Floorboards become tattered carpet beneath my fine denier, hosiery-clad feet as I ascend the stairs. Turning left on the half-landing, away from her bedroom I step into a room I've only glimpsed through the open doorway. Nothing secret here; she calls it 'The Music Room', its walls lined with vinyl and CDs. A stereo unit, two-seater sofa and a coffee table the only other furnishings. I peruse the endless spines absorbing the sense of her as I seek revelations amongst her possessions.

At random I pull a record free from its home. It proclaims itself as 'Kaleidiscope', the artwork brash and artsy. The vinyl shimmers enticingly in my hand when sliding it from the inner sleeve. I press buttons until it spins on the record player and dumps the needle onto its edge with a thump before retreating to the comfort of the sofa. Crackles and hissing pursue me as I curl my feet beneath and glance down the tracklist awaiting the first notes. 

The words before my eyes captivate me. Singular and simple yet... 

Each of them calling to the experiences of the last two weeks. Was it just two weeks? Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago. Certainly, it was a different life than I had deserted the moment I had stepped across her threshold and offered myself up as a needy fly, desperate to become entangled in her web.

As the music swirls around me, I submerge into captivated memory. 

Happy House

My head is spinning. 

Varnished floorboards lead off into a half-glimpsed interior, all architraves, and stucco as I stand trembling, an ingenue captured in a pool of her own stickiness. 

Appraising eyes sparkle hazel, mischievous, and mirthful traverse my flesh turning the fever between my thighs into a sweltering swamp. Sweat beads on my upper lip as primal juices seep between my puffed secreted lips. 

Extended fingers decorated with perfect half-moon nails reach out and leisurely stroke their way down my cheek, scalding the flesh beneath their touch. Lips move. Noise becomes words. 

"Welcome to my Happy House" 

Tenant

It was as if I was a tenant in my own flesh. Allowed visiting rights but lacking any control or responsibility. 

Even now, sipping tea as the early evening light slanted through the windows producing shades and halos in equal measure, my tenanted flesh displaying its independence in a shameful display of engorged nipples, heaving breasts, and barely captured breaths. 

Near hyperventilating before her gaze. Spell captured as her eyelashes flicker and the pointed, pink perfection of her tongue dances across white ranked teeth. Entranced, the swirl of her chatter cradles and caresses until just one word remains. 

"Tenant" 

Trophy

She might as well have put a leash on the delicate links of the silver choker that hugs my neck. Leashed me and lead me as a trophy to be displayed before the simpering curiosity of her 'friends'. 

Face flaming as I am passed amongst the assorted throng to be manhandled, ogled and drooled over whilst whispered words are shared behind covered mouths. The shameful memory of my earlier arraying and present appearance all-consuming. 

I'd been sent back thrice. A moue of disapproval greeting my efforts until eventually a figure-hugging dress; all breasts and hip-high side-slit was deemed appropriate trophy-wear. 

Hybrid

Your 'hybrid cunt' that's what she'd called it just before her stiffened fingers had slapped its soggy fleshiness. A genetic mutant of X and Y genes that had been enjoyed and pleasured by cocks and cunts and mouths and silicon. 

'No more,' she'd said. It was her cunt now. Owned and possessed. Hers and hers alone to pleasure and abuse as she ran the powder brush teasingly up its vulva and flicked across its swollen clit, eliciting moans and dribbling pleasure that clogged the fine bristles. 

I'd deserved the spanking for that. And I tried really hard not to cum. 

Clockface

The second hand was circling for the umpteenth time. I'd lost track of how many revolutions it had completed now. Lost track of everything now. 

Upright on a hard-backed chair, body drenched in sweat, feeling rivulets trickling down my breasts and stomach to pool in the glorious, spasming wetness of my sex. 

My vibe filled sex. My plug-filled arse. My gagged and drooling mouth. My flesh twisting and writhing as the humming intensity consumed me. Each vibration exploding through spoilt, undeserving me. Desperate not to cum as instructed. 

As she watched and the second-hand trickle onward. 

Lunar Camel

Pressed up against the headboard, the rigid slats rubbing my back raw with every buck of my untethered hips. Arms stretched in crucifix as the rope abrades my wrists. Fixed as she had desired. 

She whose face had disappeared between my widespread thighs, whose mouth is feasting, whose tongue slathers anus to clit coating my gleaming flesh in another layer of liquid desire. 

