered it; throwing his life's work out in one mad manoeuvre. Only in moments such as these did the thought occur to him. Only when he felt, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she would be worth it.