Saturday, September 20, 2008

The New Slave

Photographer Johnny Lopera

Frayed chords bound him to me... law, ownership, payment. It was the way it was. The vanquished served us in whatever capacity was required, but I knew what others denied. This way was passing. The slave would be free, and he would be mine no more.

Normally I would not happen to be at the docks when they arrived. This was not the domain of women, but now, the responsibilities of the plantation were thrust upon me and I needed more workers. At the settlement, where rules and tiresome society flourished, I dared not even glance at him, but now, as we rest after the long climb up the deeply wooded hills, jealously I watch as the soft ocean breeze brushes her curled tongue up the tender skin of his thigh. The angled furrow tracing down from his hip
leads to pleasures denied me, though many a slave master takes his.

My mouth, my lips, my loins moisten and melt like butter in the hot tropical sun. I know he feels the heat of my gaze as flushes of excitement spread through his
tensing body, nipples erect, alert. I could have his flesh... I could walk behind him, take my stock and inspect him, running it slowly up his inner thigh, over muscled ridges to the small of his back. Yes, I could inspect him, brushing the erect nipple and the soft inner arm, and commanding, with a lifting of the stock under his hands, a full inspection. An inspection that will require tasting and smelling and feasting and dining. But every bite has consequences, and this dish is all cream and cocoa and intoxicating liquor...something I'd love to slide my lips into and swallow down hard on, but not here, not now. This track is not a good place. Other servants are here, society passes occasionally.

I slip behind the cover of nearby undergrowth to have a pee, releasing my pent up parts to the cool mountain air. A wild animal boldness compels me and unquestioningly I remove the drawers that cover me to the knee. Quickly I bury them in the leaf litter and delight as each step sends flickers of cold air rushing under my skirt to tease me. I mount my steed and command the slave be tied to my saddle. Letting the others lead, I slow to a gentle pace, rocking and positioning my loins so that with each step a flicker of pleasure shoots deep inside me, stirring my breasts to ache for more.
It delights me that he sees my pleasure, the torsion of my hips just inches away. Safe now from prying eyes, I lift my skirt, holding it high under both arms so the arching and opening cleavage of plump white buttocks in clearly visible. The saddle is smooth and slides now with silky wetness beneath my hungry flesh. The fragrance of love, warm, musky and sweet, potently alluring creates a greedy hunger in his lips and loins. He bites then slides deeply into the crevasse of white flesh, breathing deeply, as to be soaked with the scent and fill every pore. I lead the horse behind and into a clearing. His kisses more urgent cover my thigh and I turn to let him reach the heat of my passion. A long hard tongue penetrates while moist lips softly brush places of ecstatic pleasure I have not known. Faint and disoriented, all time and space cease to exist for me. Rising...rising... no sight, no sound, no other awareness but the magnitude of this rising pleasure. A cry, a groan escape with the cascading release, a pounding that fills my womb and head and leaves me exhausted, sliding, crumpled to the soft forest floor.

"Maam, Maam, are you alright?" My servants had returned at the sound of my cry. Disoriented, thankfully covered, my head quickly cleared. "It must be the heat, I must have fainted. Thankyou Jimmy, I'm fine...maybe some water". I still had not seen his face, my slave, and I would not look at it now, nor perhaps for some time to come, but I would command him to me again, soon. In the darkness I will taste him and dine and have my fill of pleasure while I can.

Friday, September 5, 2008

the copy room



Can you smell me? As I walk into the copy room, the fragrance of desire is thick around me…every pore focussed on having you. You’re at the photocopier, but you can’t see me.

I woke up this morning too soon. The writhing pleasure as I was fucking you was rudely interrupted by some stupid DJ on uppers. Why do they have to shout? I silenced him, but something in my belly was obscenely loud.

There never was any cerebral debating of the issue. I just woke up and knew I would be eating you today. My tongue tingled and juiced up as I thought of how much I was going to enjoy your skin.

I think I’ll take you from behind. Unbelting, unzipping, peeling back the outer skin, I lift my skirt and press gently against your buttocks, soft hairs against my abdomen. I slide my hand over the angle of your hips, down the front of your thighs and up between, scooping your balls into the shaft. Soft and downy as peaches, I let them fall heavily and reach up to unbutton your shirt. Oh yeah, that’s nice.

The stationary cupboard, the men’s toilets, the first aid room. Then there’s the cleaners room. Plenty of opportunities. When I’m this focused I’m never disappointed. The time will come, but for now, I press against you as you stand at the photocopier, tighten my legs and reach up to whisper in your ear, “Hi”. You turn, and I smile.