As her tongue tip flicks between my swollen labia the upturned pear of her bottom wiggles. A single hump of perfection before my blurred vision, glowing luminescent beneath the moonbeams that slant through the uncurtained windows.  

The endlessly repeated 'ssssstup, ssssstup' interrupts my revery. The needle running back and forth trapped in the confining grooves of the outrun. I unravel legs, lower myself to the floor and crawl across to the stereo. My legs feel so weak and I'm not sure I could stand but crawling feels so much more appropriate. I try to subdue my rasping breath as my trembling fingers remove the needle, flip the disc and then jerk the needle back with yet another resounding thump before, knees scraping across the carpet, I head back to my sofa sanctuary and lose myself once more amongst sonic echoes of rapturous remembrances. 

Christine

That allegedly was her name. An untrustworthy bitch showy and insincere with avaricious eyes and gutter morals.

Christine of the talons. Christine of the lewd suggestions. Christine who'd flirted and displayed herself before her as I fumed silently with growling fear clutching at my heart. Waiting and expecting to be discarded for this new plaything. 

Christine all legs and showy breasts, flicky hair and licky lips, her intentions a sign flashing neon. 

Christine who doesn't have a silver-linked collar encompassing her neck. Christine who doesn't get taken by the hand and escorted home to pay homage to her divine cunt. 

Desert Kisses

My mouth parched, an arid desert, tongue swollen and spiked like cacti, lips as cracked as salt flats desperate for a droplet of moisture to splash upon their surface.  

Above, just beyond reach, tempting and teasing, her fingers slicing through the verdant oasis of her cunt. Fingertips sparkling with liquid diamonds as its geyser core seeped translucent beads along its petal-like lips. 

Croaking cotton-mouthed, neck muscles straining I beg for her release, her pleasure, my reward, until the geyser gushes sprinkling me in divine nectar and she slumps atop my face and I consecrate her sanctity with desert kisses. 

Red Light

'Get out,' she said. The motor idling, the light red. I exit ungainly, tottering on my spindle heels, pulling the rebellious hemline of my dress beneath my cunt. Stood, exposed by red traffic management at this barren junction. 

She demands the dress. Sniffs its scent before discarding it on the passenger seat, leaving me naked, heeled and collared. Leaving me to walk home, one juice-slick thigh rubbing against the other with each step, cunt throbbing, arse wiggling, the soft purr of the motor behind my only company. 

I hope she was pleased with the way my arse wiggled for her. 

Paradise Place

Grained and knotted wood abrades my knees, my palms and fingers caressing their varnish as I crawl. Head raised, buttocks wriggling, breasts pendulous as they sway beneath my torso, eyes fixed. 

Fixed on her. The glint of the stiletto-heeled foot stepping away, the tautness of her calves, the gradual upward swelling of her thighs. 

Vision absorbed in the small gap between her strutting legs. Obsessed with the curvature of her vulva; split and oozing like an over-ripe peach as it decorates her skin with her divine juices and her buttocks undulate provocatively. 

Paradise; crawling to her. Crawling for her. 

Skin

Facedown and recumbent, coddled amongst downed bedding. Displayed and exposed as I tentatively allow my tongue-tip to touch and taste.

Hair strands arrange themselves chaotic across her shoulders, blades forming ridges, the knuckles of her spine a roadway through her flesh to the gentle hillocks of her buttocks and beyond.

All skin covered. All skin coated. Pale alabaster. Freckle flecked and uniquely marked. A Pollock masterpiece in living flesh.

My hair falls across my face as I lower my mouth, close my eyes and loose myself in the touch of her skin against my tongue, my cheeks, my lips. 

My eyelids unshutter as the needle lifts and soft returns. For a brief moment, I stare blankly about me until reality permeates my submerged self. I'm trembling, my flesh heated yet chilled, a fine layer of sweat cooling on my skin, my breath ragged pathetic whimpers and I'm soaked. Drenched and dripping. Down there. Between the nexus of my thighs at the very core of my being. My cunt. Her cunt. A sopping, orgasming mess of uncontrollable pleasure as I writhe atop her saffron sofa. I'm certain I've made a mess, that my skirt is soaked through and that I've stained the upholstery. 

I'll be punished. It will be deserved. It will be delicious.

Orgasms overwhelm me once more. All resistance is futile as I descend into submissive bliss.