One-thousand Words Little had changed since the days of cheerleading and home coming queen. Though quick-witted, Dianna, like many of her ilk, lacked self-esteem. High Maintenance to her equaled an implicit unhappiness with one's own image. Equipped with a similar physique and voice to the legendary entertainer, it came as little surprise that her's was a Marilyn.Monroesque-sex kittenish sort of thing. Clearly she dreamed on with exceptional looks and equally good genes. An adult now, the bust line's conservative estimate of 38 D-cup dimensions outgrew any optimistic teen's high school uniform or gown dress size, yet daily workouts kept the 35-year old Californian trim and fit. The very latest in glamour and fashion were coveted. Talk had been made about someday getting a breast reduction, but that's all it had been to date: just talk. The subject too was fashionable, occasionally sprinkled into vapid conversation. "Hard. Bite them hard." His teeth sunk deeper into the stout nipples biting and sucking as she commanded, and his own lust demanded. Thoughts of those earlier years flashed by. If anything, he thought, Dianna's body had matured splendidly with its curves, waspish waist, and dancer's legs now clinging around his trunk. Limber as ever. She was one of the very few who looked good with her clothes off, rather than on. Lust and thought flash-flooded the synapses. His mind wandered to other times, like the singular occasion of the characteristically hawk-eyed casino crew looking up from their designated felted parcel, distracted by high-heeled pulchritude striding by. He teased one nipple with the tip of his tongue and thrust hips again. He felt the body underneath him writhe. Long nails scoured his back. "Harder," she moaned. "Bite them harder." A cry sounded. The actress wannabe stiffened. Demonstrably kinkier than he, decided to keep on biting into the fleshy warmth as its bulk poked upward into his mouth. She wasn't protesting.In fact, he bit harder than before, this time using more teeth and less tongue. His feasting was interrupted in the nicest of ways. Dianna squirmed from underneath. Gazing at the blond bed hair and glassy green eyes crawling from under him, the flushed throat indicated that the foreplay chapter was about over, leaving only the inevitable-the one about orgasms. He lay back as she positioned herself above, sculpted thighs straddling his, the star in some x-rated Olympics. Slowing sinking down upon the tautly muscled shining piston her eyelids ecstatically closed. In an athletic move, no doubt conceived during those more innocent cheerleading days and made allowable to this day by exercise, her torso disappeared. From where he lay all visible were the flexing quads straddling his and the furry slit of a crown atop the head of the pumping pelvis. Out of sight, but felt somewhere beyond, rubbed the shoulders and floral scented mane brushing across his shins. His arm stretched out. An index finger parted the gleaming curls, above his own swallowed shaft. The digit stroked up and down, and then from side to side. Another cry, this one much softer sounded at his caress. The most intimate of juices sloshed with a hydraulic imperative. +++ "You won't hurt me, will you?" From the sunny day room he looked down upon the lovely Dianna as she mock-pleaded. Of course he would. And that was exactly what both of them wished. In his right palm he held two wooden clothespins. Selecting one, he gripped her left nipple with index and thumb. Rolling the pinkish tower as it's prominence grew, he then opened the wooden jaws only to then close them tightly over the proffered offering. As expected, she gasped. Her back arched up, pressing further into his touch. The second was then applied, much like the first. Again, Dianna's reaction was predictable. He raised Dianna upright, pulling her to a sitting position by the pinned teats. Tears rolled down apple cheeks. He looked down at the black fabric triangle he had earlier tied to its twin covering her rear. The standing female rose to almost his 6-foot height. Wrapping thick cloth around each of her wrists to prevent bruising, he then attached the encircled wrists to rope hanging from the upper loft and pulled. Long arms angled skyward. The tortured half-naked cruciform moaned. More tears wet her countenance. Dianna managed to speak and said, "It hurts." "That's what you want so shut-up, or else you will be gagged." He uncurled the leather whip. Looking once at the stretched abdomen, he swung. Golden hair swung across bare shoulders. Full lips bared white teeth as her mouth gaped. An angry gasp issued. Ligaments and muscles pulled at the constricting rope. Green eyes flashed back with a mixture of shock, pain and anger. She glared back. He swung the whip again, this time aiming for one of the full breasts. The leather stung with a wallop, bouncing flesh as it hit. The clothespin held, but now there were two long red stripes across Dianna's front. Stepping closer to his crucified slave, he ripped away the scant fabric covering. She tried to cross her legs in a futile attempt of modesty, though nudeness now was very apparent. Taking the protruding ends of the clothespins, he twisted. Dianna's head fell back in a silent cry, exposing more of her throat. Fingering between her now parted thighs he felt familiar syrup, heated to the touch. Without further preamble, he plunged the whip handle inside, closely followed by his own tool. +++ That evening, his beauty knelt before him bathed only in candlelight. Eyelids closed, hands behind her head, knees pointing outward, body well oiled, she said, "I am your slave, Master." Considering the good fortune to know of one so lovely and yet so submissive, he surmised that she was indeed the kinkier of them both. It would be his folly not to take further advantage of their relationship.