copperhead bells

Tears stream down her cheeks barely visible in the muted light of a multi-coloured scarf thrown over the bedside lamp. Pinned down by my weight and tethered to the metal head board by an old black tie, her body lurches beneath me as she sobs into her arm. I place the small whip down and run my hands across her breasts. Her nipples are pointed and stiff but she twitches with each pass of my hand. A flush of darker colour crawls across the sides of her breasts like virus in a Petri dish, marring her perfect milky white flesh. The small bell on her ankle tinkles merrily in the dark room, an incongruous contrast to the desecration taking place.

Leaning forward to undo the knots at her wrists, my cock brushes against her half-open mouth, caressing her lips like a kiss. Her glazed eyes stare intently at the moist tip but she dare not move her head-either away or towards it. I know she wants nothing more than to lift her head and slip me into her mouth, to taste me, to swirl her tongue across the head, to tighten her lips along the length of my shaft. But she has no permission...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She's colouring her hair. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror the next day, she methodically applies the concoction to her long hair. There is a list of Golden Rules that she must abide. Rule #1: she shall not cut her hair more than 2" at a time. The mixture oozes out of the bottle a deep shade of purple smearing across scalp and forehead. It is not the colour she desires and we both laugh as I use a damp towel to wipe away the overspills. Her eyes flick down to her upraised arms and I follow her gaze.

The bruises under her arms and across her breasts almost mirror the colour of the dye being squeezed into her hair. I smirk as I slip my hands from behind cupping her breasts.

"You are Mine"