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She is joined in the shower after a jog.

As stealthy as a shadow he had slinked to her side and been standing there, and now her heart raced, her brow beaded with sweat. Fingers encircle her wrist and guide her hand to the back of a the wrought iron chair that had been mysteriously and silently placed in front of her. "Steady yourself, whore," again he whispered.

She places the other hand on the chair back... its position such that she bends forward slightly at the waist. She had spent the day at work without a bra according to his order this morning, and the hours of jostling had rubbed her nipples on the fabric to a point of torture. And now, as she is bent to the chair, the weight of her breasts pressed them harder against her blouse. Her Master was so well attuned to her that, at her mumbled moan, he knew her nipples burned. Fingers dabbled at the front of her shirt. Tapping as light as a feather on the nubs through the cotton... tracing tiny circles around them. Then, finding the first button and, with a practiced twist of the fingers, it opened. With slow deliberation, the fingers marched from one button to the next, each in turn falling open. Between each one, the fingers examined the nearby nipple, tracing its outline with the tip of a nail, feeling them stiffen further... enjoying the hiss from between her teeth. With each button that surrendered, the shirt pulled across her breasts to the side, until at last, they hang free. The relief was immediate, but in the same instant, they prickled with vulnerability as they swayed beneath her.

His body moved, she could only sense it, but not hear it. Slinking like the shadows hemselves he moved through the room. She tries to follow with her ears, but they were drumming with her heartbeat, and she clenches her eyes tighter as the temptation to peek came upon her. He would never know in this darkness. She could look to see what he was doing, and he would never know.

Again, so close to her ear that it frightened her... "Do not open your eyes, whore." God, how did he know... is he living inside her. Her heart raced faster.

The crinkling of paper. Familiar. What was that... yes,... the tissue around the roses that she had lain on the counter with the groceries. He unwrapped the roses... why???

A husky sweet perfume fills her nostrils, and then the softness of velvet on her lips. A rose petal just under her nose and the fragrance fills her head. "The rose.. ." Master whispers, "is such a paradox. As soft as the kiss of a kitten, and as sweet as ambrosia... yet... the thorns, sharp as the fangs of a serpent, like the tip of your Master dagger. Pleasure... pain. Comforting, yet so very dangerous. Kiss this rose, whore, kiss this soft petal. The soft petals of your mouth against the soft petals of this flower. Kiss it. Inhale. Drink in all the pleasures this contradiction of nature can provide. Breath it in."

"And now... feel it. " The fragrance diminishes as the rose is pulled away. Then, the softest tickle on her right nipple. The velvet petal brushed over the bud, around it... grazing the sides of her suspended breast. Like the trail of a feather on her skin. "Such a paradox," Master whispers again in her ear. Instantly, the sharp sting of a thorn against her nipple. Her wail explodes with violence at the contact. "Pleasure, blended with pain," He whispers into her ear, and the razor tip scraped around the outer edge of the areola, searing instantly to the pit of her stomach. Another scream and her nails clenched at the back of the chair. How can such a beauty cause such agony... and the light scraping of this tiny dagger trailed directly over her throbbing nipple. Then, tapping, with a miniature stabbing motion, and each thrust exploding from her throat, first with a yelp and then evolving into a scream.

Through the torment and the cloud of pain her mind finds some reason.

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