Today, May 26th, is the birthday of someone very special to me … This story is for that person, who will know it is for him, I am quite sure …
Happy Birthday, Love …
It is said that what matters the most between a Mistress and her submissive is the chemistry. Sometimes that chemistry … isn’t there. Sometimes it is. When it isn’t, then the relationship becomes strained, out of touch, and, eventually, it falls apart. When the chemistry is present, there is a … connection … a connection goes both ways, in that the one that is Mistress knows and the one that is loved knows.
And then, just sometimes, in those relationships, comes another certain kind of chemistry …
She regarded herself in the mirror, a slim fingertip brushing against her lips, smoothing out the edge of the lipstick she had just applied. It wouldn’t do to have something out of place, not on this particular evening.
Dreams were one thing; reality, something else, of course.
She smiled at her image in the mirror: that little bemused smile she had, with a lick of her tongue over her pillowy soft lips, then pursing them to blow a kiss, the unspoken promise of what they would be doing soon as she did. There was a sparkle in her green eyes as she put a little bit of shadow around them to deepen their effect—not that it was really needed, but then, she wanted to do this.
Her gaze shifted to look at her long, wild, raven locks, her hand moving to brush a few stray ones into the right places, her two small red horns glinting there accompanied by streaks of the same colour red in the hair, as well.
She brushed her hands over her curves, noting how well the red dress—a very specific one—was moulding itself to her. Her cleavage was just slightly pronounced, as she knew he would like, the curve of her hips drawing one’s eyes towards the slits in the dress, which provided a glimpse of her legs … and a place for her tail to appear now and again, of course.
She was looking over herself once more, checking that everything was as it should be for him, when she heard his voice as he entered the room: “You look lovely, Mistress.”
She turned away from the mirror to look at him, waiting there close by, her eyes sparkling as she answered: “Thank you, Love. It’s a special occasion, you know.”
He seemed to be embarrassed, a slight blush on his cheeks: “It’s not that special, Mistress.”
She moved away from the mirror, one long shapely tanned leg emerging from the slit of her dress, a red heel clicking on the marble floor as she slinked towards him. “Oh … I think it is.”
He fidgeted with his collar—not the one that he had accepted from her so long ago, but the starched one that was making him itch so maddeningly at that moment: “You don’t need to …”
She was there, in front of him, when he looked up, a warm smile on those so-red lips, her raven hair framing her expression: “It’s not need. It is want. I want to do this.”
He sighed, uncomfortable as he was in that moment, dressed to the nines—to please her, he thought—though in truth he did so because of what he wanted that evening. To be anything less than perfect would bright shame to his Mistress. That he could not allow. “You know that I would be just as happy to be at your feet, too.”
He was still fidgeting with his tie when she reached out her hand and took hold of the knot herself: “I do, Love. Perhaps later.”
She straightened out the tie, red, of course, against the black suit he wore, and then brushed her hand over his shoulder, not saying anything more than that for a time, then continuing: “You look very handsome tonight. Thank you.”
The embarrassment grew. She could easily sense it, but said nothing about it. He looked down and replied: “Thank you, Mistress … for doing this.”
She tapped a finger against his lips once, then traced that finger over his lips: “Always, Love. Promise.”
She took his arm, her tail moving to wrap around his waist possessively as they turned to leave.
She laughed as her tail squeezed his waist lightly. It was only three steps, but there was a portal involved, which took them elsewhere.
Beneath a sky filled with stars was a wide, smooth, white marble patio, and her heels were soon clicking against it rhythmically. She then turned to him, placing both of his hands on her waist and then placing her own on his.
“Mistress, you know I can’t dance.”
She smiled, moving closer to him, her cleavage pressing against his chest, the warmth of her body enveloping him as fully as that cherry scent he knew so well.
“Then shuffle your feet Love, or just rest your head on my shoulder, whatever you’d like. Just let me hold you for a while, please?”
There wasn’t any music to be heard, but there was one particular tune that came into both their thoughts. It was the one that had played when they had first met, first spoken. The song’s name didn’t matter so much as the feelings and memories that it brought back to them both.
He found himself looking into her eyes, feeling her body against his. He remembered the first time she revealed herself to him, how she looked … exactly like she did in this moment.
“Are you using magic to look like this Mistress?”
She licked her lips: “Not a lick.”
He couldn’t resist: “That’s … a tempting thought Mistress.”
She leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear. The words said where between them, but the spoke of what she intended would happen … after dinner.
When she finished, she drew back and then brushed her lips against his ever so lightly. He licked his tongue, tasting the lipstick that she had left behind. “Why me, Mistress?”
She took his lapels in her hands and slid her fingers over them as she replied: “I would ask the same of you, Love. Why do I have the honour? What makes me the one?”
He shrugged: “I just … knew.”
She nodded: “Chemistry … I suppose.”
He drew a fingertip along the nape of her neck, over her bare, exposed skin. She shivered as he brushed against the curve of her cleavage, and she wet her lips with her tongue.
“My dreams made real?”
She purred in reply: “Mine, too, Love … Mine, too.”