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Just another garden party.

The grass is soft beneath you as you kneel in place, head bowed, arms clasped behind you and nestled into small of your back. The air is sultry with humidity, and feels thick against your skin, and as you take a breath your lungs feel as though they’re filled with moisture. Everything is slowed here – you have all the time in the world to contemplate the scent of the gardens around you, mixed with the earthiness of the leather collar around your neck. You move your head slightly, and the chain attached to the collar makes a gentle clinking sound, the perfect counterpoint to the sounds of laughter and glassware from somewhere behind you.

Your lids are lowered, but your eyes open; you see the stripes of setting sunlight cross your legs and the grass beneath you. For a moment, you forget yourself and admire the way the gold sets off the skin of your thigh…and then your mind snaps back and you close your eyes against the thought that you make a pretty picture against the backdrop of greenery and sunset. You sigh, and the links of chain clink again, softly.

Eyes closed, you focus on keeping position as best you can, making sure each knee is positioned firmly on the ground, that your neck makes a graceful arc from your upper back to the base of your skull, that your arms are clasped just-so. You tighten and release each muscle in turn: first, your ankles, then your calves, then the muscles in your long, lean thighs. You clench each buttock, then try to gently hunch your back against any kinks that might have developed. You work each arm by slight movements of your shoulders…and then freeze, suddenly certain that someone sees what you are doing. You hold your breath in anticipation…

…and…nothing. There’s no break in the conviviality behind you – cutlery continues to sound against china plates, and you hear the unmistakable ringing of wine being poured into crystal. Someone taps a foot against the flagstones of the terrace and you imagine a high-heeled shoe, perhaps a stiletto, pushing against your back until you fold forward over your knees. The image sends a surge of emotion through you, and you break out in goose bumps as a trickle of sweat runs from beneath your collar down your spine.

You’re in a haze, a fever-dream from which you don’t want to wake. All eyes are on you…or not. What does it matter? You are sculpted beauty – hard on soft on hard – and in perfect place; you can taste the rightness on your tongue as surely as anything you’ve known before.

What more do you need than to be a piece of the whole?

A sound nearby breaks your reverie, and you realize that someone has approached you. A hand traces along the back of your neck, just under the edge of your collar, and your breath catches. A click and a snap, and the chain attached to your collar is gathered up into someone’s hands and you are pulled down onto all fours and led across the grass. All you can see as you follow is a pair of black shoes walking briskly in front of you. You don’t realize that you’ve slowed down to examine them more closely until a tug on the chain nearly yanks you flat onto the ground, and you concentrate on trying to keep up.

And then, the shoes slow and stop, and you are gathered up and the chain attached to a ring on the garden wall. You’re arranged quickly but gently; legs tucked under you, hands clasped at the back of your neck. Your hair is brushed back from your forehead, and your lower lip pinched firmly. You shudder, and lean forward into the hand that is now cupping your cheek. A gentle caress, and then the shoes walk away.

Just another garden party.


Posted June 8, 2014 by veggiewolf in Erotica, Storytelling

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